Page 70 of Second Dance
“Morning. How’d you sleep?”
“Good. Even though I rolled over once and smacked my hand on the wall. I was afraid I woke Grace, but she didn’t move an inch.”
“If there was an Olympic category for sleeping, Grace would be a gold medalist. But she’s a bear to get up for school in the morning.”
“My dad texted that he’s coming over to get me, but something came up and he won’t be here for an hour.” She sat at the kitchen table, resting her cheek against the heel of her hand, watching me. “Do you think it’s the attorney that’s keeping him?”
“Could be.” I poured her a glass of orange juice from the pitcher on the counter. She looked better this morning—less pale, more rested, and not so jumpy. “I’m assuming he’ll tell us when he gets here.”
The doorbell rang. Glancing out the window, I saw Esme’s little car in the driveway. “That’s my friend Esme. And she has Madison with her. Do you want to meet them? She’s one of my best friends.”
“Robbie’s mom. Grace told me about everyone.”
“You’ll love Esme. Everyone does.”
I hurried to the front door to find Esme on my porch, her arms full of a wicker basket lined with a gingham cloth, the heavenly smell of muffins wafting up from inside. Beside her, Madison clutched a stuffed unicorn almost as big as she was, her brown ponytails bouncing as she beamed up at me. “Hi, Gillian.”
“Good morning, sweetie,” I said, pulling her up for a quick hug and kiss.
“We brought muffins,” Madison said. “Mom wants to know the scoop.”
“It’s true. I’m dying to know what’s going on with you.” Esme’s eyes twinkled.
“Well then, come on in.” I stepped aside, and Madison darted in like a puppy off its leash.
“Where’s Grace?” Madison asked, stopping at the stairs.
“She’ll be down in a minute. But we have a friend here. Would you like to meet her? She’s in the kitchen.”
“Sure,” Madison said, already running in that direction.
Esme gave my hand a quick squeeze as we followed the little one into the kitchen.
Madison spotted Bella at the table and stopped short, her big blue eyes widening. “Hi. I’m Madison. Do you like unicorns?” She hoisted the stuffed animal onto the table, nearly knocking over the glass of juice.
Bella blinked, then smiled. “Yeah. Doesn’t everyone?”
“No. My brother thinks there’s no such thing as unicorns.” Madison shook her head, as if it were the saddest tale ever. “He has no imagination. But I have a huge one.” Madison plopped the unicorn onto the chair beside Bella as if introducing a friend. “Her name’s Cupcake. Want to hold her? Do you want a muffin? My mom made them from a box but they’re still really good. Lila makes cupcakes from stuff in her cupboard, but Mom has a flower shop and she’s very busy.”
“I like any kind of muffin.” Bella reached out, her hand smoothing over the unicorn’s pink mane. Something in her posture loosened, the worried pinch around her mouth softening. Madison scrambled up into the chair beside her, chatting away about her collection of stuffed animals while Bella listened intently, nodding at all the right places.
Esme set the basket on the table and told the girls to help themselves. Then, she leaned against the counter, sighing. “I don’t know where she gets her energy.”
“That’s what some people say about you.” I poured her a cup of coffee and motioned for her to join me on the small balcony off the kitchen. “Let’s talk outside.”
“Great idea,” Esme said. “Girls, if you need anything, we’re out here.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Madison said, around a mouthful of muffin.
We sat in the twin chairs on the balcony that faced east, the sun rising above the hills in a flash of orange. A few of my roses had started to bloom, hosting tight, pink buds that promised full blooms soon.
“I’m sorry I’ve been kind of MIA,” I said. “This thing with Alex has taken me completely off guard.”
“Tell me everything.”
Happy to talk to someone about it, I shared the events of the last few days, keeping my voice low so the girls couldn’t hear. By the time I finished, Esme was shaking her head. “I cannot believe Darren showed up to her game.”
“It was awful. The poor kid’s so embarrassed.”
