Could I Have This Dance? Read online

  She had hoped to slip in quietly, unrecognized, and surprise Clay, but knew there was little chance of that. The second best thing would be to find her brother, say a few quiet hellos to the regulars, and eat breakfast in peace, without anyone making a big deal out of her visit. Mike Martin spoiled that. He was on his feet as soon as he saw her.

  “Well, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.” His grin was wide, his voice loud, and his arms open.

  “Hi, Mike,” she said quietly, wincing as she accepted his hug.

  Mike passed her to his brother, who seemed embarrassed to make such a display. Larry gripped her hand and mumbled, “Heard you were up in Brighton at school. You a nurse now, or what?”

  “What,” she responded with a wink.

  Dr. Jimmy Jenkins, one of Claire’s biggest fans, joined in before Larry released her. “Dr. McCall, I believe? Is it really you?” He chuckled. “You should hear your mother brag.”

  “Hi, Doc.” She dropped Larry’s hand and threw her arms around Dr. Jenkins, noting the faint, familiar scent of iodine antiseptic. Claire had worked as a receptionist at Dr. Jenkins’ clinic before attending Brighton University, and she’d kept in touch with him—less often since starting medical school, but she knew she could count on his encouragement. In fact, he was the only voice in Stoney Creek, outside of her own mother, that had encouraged her to pursue a medical career.

  For as long as she’d known him, he’d smelled the same. She inhaled purposefully, enjoying the memories his clinical fragrance invoked: watching Dr. Jenkins sew up a lacerated child; filing away thick patient folders; studying physical exams, lab values, and X-ray reports for the stories of illness they provided.

  “You’ve made us all so proud.” He pushed her back to arm’s length and smiled.

  She knew that was an exaggeration. Most of Stoney Creek, if they knew she was off studying medicine at all, were like Larry, who thought she was in nursing.

  She glanced over Dr. Jenkins’ shoulder to her brother, who sat motionless, still slumped over his coffee. “Thanks, Doc.” She shrugged. “I just came by to say good-bye. I’m leaving for Lafayette this morning.”

  He shook his head. “Always aiming for the top.”

  “I guess.” She began to edge away, wanting to talk to Clay.

  Doc Jenkins patted her hand gently. “Be careful, Claire. And watch out for Dr. Rogers.”

  “You know him? Tom Rogers?” She referred to the renowned chairman of the surgery department at Lafayette General Hospital—and director of the American Health Institute. Under Dr. Rogers’ iron tutelage, the department had scavenged more grant money for medical research than the Rochester Mayo Clinic and Harvard combined.

  He lowered his already soft voice. “I didn’t spend my whole life in Stoney Creek, Claire. I went to med school with Tom.” He smiled. “Johns Hopkins, class of sixty-five.”

  “I never imagined that you—”

  “He never liked women, Claire, at least not women doctors.”

  “Times have changed, Doc. You can’t believe that, in this day and age, he thinks that—”

  He interrupted her with a squeeze of her hand. “Maybe you’re right. That was a long time ago.” He looked over his shoulder at Clay and motioned his head. “I’ll let you go.” He paused. “Nice to see you again.”

  Claire nodded without speaking, then watched as he laid a five-dollar bill on his table and turned to leave. She waved at the mayor, smiled again at the Martin brothers, and walked to the counter.

  Mr. Knitter set a steaming mug of coffee in front of her and smiled without speaking. His eyes were on Clay, who was drawing a line through the pancake syrup on his plate.

  Claire sat and lifted the coffee to her lips. She knew better than to ask for French vanilla creamer here. “Morning, Bro.”

  Clay kept his eye on his plate, continuing to stir the syrup with his fork. “Mom said you weren’t coming.”

  “Surprise.”

  He stayed silent, leaving Claire to sip her coffee and swivel back and forth on the bar stool.

  “I wanted to say good-bye.” She hesitated. “I wish I’d seen you yesterday, after the grad. I—I just couldn’t bring myself to face Dad.” She huffed. “Not like he looked yesterday.”

  Clay squared off and looked at his twin. “He looked good yesterday. At least until you refused to see him.”

