Page 87 of Just Like Home

The little girl shook her head.

Charlotte smiled. “Would you like to see a bit of it?”

Amelia nodded again.

Charlotte went to her phone, changed the music, and took her place on the floor. How many times had she danced thispas de deux?

But this time, it was different. This time, she had no partner. This time, she wasn’t dancing for an audience of strangers. She was dancing for a little girl who’d lost her love of dance.

A little girl not wholly unlike herself.

She began to move through the familiar dance, as if her body had been made to perform the steps. It was a role she’d danced only a few months before—Juliet. She’d been born for that role, they’d said. The critics were blown away by her performance.

And every night, after the curtain closed, Charlotte realized she felt nothing. Technically, she nailed it every single time, but didn’t any of them realize the emotion was all manufactured? Charlotte herself felt nothing. She had no connection to the movements or the role she was playing.

Was she even capable of connecting?

She wanted to find out, if only for herself. She zeroed in on how each move challenged her muscles. She paid attention to the way the music cued her how to feel, what emotion to portray. She knew the story, but now she wanted to feel the story. Not for an audience. Not for Marcia or her director.

She wanted to dance for Amelia. For Julianna. For herself. She wanted to let herself feel something, to use this gift she’d been given to help a little girl with a broken heart.

And as she danced, the memories of Julianna spilled out in front of her. Her laugh. Her smile. Her absolute love of dance, of life. All of it rolled out in front of her as she leapt, then landed perfectly, muscles tense and ready for whatever was next.

She danced the solo, which she’d performed over and over, night after night, a solo she could’ve done in her sleep—but she wasn’t sleeping. She was wide awake and able to feel everything for the first time in ages.

Even her sorrow. Even the hollow space inside of her that had been carved away the day Julianna died. Emotions she preferred to ignore bubbled up from somewhere down deep, and she channeled them into her dance.

Another leap. Another turn. Another perfect landing.

Until finally, the music ended, leaving Charlotte breathless on the floor.

She glanced up and saw a small crowd had gathered in the hallway, watching through windows meant for parents of tiny ballerinas. Some of them held their phones up, recording this impromptu performance that wasn’t really meant for them at all.

Charlotte turned and found Amelia staring at her, tears streaming down her face. She moved over to the little girl and knelt down in front of her.

“Do you want to dance with me?” Charlotte asked.

Amelia stared up into her eyes, raw emotion painted on her face, and Charlotte’s heart nearly broke at the sight of her.

“You know, your mom loved to watch you dance,” Charlotte said. “She used to tell me about it all the time. She even sent me a couple of videos. She thought you were the most beautiful thing in the world when you danced—because you love it so much.”

Amelia’s bottom lip quivered.

“Sometimes I think it’s the best way to feel close to her because she loved it so much too.”

The little girl buried her head in her knees and her shoulders shook with soft sobs. Charlotte fought against the lump at the back of her throat, trying to stay strong for Amelia—for Jules. She reached over and took the girl’s hand, squeezing gently.

“It might hurt a little,” Charlotte said. “Dancing without her here. But I know for a fact she wouldn’t want you to quit doing something that made you both so happy.”

Amelia looked up, her cheeks wet, her eyes red.

“We’ll start with something small. Warm-ups maybe. What do you think?”

Amelia nodded.

“Yeah?”

The nodding continued as Charlotte pulled the little girl to her feet.

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