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When she was done, she took one last look at the murals and saw them for what they were. Sentimental bullshit.
Chapter Twenty-two
Dean stood at the edge of the path. They were dancing. All three of them. Behind the cottage, under the stars, with music blaring from a boom box sitting on the back steps. As he watched his father, he saw the genetic source of his own athleticism. He’d seen Jack dance in videos as well as at a live concert he’d been forced to attend with his college teammates. But observing him like this was different. He remembered some lamebrained rock critic comparing Jack’s dancing with Mick Jagger’s, but Jack had none of that androgynous slink and strut. He was all power.
Riley, who should have been in bed, circled Jack, her movements clumsy, but filled with a puppy dog energy that would have made Dean smile if he hadn’t been so unhappy.
April danced barefoot. A long, gauzy skirt twisted around her hips. She arched her spine and lifted her hair. As her lips formed a sensuous pout, he saw the reckless, self-destructive mother of his childhood, enslaved by the gods of rock and roll.
Riley ran out of breath and collapsed in the grass next to the dog. Jack and April locked eyes. He answered her shimmy with some industrial grind. The porch light bounced off her bangles. They kicked it up, moving as if they’d been dancing together for years. April strutted, her lips forming small, moist pillows. Jack gave her a rocker’s sneer.
Dean wouldn’t have come here at all tonight if April hadn’t stopped answering his e-mails a few days ago. Now he was watching the people who’d conceived him get it on right before his eyes. What a perfect ending to a shit hole day. Courtney had been a clingy pain in the ass, and he’d been glad when the women had dragged her back to Nashville to shop. The guys had hung around for a while. For too long. Dean had needed to get to Blue, but by the time he reached Nita Garrison’s house, the windows were dark. He’d climbed the balcony anyway, but the doors were locked, and Blue’s bed lay empty on the other side of the glass panes. He felt a searing flash of pain before sanity returned. She wouldn’t leave until after Nita’s party on Saturday. Tomorrow he’d set things right, or as right as they could be.
Nothing had been the same since their Fourth of July hiking trip. Something had gone wrong in that goofy little sex game they’d played. At first, it had all been sexy fun, watching Blue’s comic attempts at pretending to be a terrorized female. But at the end, when they’d clung together, a well of tenderness had grown inside him, and something had shifted. Something he wasn’t ready to look at too closely.
Riley caught her second wind and joined the dancing again. Dean stood outside the pool of light. Separate from them. Just the way he wanted it.
Jack moved toward Riley, and she started showing off for him, rolling out her entire repertoire of eager, awkward moves. April grinned and danced away. Her skirt swirled. She cocked her head. Spun. And that was when she saw Dean.
With losing a beat, she held out her hand.
He stood immobile. She danced closer, moving her arm, luring him into their circle.
He felt frozen, dizzy, a prisoner of his DNA. The music, the dance drew him to a place he didn’t want to be. Those double helix strands of genetic matter imbedded inside him were a hereditary package he’d channeled into sports, but now those ladderlike structures wanted to draw him back to the source. To the dance.
His father jived.
His mother beckoned.
He turned away from them both and strode off to the farmhouse.
Jack laughed when April suddenly stopped dancing. “Look, Riley. We’re too much for her.”
Jack hadn’t seen Dean. April made herself smile. Jack and Riley were learning to have fun together, and she wouldn’t spoil it with her own sadness. “I’m thirsty,” she said. “I’ll get us something to drink.” When she reached the kitchen, she closed her eyes. It was pain she’d seen on Dean’s face, not contempt. He’d wanted to join them—she could feel it—but he hadn’t been able to take that first step.
She got busy pouring orange juice for herself and Riley. She couldn’t control Dean’s feelings, only her own. Let go and let God. She poured an iced tea for Jack. He’d want a beer, but he was out of luck. She hadn’t expected him to show up at the cottage tonight. She and Riley had been sitting in the backyard talking about boys and listening to an old Prince album when he’d appeared. Before she knew it, they were all dancing.
She and Jack had always been a perfect match that way. They had the same style and energy. Under the spell of the music, she didn’t have to think about the folly of being fifty-two years old and still fascinated with Jack Patriot. The music shifted to a ballad. She carried the drinks outside and paused on the steps as Jack tried to pull Riley into a slow dance.
“But I don’t know how,” she protested.
“Stand on my feet.”
“I can’t do that! I’m too big. I’ll squish your toes.”
“A scrawny chicken like you? My toes will be just fine. Come on. Hop up.” He pulled her into his arms, and she gingerly placed her bare feet on top of his sneakers. She looked so small next to him. So pretty with her curly hair, bright eyes, and golden skin. April had fallen in love with her.
She sat down on the steps and watched. When she was a kid, she’d seen a girl her age dance like that with her father. April’s own father had treated her as an inconvenience, and she remembered locking herself in a bathroom stall so no one would see her cry. But she’d gotten even with him when she was older. She’d found all kinds of boys to give her the love he’d denied. One of them had been Jack Patriot.
Riley had a good sense of rhythm and finally felt confident enough to get off his feet and try the steps on her own. Jack kept it simple. At the end, he twirled her and told her she was a champ, leaving Riley looking giddy and proud. April served their drinks. When they finished, Jack announced it was past Riley’s bedtime and took her back to the farmhouse. April was too restless to go inside, so she brought out a blanket and lay down to watch the stars. Blue was planning to leave in four days, Dean in a week and a half, and she’d be going back to L.A. right after. Once she got there, she’d bury herself in work and draw strength from knowing she’d finally learned to keep her soul intact.
“Dean’s at the house with Riley,” that familiar whiskey-gravel voice said. “I didn’t abandon her.”
She looked up and saw Jack coming toward her across the grass. “I thought you’d turned in for the night.”
“I’m not that old.” He went to the boom box and sorted through the CDs lying on the step next to it. Lucinda Williams began singing “Like a Rose.” He returned to the blanket and reached down for her. “Dance with me.”
“Bad idea, Jack.”