  “Clay, I saw him. He couldn’t even walk a straight line to find his seat.”

  Clay sighed, massaging his temples. He looked hung over, with dark circles beneath his eyes and his chin unshaven. “You’ve been away too long.” He shook his head. “That was the best he’s looked in weeks. He hasn’t been out of the house since Uncle Leon’s wedding.”

  “What was that, four months ago?”

  “Six.” He paused. “Since Grandpa died, I don’t think he’s even spoken to Grandma. I was kind of hoping that this graduation thing of yours would be an excuse for them to mend some fences.”

  The thought of her father staying in their little house, week after week, seemed beyond depressing. She waited, hoping Clay would admit that it was an exaggeration. He didn’t.

  She swiveled the bar stool toward her brother. “You’ve been drinking.”

  “I was toasting your success, Sis.” He looked away. “Somebody had to celebrate, since you didn’t care to.”

  Before she could reply, he changed the subject. “You hurt him, you know.”

  She was incredulous. “Dad?”

  He nodded.

  “He hurt me!”

  “He wanted to see you. All the way to Brighton he couldn’t shut up about how great you’ve been. Claire this, Claire that. Wonderful Claire. Claire, the honors medical graduate.” He smirked. “Until you snubbed him.”

  “He shouldn’t have been drinking!”

  “You made him drink. He didn’t have anything until after the graduation. Then your snotty departure and Grandma’s talk about the town curse were enough to send him on a binge.”

  “Don’t even start that town curse stuff with me. I’m a scientist. Medical doctors don’t believe in—”

  “I’m not saying I believe it,” he huffed. “But Grandma sure is nutty about it.” He shook his head. “If she’d seen him over the past year, his appearance wouldn’t have come as such a surprise. As it was, she couldn’t seem to stop talking about that stupid curse.”

  The duo looked up as Mr. Knitter approached and refilled their mugs with coffee.

  Claire slid the mug back toward her. “Thanks.”

  “Any breakfast this morning?”

  She had lost her appetite. “Um, no thanks, Mr. Knitter.” She forced a smile. “Coffee’s fine.”

  She watched him retreat to the grill before lowering her voice. “I wasn’t born yesterday, Clay. Dad looked ripped at the ceremony.”

  “He always looks like that anymore, even when he’s not drinking.” He shrugged. “To tell you the truth, alcohol doesn’t seem to have that much effect on him.”

  “All alcoholics build up a tolerance.”

  “Whatever.”

  “If he wasn’t drunk, how do you explain his behavior?”

  “Maybe he’s just fried his brains with the stuff.” Clay took a sip of coffee, then rubbed his head again, squinting at his watch. He chuckled and added sarcastically, “Or maybe it’s the Stoney Creek curse.” He yawned. “You should have heard Grandma. She railed about the curse halfway up North Mountain, until Dad exploded and made her be quiet.” He stood up. “I gotta go. I’m on first shift at the cabinet shop.”

  Claire sighed. This wasn’t exactly how she wanted to say good-bye. “I guess I’ll see you around.” She paused. “I’m going up to see Dad. Maybe apologize.”

  Clay shook his head. “Not a good idea. You had your chance to say good-bye yesterday.”

  “I’ll just stop in and—”

  He took her arm and squeezed. “Trust me. Mornings are not Dad’s time. He won’t want to be surprised. If you want to apologize, wri
te a letter.”

  “But I want to see—”

  “I’ve got to go,” Clay interrupted. “Do not drop in on Dad unannounced. It won’t be a pretty sight.” With that, he dropped her arm and pivoted on the heels of his cowboy boots. “Bye, Sis.” He walked a few steps away before turning. “Oh, and congratulations.”

  She watched him disappear through the cafe’s front door and wondered how twins could turn out so different. He seemed content with small-town life and the work of a small cabinet shop. She wanted so much more. She was called to do more, and she cared enough to do something about it.

  She turned to see Ralph Knitter setting down a plate of steaming blueberry pancakes.

