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We sat through routine after routine. A girl in royal blue, one in lavender, one in red, another in a rich green…. Ryan was fast asleep in his seat on the other side of Maddi before long at all. I on the other hand, was amazed at first. I couldn’t begin to comprehend how those girls could jump and spin like that without falling right over. After the first few girls, though, I realized that each one was doing almost the exact same routine and quickly lost interest.
My skin had long since begun to prickle with the wicked chill in the air. The room couldn’t have been more than fifty degrees Fahrenheit and I was not dressed for it. Goosebumps had entirely covered my skin early on in the performance and after the amazement with the recital began to wear off, the cold became more obvious to me. Soon all I was thinking about was pretending I wasn’t on the verge of hypothermia. I tried to control the shivering and keep the chills to a minimum, but it was not easy. I crossed my arms over my chest and crossed my legs, even hooking one ankle behind my calf to try and conserve body heat. It wasn’t working.
Once, I shivered and Frost turned to me. “Are you cold?” he whispered.
“I’m fine,” I whispered back. Frost shook his head and slid closer in his seat, beckoning me to do the same. I hesitated at first, then scooted from the center of my seat closer to Frost, who put his arm around my shoulder. At first, I stiffened, then slowly relaxed, warm in his embrace. His hand rested on my shoulder, warm on my icy skin. Slowly, gently, his fingers stroked up and down my upper arm, warming my skin and dispelling the goosebumps the cold had brought on, raising new ones. “If it’s any consolation to you,” he whispered. “You look beautiful, even if it’s not practical.” At this I smiled, but didn’t look at him because I didn’t want him to know I didn’t believe him.
The curtain fell, then rose again. This time, the spotlight found a china-doll girl with curly blond hair and a white and silver outfit. As the music began, she held a classic ballerina pose: on toe, with one leg stretched back and curled up, face raised upward, fingertips not quite touching the set of toes raised towards the sky. By the pose, I could tell Trina’s routine would be anything but the cookie-cutter routine all the other girls had done. The lyrics began, sung by a haunting female voice. Slowly, Trina lowered her leg and arms, curling over, then sprung slowly up as if coming to life as the background music joined the lyrics. Gently, she turned and ever so slowly, perfectly, spun in a pirouette that continued, carrying her across the stage. As the music grew stronger, Trina’s dance grew bolder. Spinning, leaping through the air…always though, she stayed on the very tips of her toes, fingertips stretched outward perfectly, face displaying a dreamy expression.
I was in awe and pure amazement. She’d been worried about messing up? The girl was grace incarnate, pure and innocent beauty on toe, an artist. Throughout the dance, I kept wondering: how can this be an eleven-year-old girl? She danced like a professional. She must have truly been a prodigy, as Frost had said she was.
As Trina danced, the lyrics caught hold in my mind every now and then.‘…then my world was shattered. Wishing you were somehow here again. Wishing you were somehow near. Sometimes it seemed if I just dreamed, somehow you would be here. Wishing I could hear your voice again, knowing that I never would….’ The haunted voice struck a chord with me and I automatically felt myself thinking of my family. Wishing they were somehow here again.
Once, I looked over at Frost and frowned, whispering to him, “Are you crying?”
Frost swallowed hard, trying to fight it, but I could see the wetness in his eyes. “Do you know where this song is from?”
“No.”
“It’s fromThe Phantom of the Opera. Christine, the singer, is seeking guidance from her dead father. She’s in love with two men, one of which is the Phantom of the Opera. His face and past are disfigured, making him unable to gain any remote form of compassion. He gave her everything he valued, the key to his music, because he loved her beyond imagination. But he knows he can never have her because of this other man she loves that he knows she’ll choose over him. Finally, he lets her go with the other man because he loves her too much to make her choose. He loves her too much to make her suffer by being with him.” At this, Frost’s eyes met mine in the darkness. “Trina chose this piece for my sister.”
“Maddi?”
“No.”
No? If not Maddi, then whom? Frost swallowed back more tears and looked back towards the stage, whispering under his breath, “I’ll explain later.”
On that note, the performance ended. Cheers and applause exploded from the crowd as the lights went up and Trina bowed low, then curtsied. Frost and I stood, cheering loudly. Frost rushed to the edge of the stage, roses in hand. Trina blushed and took the roses from her brother with a wide smile, giving him a hug around the neck. I didn’t need a camera. That image of Frost and Trina would last longer than a Polaroid in my mind.
But Frost didn’t explain what he had said about his sister.
