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We watched her slip away after Sophie was born until she was lost. She didn’t fight the divorce, didn’t fight custody, and like the trusting fool he was, Cole not only started paying her, but allowed her visitation. So when they finally went to court, he had no way out. He’d set a precedent, and the judge ruled to uphold that, so long as she followed the rules and kept herself out of trouble. So she did. Except when she didn’t. And the cycle would begin again, ending with her doing what the court ordered in the way of rehab and drug tests and the like so she could not only keep seeing Sophie unsupervised, but maintain the money Cole sent.
Sweet Sophie was caught in the middle of the mess, a daily source of pain and helplessness for her father and uncles. So if she wanted to dance, I’d see that she would.
Honky-tonk filled the room, and townsfolk moved around the dance floor like a bubbling river, just like they had for a hundred years and more. It was a tradition, these town hall dances, dating back to a time when the hitching posts outside were the only form of parking. And up on the stage were a pack of Blum women, just as they had been since those same times.
Jo stood at the microphone in the center of the stage with an acoustic guitar, with Poppy behind her on the drums and their mother on the stand-up bass. Their cousin Presley played guitar on one side of Jo, and on the other, with a fiddle under her chin, was Daisy.
Her hair was up in a pretty bun on top of her head, her bangs a little long and thick enough that you couldn’t see her forehead, a curtain to hide behind. Those eyes I knew to be the brightest of blues were trained on an unfocused spot on the edge of the stage, her bowed lips forever smiling at the corners. Occasionally, those lips would part, and out would come a velvety harmony made with her family, rich and warm and painfully lovely.
A tug of my hand snapped my attention back to Sophie.
“Come on, Uncle Keaton.”
“Sorry, squirt,” I said, following her to the edge of the dance floor and then into the fray without so much as a pause.
She whipped herself around and took my hand, resting her hand on my waist before taking off, just like we had a thousand times. Because Sophie loved to two-step and forced her uncles to participate regularly. I was the only one lucky enough to have my hair brushed, braided, and bowed, though, thanks to its length. I’d almost cut it, but in the end, I couldn’t bear to. She’d have been devastated.
Off we went around the dance floor, stepping and spinning to the sound of her giggles and Dolly Parton. My hands were low so she could maintain her form, one with her hand in it, the other behind her shoulder, and enough space between us to move freely.
It took a minute to remember that everybody was staring, and not at Sophie. She was a regular fixture at these sorts of things.
I was not.
Sophie noticed too, but where I was annoyed and uncomfortable, she snickered.
“The ladies are all watchin’ you, Uncle Keaton.”
“Didn’t notice.”
“I think they want to dance with you.”
“Too bad I already have a dance partner.”
She had a funny look on her face, the kind she gets when she’s keeping a secret.
My eyes narrowed. “What?”
“Nothin’,” she said innocently, which was how I knew for sure it was bullshit. She glanced up at the stage as we passed. “The Blum sisters are pretty, aren’t they? I wish I could sing like that.”
I snuck a glance at the stage without really meaning to. Daisy’s gaze tangled with mine for the briefest moment, just a flicker that I felt all the way down to my toes.
“I bet they’d let you sing with them, if you asked,” I offered.
“Oh, I’m no good. I don’t think I could sing in front of everybody.”
“But you could dance.”
At that, she lit up again, her attention off the Blums. “I could dance. ‘Specially if I ever get my pointe shoes.”
“You’re gonna clomp all over the house in them like a baby deer when you get them, aren’t you?”
She shrugged. “Probably.”
I chuckled, and as the song ended, we came to a stop and clapped. Jo thanked everybody and announced a break before a Patsy Cline song came on over the speakers, and the dance floor came alive again.
But Sophie grabbed my hand with both of hers and started pulling me toward the bar. Because yes, there was a bar in our town hall. I was pretty sure they only used it for events like this, but I’d been wrong before.