  “Mr. Knitter, I—”

  He cut off her protest. “You’ve got to eat. It’s on the house.” He smiled. “Say, Doc, do you mind looking at this mole?” He started to roll up his sleeve, then laughed when she leaned forward to take a better look. He pulled his arm away. “Just kidding, Claire. But get used to it. Now that you’re a doctor, everyone will want advice.”

  She smiled, then looked at the pancakes. “Thanks, Mr. Knitter.”

  He held out his hand. “Go ahead. It’s what you used to order, back when you worked for Doc Jenkins.”

  “You remember everything.”

  He winked. “It’s my business to remember.” He was right. If there was information to be had about Stoney Creek, Mr. Knitter knew it. “Say, Claire, I don’t mean to be butting into your family business, but I couldn’t help overhearing.” He gestured toward the door where Clay had just disappeared. “Not everything in life can be explained by science. I’ve seen enough around here to believe in the curse.”

  She shook her head. “Not you too.”

  Mr. Knitter glanced toward the grill where another order of pancakes bubbled. To Claire’s relief, he had to excuse himself.

  Claire sighed and wished she had an appetite. She stabbed at the pancakes and questioned her resolve to visit Stoney Creek. She wanted to return to say good-bye, to leave on peaceful terms with her family, to create a happy ending for her graduation weekend. She cringed. As if peaceful terms were possible with her dysfunctional relatives.

  Early this morning, this had seemed like such a good idea. Last night, John had seemed to think so too. But now, she’d not even gotten home and she was already facing a myriad of stupid, small-town rumors. Each time she visited, the town seemed to shrink a little more—at least in Claire’s opinion, in how she valued it as her hometown. The further Claire progressed in her education, the further behind Stoney Creek seemed to fall. Maybe it was time to just move along. Fix her eyes upon her goal of becoming a surgeon and forget the past.

  She drained her mug and checked her watch. Her father should be up by now. She’d come this far. She might as well see her plan through.

  She paid for the coffee and walked to her car, trying to push her brother’s warning from her mind. Do not drop in on Dad unannounced. It won’t be a pretty sight.

  By the time Claire pulled into the gravel lane leading to her parents’ home, she had changed her mind about visiting six more times. She had traveled from Fisher’s Retreat past Ashby High School and on into Stoney Creek, bombarded with images from her childhood. Playing in the river. Fishing with her father. High school track and volleyball, her mother never missing a game.

  With each good memory, she was sure she was doing the right thing. But then, when more recent memories collided with the past, she questioned her decision again. She remembered her father’s drunken abuses, his explosive outbursts, and the quiet way they tiptoed around when he was sleeping off a binge. She recalled a fight during Thanksgiving break in her sophomore year at Brighton and how her father had stormed out, not to return until she was gone, two days later. She thought of the broken promises, her father’s job failures, the loss of his driver’s license.

  She thought about the years when he was dry, faithfully attending AA, even attending church, and how he couldn’t praise Della enough for her patience in seeing him through.

  As she headed up the lane, she remembered the frantic way she had raced the old go-cart her father had made, up and down the gravel driveway, always competing with Clay to get the fastest time and to make her father smile. Oh, what she wouldn’t do to make him smile again.

  She pulled to a stop in the circular driveway, wondering at first whether she’d find anyone awake. Her father liked to sleep late if he didn’t have a job to go to. She slipped from the car and skipped up the cracked concrete sidewalk. At the top of the third step there was a small stoop, and she turned and stared down the long gravel lane toward the road. Rhododendron and dogwoods bloomed along the side of the hill, and the morning cloud cover was beginning to lift. She looked back toward North Mountain, whose peak was just breaking out of the clouds. Yes, she thought, coming home was a real good idea.

  Claire listened for noise inside. Satisfied that the clatter and bump she heard must be breakfast under way, she knocked rapidly.

  A moment later, the door opened slowly just a few inches and halted, before swinging wide to reveal her mother. Della stepped quickly onto the small stoop and closed the door behind her. “What on earth …,” she said haltingly, staring at her daughter.

  Claire smiled and shrugged. “Morning, Momma.”

  Della clasped her daughter’s shoulders. “What are you doing here?”

  Claire stepped back. “You asked me to come.”

