“Want to dance with me?” I asked softly. “Like I said, it’s my favorite.”
I fully expected Nash to tell me no, to say that he needed to leave, but he didn’t. Instead, he straightened up and opened his arms to me.
Easing closer to him, I closed my eyes and rested my cheek against his chest, both of us swaying gently to the music.
We didn’t move out of the shadows. Our dance was more of an undulating embrace; Nash’s hands stayed still on my back, and I focused only on the tripping beat of his heart under my ear.
When the song ended, I pulled back, gazing up into his face. He was watching me, but his eyes had shuttered, and I could no longer see the longing there.
“You need to get back to work. Everyone will be missing you. I should go.” He’d released me and stepped away. “See you tomorrow.”
We never mentioned that night again. The next day in class, Nash had been his typical friendly self, and I had tucked away the memory, knowing that examining it too closely would force me to make a difficult choice.
Nash hadn’t said anything about our dance at the reunion or in Burton. I wondered if he had forgotten that night, and that the inclusion of the song in his text to me was a fluke, until my phone buzzed again.
Nash:Our first dance.
I was sitting in my living room, curled up in my favorite cozy chair, when that last text came through. I blinked back tears, one hand covering my mouth, as I looked at the words.
He remembered.
I was trying to come up with a suitable response—either a song or something else—when I heard the back door open and close and the sound of heels on my tile. Seconds later, Charlie sauntered into the sitting room.
“Hey, Momma, I hope you don’t mind that I—” She stopped, staring down at me with a troubled expression on her face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I hurriedly dashed away the tears. “I’m fine. Everything’s good.”
“No, it isn’t.” She kicked off her heels—like mother, like daughter—and sank down to sit at my feet. “Seriously, Mom. What is going on? Gram and I have been worried about you. I know you say your health is fine, and nothing else is wrong, but this isn’tyou. You’re not the person who goes around moping and distracted . . . and then I find you sitting alone, crying. I’ve been patient long enough. I want to know what the hell is going on, and I want to know now.”
“Charlie.” I laid my phone face-down on my lap. “I said I’m fine. I said it’s nothing.”
“But that is clearly not true.” She was wearing her cross-examination face. “Why don’t you want to be honest with me?”
“Charlotte Marguerite Rivers.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Do I respect your privacy? If I ask you a question, and you give me an answer, do I ever hound you to tell me more?”
She had the good grace to look uncomfortable. “No. You don’t.”
“Then don’t you think you could have the courtesy to do the same for me?”
Charlie opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, I heard a quick knock at the front door followed by Peg’s voice calling hello.
“We’re in the sitting room, Gram!” Charlie called. “I found Mom crying here when I stopped by.”
I rolled my eyes. “I was not crying. I had tears in my eyes because—well, it was for reasons that matter only to me, but I wasn’t sobbing into my pillow.” I glared at Charlie.
“Oh.” Peg sat down on the end of the love seat. “Well, Charlie, if your mother says that she’s all right, and she says that she doesn’t want to talk about anything, we have to trust her, and respect her privacy.”
Charlie glanced from her grandmother to me, her brow furrowed. “But she’s acting all weird, and we don’t know why, and what if she needs us?”
“Charlotte, she’s a grown woman. You need to lay off.”
Charlie scowled, reminding me of the face she used to make when she was a toddler. I knew it was frustrating that something in her world wasn’t adding up; she hated anything that didn’t make sense or that she couldn’t understand. With a sigh, I sank back in my chair and stretched out my legs.
“All right.” I tossed up my hands. “I’ll tell you what’s going on. But I want to lay a few ground rules before I do. I don’t want either of you to push me to tell you more than I want. I don’t want your opinions or your judgement. Am I clear?”
Peg smiled at me. “Of course, dear.”
Charlie wasn’t so sure. “But what if I have questions?”
