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She braced the heels of her hands in the small of her back to cool down from her run. Her body glistened with sweat. She wore black shorts, a bright blue racerback top, and she’d pulled her hair into a twisted ponytail far more stylish than Blue’s haphazard arrangement.
He needed to get into the shower. He needed to be by himself. He needed to talk to Blue, who understood everything. Instead, he pushed the handle on the French doors and quietly stepped out onto the porch.
The temperature had already hit the mid-eighties, but the tiles were cool against his bare feet. April had her back to him. He’d moved the chairs last night when he’d hosed down the porch, and she was pushing them under the table again. He walked over to the CD player that sat on a black wrought-iron baker’s rack. He didn’t bother to check which of April’s albums was in the changer. If it belonged to his mother, it would be right. He hit the button.
April whirled around as music blared from the small speakers. Her lips parted in surprise. She took in his muddy appearance and started to say something, but he spoke first. “Do you want to dance?”
She stared at him. Agonizing seconds ticked by. He couldn’t think of anything else to say, so he began to move to the beat. His feet, his hips, his shoulders. She stood frozen. He held out his hand, but his mother—this woman who lived to dance when ordinary mortals could only walk—his mother had forgotten how to move.
“You can do it,” he whispered.
She drew an unsteady breath, the sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh. Then she arched her spine, lifted her arms, and gave herself up to the music.
They danced until sweat dripped from their bodies. From rock to hip-hop, they showed off their moves, each trying to outdo the other. Strands of hair stuck to April’s neck, and muddy streaks trickled down his bare legs onto the tiles. As they danced, he remembered this wasn’t the first time. They’d danced when he was a kid. She’d pull him away from video games or TV, sometimes even from his breakfast if she’d gotten in late. He’d forgotten there were good times, too.
Right in the middle of a song, the music abruptly snapped off. A crow squawked in the silence. They turned to see a cranky Riley standing by the silent CD player, her hands on her hips. “It’s too loud!”
“Hey, turn that back on,” April said.
“What are you guys doing? It’s lunchtime, not dance time.”
“Any time is dance time,” Dean said. “What do you think, April? Should we let baby sister dance with us?”
April stuck her nose in the air. “I doubt she could keep up.”
“I can keep up,” Riley said. “But I want to eat lunch. And you guys smell.”
Dean gave April a shrug. “She can’t keep up.”
Riley’s forehead wrinkled in outrage. “Who says?”
Dean and April stared at her. Riley glowered back. Then she snapped the music back on, and they all danced together.
Chapter Twenty-three
Blue swiped a highlighting blush across her cheekbones. The soft pink complemented her glossy new lipstick and darker mascara. She’d also used a little kohl liner along her lash line and some smoky eye shadow. She looked great.
Big deal. This was about pride, not beauty. She had something to prove to Dean before she drove away from Garrison.
As she left the bathroom, she spotted the empty pregnancy test kit she’d stuffed in the wastebasket yesterday morning after Dean had left. She wasn’t pregnant. Excellent. Very, very excellent. She couldn’t be responsible for a child, not with her vagabond’s lifestyle. She’d probably never have a baby, and that was fine. At least she’d never make a child go through what she’d experienced. Still, she felt a new emptiness inside her. One more thing she’d have to get over.
She headed for Nita’s room. The hem of the sundress she’d bought for the party brushed her knees. It was sunshine yellow with a ruffled hem and a corset top that made the most of her bustline.
Her new purple sandals had satin ankle ribbons tied in delicate bows. The bright purple accents from the sandals and the amethyst-colored earrings Dean had given her provided a funky urban edge to the dress’s ultrafemininity.
Nita was doing a last-minute primp in front of her mirror. With her big blond wig, diamond chandelier earrings, and billowy pastel caftan, she looked like a parade float sponsored by a senior citizens’ bordello, but somehow she managed to carry it off. “Let’s go, Sunshine,” Blue said from the doorway. “And remember to act surprised.”
“All I have to do is look at you,” Nita said as she took Blue in from head to toe.
“It was time, that’s all.”
“Past time.” As Blue came nearer, Nita reached out and fluffed a wisp of Blue’s hair. “If you’d listened to me, you’d have let Gary cut it like this long ago.”
“If I’d listened to you, I’d be a blonde.”
Nita sniffed. “Just a thought.”
Gary had been itching to get his hands on Blue’s hair since the night they’d met at the Barn Grill. Once he had her in his chair, he’d drastically shortened the length to just past her earlobes, snipped a set of peek-a-boo bangs that highlighted her eyes, and cut a hullabaloo of short layers this way and that around her face. The cut was way too cute for Blue’s comfort, but necessary all the same.
