Page 4 of Slow Burn
When the Christi's daughter had left to pursue her law degree in Los Angeles, Mrs. Christi had cried for days. And now she was positively beaming.
"That'll be forty-three fifty, please."
"I hear Sharon is making quite the name for herself." Out of nowhere, my dad sidled in beside me, resting one arm on the countertop. I kept my attention on the money the older woman had handed me rather than listen to her and my father talk about how wonderful Mrs. Christi's daughter was.
Not that I had anything against Sharon; she was quite lovely. My issue came with what happened whenever my father heard success stories like the one Mrs. Christi was happily chattering on about.
"Ah, yes," my father drawled. "If Madison's head hadn't been so full of that dancing nonsense, she too might've had her degree now." Laughing as if he hadn't just broken my heart in two, my dad gripped my shoulder and gave me a playful shake. "Ain't that right?"
I tried to smile; I really did, but my mouth refused to give an inch. "Right," I echoed softly and instantly cursed myself for feeling so small. Yeah, so maybe I didn't have a success story but at least I'd tried.
That had to count for something.
Across from me, Mrs. Christi gave me a sympathetic smile. I swear, I hated that even more. I didn't want people feeling sorry for me. "You two have a good day now." She gave me one last look before snatching her bag off the counter and stepping onto the sidewalk.
Once I was certain she was out of earshot, I twisted and pinned my dad with a stare. "I really wish you'd stop saying things like that."
"Like what?" He studied me as if he had no idea what I was talking about. I looked into those eyes that were thesame shade as my own and felt something inside me twist and stab. I'd always been daddy's girl until I came home one day and told him I wanted to dance.
His reaction had been startling to say the least and when he told me that I would go to business school even if he had to drag me there himself, I went.
Until…
The bell above the door dinged, alerting us to a new customer. My dad's wrinkly fingers worked back and forth over his thick, gray eyebrows. "Just do your job, Madison." The words had barely left his mouth before he turned around and ambled away.
That was pretty much how the rest of my day went, and by the time we closed the store, I was too wired to go straight home. Choosing to leave my car where it was, I walked the two blocks to the one place I knew would sooth my restless soul.
All around me people were milling about. Couples hand in hand. Families strolling to their favorite dinner spot. And there I was feeling more alone than ever. Just because my family didn't—or rather refused to—understand that my passion differed from theirs.
Right as the melancholy settled in my chest, the little dance studio I'd practiced at since I was eight came into view. Nestled between Mrs. McDower's bookstore and Mr. Purdy's trinket shop, the glass-paneled space was my own slice of heaven.
I came to a stop in front of the studio and took a moment to take it in. The wall of windows had a slight tint to them, allowing the maximum amount of light to spillinside while keeping the dancers obscured from the outside world.
Anxious to escape, I reached for the handle but before I had a grasp on it, the door flew open and the owner, Lucetta, stepped out. "Maddie. Hi." She immediately pulled me in for a hug that I had no idea I needed. One I greedily took and held on to for a few seconds longer before stepping back.
"Closing up?" I asked, eyeing the purse slung over her shoulder.
"I was supposed to leave an hour ago, but the books took a bit longer than I would have liked."
Nibbling on my lip, I nodded tentatively. As much as I needed to work the day out of my system, I didn't want to hold Lucetta up. Maybe I could take Sheldon for a walk on the beach instead.
I was about to say goodbye when she took my hand and squeezed. "What's bothering you?"
A rueful smile touched my lips. "It's just been one of those days." I didn't need to elaborate; Lucetta knew how my parents felt about me dancing. When I'd still trained with her, I'd arrived at the studio in tears more times than I'd cared to count. Her answer to those tears had always been to tell me to dance through my feelings.
"I'm sorry, honey." Her focus shifted to the keys she was fiddling with. "I wish I could tell you it gets easier, but some people are just too set in their ways." It was her turn to look sad and I knew it had something to do with her mother. She'd never told me specifics and I'd neverpried, but from the little I could gather, I knew our stories were similar.
"Here." She jerked her chin toward her hand between us. A small copper key was clutched between her thumb and index finger.
I had a pretty good idea what it was, still, I asked, "What's this?"
"You can use the studio whenever you want. Just be sure to lock up when you're done." She nudged me with the key. "And maybe spread the word about the new fitness classes twice a week?"
"You're sure you don't mind?"
"I offered, didn't I?" Lucetta grabbed my hand and set the key inside my palm and closed my fingers around it. "I've got a bottle of Merlot and a fantastic TV dinner waiting for me, so I have gotta run." Along with the meaningful stare she aimed my way, her warm hand squeezed tight over mine.
No words were needed. She understood how desperately my soul needed this. "Thank you," I breathed on a shaky exhale.