  Her mother gasped, “Oh, I know that, but—well—you said you couldn’t make it. I just wasn’t expecting you is all.” She cleared her throat. “Perhaps you’d like to see the spring flowers.” Della stepped down onto the sidewalk and pointed around the side of the house.

  “They’re beautiful, Momma. But I came to see you. You and Dad. I really think I acted pretty snobbish yesterday and I wanted to say good-bye, and …”

  Her mother’s knitted brow caused Claire to stop. “Perhaps you should have given us a little warning. Your father is not a man to like surprises anymore.”

  Claire studied her mother for a moment. Her silky housecoat partially covered what appeared to be a revealing nightgown. Claire thought of her own sleeping arrangements last night, another item on a growing list of regrets from graduation weekend.

  Why was her mother wearing such a seductive outfit? Why did she seem so reluctant to invite Claire in? The way her father had been acting, who would blame her mother if she was entertaining another man? Maybe her father didn’t even live there anymore. Maybe her parents’ graduation trip together had been nothing but a charade.

  Claire went straight for the heart. “What are you hiding, Mom? Is there someone in there you don’t want me to see?”

  Della looked down at her sleepwear, then put her hands on her hips and squared off in front of her daughter. “Yes,” she said, glaring at Claire, “your father!”

  Claire felt her face flush. She shouldn’t allow herself to jump to conclusions. How could she think that her mother could be hiding anyone else? Not her mom, who seemed to be the perfect picture of a submissive wife. Claire must have been projecting her own guilt about John onto her mother. Or at least she imagined that’s what her professors in psychiatry would have thought. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. “Can I come in?”

  “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

  “You thought it was yesterday.”

  “Yesterday, I would have had a chance to prepare. Today’s a surprise. Your father may not be so presentable.” Della fumbled with the silky belt of her robe.

  “Mom, that’s who I came to see. I felt bad for running off yesterday.”

  Della lowered her eyes and blew her breath out noisily. “Yesterday, what a day that was.” She shook her head. “It was the first time in months I’ve been able to coax him out of the house.”

  “Mom, we need to get him some help.” Claire took her mother’s hand. “If he isn’t getting out at all, how is he getting the alcohol? Are you buying it fo
r him?”

  She shook her head. “Mostly Uncle Leon and a few friends, but honestly, Claire, it almost makes him bearable. It seems to take the edge off his irritability.”

  “It probably just keeps him out of DTs, Mom.”

  “He’s not interested in help. I can’t talk to him about it anymore.”

  “Can I see him?”

  Della sighed. “I don’t guess I can talk you into giving me an hour?”

  “Mom, I’m family.”

  Her mother walked back up the steps. “Come on. You’re as stubborn as he is, you know.” She pushed open the door. “Wally?” she called, lifting her voice. “Claire’s here.” She disappeared down the front hallway toward her bedroom.

  Claire glanced around the dimly lit den and kitchen. An empty bottle of Jim Beam was on the kitchen counter, and the trash can overflowed with aluminum cans. Thankfully, most of them appeared to be Mountain Dew. The refrigerator had a picture of Margo, Claire’s sister, standing next to a pony. On the pony’s back sat her two nieces, Kelly and Casey. Claire touched the picture and looked closely at her sister’s obviously pregnant abdomen. She was expecting her third girl, Kristin, any day. It was her pregnancy that had kept Margo away from Claire’s graduation. Lucky Margo. Maybe I should have stayed away from graduation, too.

  She strained to hear her parents’ conversation. Her mother’s voice was muffled, her father’s loud but garbled. Bumping noises punctuated their speech, and it sounded as if a large object hit the floor.

  She looked at the coffeemaker. The brew smelled old, the pot half-empty. Yesterday’s newspaper was open on the table, and a box of Rice Krispies was on its side, next to an empty bowl.

  Claire took a seat at the table and scanned the paper, intermittently watching the hallway and the bedroom doorway beyond. The door swung open, and her father, in boxer shorts only, appeared momentarily in the hall. Della ushered him forcefully back into the bedroom again. More bumping, crashing noises followed, and her father’s protests seemed muffled. Claire imagined a shirt being forced over his head.