Page 29 of Holiday Love
Chapter fourteen
Helen
I was so eager to get away from Teddy that I’m surprised when I get out on the sidewalk and find that the world seems a little too quiet, too empty. Even though there’s the usual sounds of traffic and people talking, it’s like something’s missing. I almost call the whole thing off, turn around, and head back inside, but that’s silly. How would I explain it? Instead, I ignore the strange, hollow feeling in my chest and zip up my jacket, making sure my pink leotard is covered. I head down the street to my dance studio.
Just Dance is in an old, converted warehouse, with exposed brick walls and ceilings so high they disappear into darkness. Air-conditioning ducts snake above us, gleaming silver, and huge industrial lights hang down, casting a soft glow. The back wall is lined with massive windows, cracked open just enough to letin the brine-scented ocean air. The salty breeze dries the sweat from our necks, cooling the heat that builds from movement.
This studio is my sanctuary.
The one place where I allow my body to control my mind for once, rather than the other way around. Usually I’m good at compartmentalizing, stacking my feelings in neat, clinical boxes. But recently, worry about my mom keeps breaking those boxes open, and the grief I shove down threatens to spill over.
Just Dance is run by Madame Durmar, a woman in her late sixties. Once the darling of the Paris ballet, she married a movie studio executive and settled in California years ago. Her husband has long since passed, and with no children, the studio is her home and the dancers her adopted family. Strict, known for her sharp tongue, she can be as formidable as any surgeon I’ve worked with, but she’s always been kind to me.
A year ago, when I walked in and told her I wanted to dance again, I expected her to laugh me out of the building. I imagined her pointing to the toddler class and telling me to start there, awkwardly tripping over four-year-olds.
Instead, she’d simply said,“Dance.”
She had turned on the music, and the sounds ofSwan Lakefilled the room. I’d always loved the story of the oddball swan growing and transforming into something beautiful. Without thinking, I’d lifted my arms over my head, risen onto my toes, and let the song consume me. Let it wash away my mom’s latest test results. Let it erase the horrible cases I saw in the ER every day. Let it drown out my loneliness. By the time the final note faded, sweat poured down my back and my chest heaved from exertion.
Madame studied me for a long beat before nodding. “Not bad,” she’d said in her thick French accent. “You’re rusty, but there’s something there. I will train you. I have a class for intermediateadults, such as yourself. Mostly dancers like you who did it when they were young but let their skills lapse.”
The class is small, just four of us, three women and one man. Madame gives us each roles in different ballets. We practice one routine for months until we perfect it, and then we move on to a new one. With the holidays coming up, we’re working onThe Nutcracker. I was thrilled when I got the role of Clara, the main female lead.
Tonight, I need this. I need to dance until my brain stops spinning, until my lungs can expand freely again.
I need to forget. About Teddy. My job. My mom.
This studio is safe. The outside world doesn’t matter here. Just the music and how my body responds to it.
I push open the door and stop cold.
There’s a new person at the bar, stretching. I can only see the back of her head, brown hair pinned into a bun, just like mine. The other members of the class greet me by name as I walk in. The new person turns around, and my stomach drops.
It’s Lindsey, the nurse from the ER.
The one I yelled at, right before I got suspended.
Her eyes widen in surprise. She hesitates, then lifts a hand in a small, uncertain wave.
Why her? Why here?
I grimace. I’m sure she knows all about how I got thrown out of the hospital. The entire staff probably knows about Teddy and my one-night stand. Heat rushes to my face, burning my chest, neck, and cheeks. I don’t want to talk to her, don’t want to explain why I broke the rules, why I risked everything for Teddy.
I’m not sure I completely understand it myself.
My hand twitches like I might wave back, but I don’t. Quickly, I join the line of dancers, on the opposite end of the bar from Lindsey as far away as possible. With my eyes firmly on my toes,I move through the five basic ballet positions. Madame sweeps into the room, clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention, and I sigh in relief. She won’t tolerate talking during class so there’s no way for Lindsey to ask me anything.
I’m in the clear for the next two hours.
Madame goes through our routine, Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy, slowly for Lindsey’s sake. Turns out Lindsey isn’t that bad of a dancer. I overhear her telling another student that she took ballet through college, even has a minor in the musical arts, before giving it up to pursue nursing.
I should focus, but my mind keeps drifting, wondering if Lindsey will approach me later, wondering how much she knows.
By the end of class, my legs ache and my bun now hangs in my eyes. I need to get out of here. I rush over to the wall of cubbies where we store our bags and street shoes. Balancing on one foot, I yank off my ballet slipper as fast as I can. I’m hoping to avoid talking to Lindsey, but that idea is dashed when she makes a beeline to me with a loud, “Dr. Chu! I didn’t know you were a dancer.”
Shit.
One shoe off and working on the next, I glance up and force a tight smile. “I took classes when I was a kid. Not very good but trying to get back into it.”