----
After the recital, we all returned to the manor, where Frost and I would be spending the night. The children, excited by Trina’s success at the recital and by the novelty of their father being home, hurried in a frenzy up the stairs with the intent of changing clothes and then bringing down some of the Christmas decorations from the attic. The Aarons had never decorated for Christmas, never even had a tree, so it was a new concept to me. Mr. Frost followed the kids good-humoredly, parting with Mrs. Frost at the staircase when she started towards the kitchen.
Frost and I ascended to the second floor, where he led me to a set of double oak doors. He said nothing, only opened one of the doors wide and held it for me. Slowly, I went ahead of him and stepped into a massive library. It had floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked a garden in the courtyard, but every other inch of wall space was occupied by fully-stocked bookshelves. The ceiling was vaulted and cathedralic, allowing for the rise of the bookcases to a height of twenty some feet. Ladders were leaned against bookcases at intervals to offer access to the higher shelves. A plush living room set was arranged before a large fireplace that Frost stoked absent-mindedly after he had let the door fall shut again. “I thought you’d like this room,” he said quietly. “It’s my favorite as well.”
I tore my gaze from the seemingly endless collection of books and met his smoldering gaze. “Why did you bring me here, Frost?” I asked quietly.
He stepped towards me and gently took my hands, turning my arms slowly over. Internally, I squirmed as his eyes locked on my hidden scars. In a way that was more intimate than a kiss, he rubbed the make-up away with his thumbs, then bent to kiss my scars. “You don’t have to hide these from me. They’re not what I see. If anything, they make you even more beautiful.”
I took a shaky breath as he raised his head again to look at me, his hands not leaving mine. “I wish you wouldn’t say things like that,” I whispered.
“Why?” his voice was husky, and though it had a hint of sadness to it, there was also desire.
“Because no matter how many times you say it, it will never be true. And if you are really attracted to me, you’re only hurting yourself.” I tried to soften the words with a gentle tone, but I couldn’t be sure if I had succeeded. I only knew that Frost didn’t seem hurt, as if I had told him something cruel that he already knew too well.
“Poe,” he said. “You are beautiful and I wish you knew that I don’t care if I’m hurting myself by doing this. I just want to be with you.”
I stared up into his ice-blue eyes for a long time, fighting to produce words, but finally gasped, “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything.” For a long moment, we just looked into each others’ eyes. He seemed like he was waiting for something and I did not know what, but as the seconds ticked by, I gradually became very aware of his hands on mine, warm and strong and so gentle. It was as though I could physically feel the steel wall inside me breaking down and for a moment I wasn’t sure whether I was going to burst into tears or kiss him. I didn’t have a chance to do either. He must have learned a change in my face that came when the wall would come down, because as soon as I knew I was free and broken, he closed his eyes and kissed me softly on my lips. It was a kiss of a moment, but after he’d pulled away a fraction of an inch, I kissed him back hesitantly.
Cautiously, Frost released my hands and wrapped his arms around me, cradling me against his chest as we kissed. I let the tension drain from my shoulders and spine and melted into his embrace, allowing my palms to flatten over his chest. With each deepening kiss, I felt the trials weighing on my mind fall away, as if the chains connecting them to me were shattering. Justin’s warning and the bullet in his shoulder, Mr. Aaron’s arrest, Nina Faucett, Edgar Allan Poe, even Lex, all of them fell free.
Without breaking the kiss, Frost guided me to the couch and sat, pulling me down with him onto his lap. I bent my knees to one side of him and let him pull me close, his hands brushing over my hair, wandering along my sides and back. I sighed and pulled myself closer, twisting so that my side and chest were pressed against his body, my hands moving so my arms were over his shoulders, my fingers in his wild blond hair. His left hand wandered low to the curve of my hip and I wished there was more of a curve there. But he didn’t seem to mind my thin, bony body. He held me like a precious china doll, as if he were afraid to break a bone but could not resist touching me.
The hand not cupping my hip slowly slid up my side and at an angle across my chest. I sighed shakily as his hand moved horizontally across, perhaps only an inch below my breasts. He slowed the kiss and paused with his hand in the center of my chest, as if to ask if that was okay. I shivered in a foreign, not unpleasant way and the kiss quickly became more desperate. His hand slid softly up between my breasts and skimmed across my bare upper chest, along the low collar of the white blouse I wore. His fingertips brushed my shoulder and collarbone, then moved downward again. At the collar, he paused for only a moment, but it was almost as if he knew what was coming.
