So the Heart Can Dance (A Hidden Beauty Novel Book 2) Page 5

  At that point, even though Aidan was only ten and a half (for some reason he always made a huge deal of telling me about the half), he made a move to sock Rory in the midsection—or lower. He got right up in Rory’s face and yelled, “Rory Silas O’Brien! You apologize right now or I’ll tell Ma. That’s no way to talk to a lady, and you know it.”

  I was so stunned that I totally stopped crying. Rory was a lot older than Aidan and he was freakishly strong. He could lift me in overhead lifts as if I weighed less than a feather. Secondly, Rory was the golden child. His parents did not like hearing bad news about him. Even the dance instructors wouldn’t call Rory on bad behavior for fear of upsetting Mr. and Mrs. O’Brien. Aidan was risking a lot by standing up for me. Aidan O’Brien just called me a lady. How weird was that? Didn’t he just put a stink bomb in my locker last month and pop rocks in my Gatorade? I smile at the memory. He sure grew up really fine. I may have been crushing on the wrong brother all along. Who knew that tangle of gangly limbs, shiny orthodontia and coke-bottle glasses would sort itself out into this poster boy for hotness? He looks like he could easily model for Columbia Sportswear or Nike. I can tell he spends some time outdoors. Maybe he’s a runner, or he cycles. It seems like two out of three guys I meet say they do one or the other. I suspect, in most cases, it’s just a pick up line, and they really hibernate in their dorm rooms playing video games. Still, I caught a glimpse of those forearms, it is clear that Aidan has to be doing something sweat-inducing in his free time. Since Aidan looks so good, I randomly speculate whether “hunkiness” evolution works in reverse. I wonder if Rory, who once looked like he could walk off the pages of any teen idol magazine, can now use hair transplants and a tummy tuck. That would be funny, since I’ve never met anyone more in love with his own reflection than Rory.

  I hear Mindy’s irrepressible giggle in the distance, so I look over to see what she's up to now. She has changed clothes and is wearing overall shorts and a gingham top. She must have had her dad re-braid her hair, because she is wearing it in pigtails now. She has her tongue pushed out between the gap in her teeth in total concentration as Gabriel is teaching her to dribble. He is very patiently working through drills, making sure she can dribble with both hands and catch the ball. I creep closer to take pictures. I watch Mindy blow her bangs out of her eyes and sigh.

  “Gabriel, you said you were gonna teach me to play basketball. This ain’t really basketball because the hoop thingie is all the way up there,” she complains pointing at the basket.

  Gabriel laughs and ruffles her hair as he responds, “You gotta learn it all, if you want to be a decent ball player. You can’t just have all the glory shots.”

  Mindy’s brow wrinkles in confusion as she asks, “Why not? I like to shoot baskets. You think girls can’t play?”

  Gabriel’s eyes widen and he awkwardly bounces the ball off his foot as he exclaims, “What? I didn’t say that! My mom plays way better than my Uncle Jeff. I just meant you can’t hog the ball if you want people to pick you to play.”

  Mindy looks a little shell shocked. “You mean we get to do this again with your friends and everythin’?”

  Gabriel looks at her with a puzzled expression as he shrugs. “Duh,” he answers as he tosses the ball at her. “You’re kinda like my cousin now. What did you think was gonna happen? You gonna take a shot or just hold that thing like it’s a doll?”

  Mindy narrows her eyes and launches the ball toward the basket. It arcs and brushes the bottom of the net.

  Gabriel smiles and claps as he shouts, “Whoa! That was super close. Just bend your knees a little and spread your fingers apart on the ball like this.” He holds up the ball to demonstrate how to hold it and then tosses it back to her. “Here, try again. I know you’ll get it this time.”

  I snap some pictures as Mindy dribbles the ball, her tongue pressed between the gap in her teeth. She squints as she bends her knees and lets the ball fly. The ball hits the rim and balances for a split second. I hold my breath as I watch it slowly spin around the perimeter before finally swishing through the net in what seems like frame-by-frame animation.

  Mindy gasps as she sees the outcome. Then she lets out a whoop of celebration and starts to chatter happily, “Didya see what I jus’ did? I can’t beleibe I jus’ did it! I’m pretty awesome, huh?”

  Gabriel gives her a high five and agrees amicably, “Yeah, Little Bit, you’re pretty awesome. You can play on my team any time.”

  I smile at the tenderness in his voice. It reminds me of all the times Aidan went out of his way to bring a smile to my face when we were kids. Mindy too reminds me of the way I was as a kid—always trying to be grown up and not cause any waves. Although Mindy’s circumstances are far more traumatic than mine ever were, in our own way we both lost parents. After my dad was killed, my mom slowly died from grief. Every second my mom was away from my dad, she lost a little more of her will to live, until she had none left.

  Aidan could always sense when I was having a rough time of it at home. Sometimes his tactics were silly. He once had us wear clown noses all day, claiming we needed to do it to get in character for the Vaudeville act we were doing. When he discovered I have a ridiculously long name that reflects both my Native American heritage and my Caucasian grandmother from Kansas, he insisted on calling me on Gracie for the rest of the school year. If I got too studious when we did our homework, he would wink at me and murmur under his breath, “Well, there goes Windy again.” Of course, all of this went over the tutor’s head because, at that time, AJ was the only person in the world besides my mom who knew my whole name. Of course, I also had leverage. Back then, there was nothing Aidan hated worse than his name, other than broccoli. He once told me he was going to be a famous concert pianist just so he could go by his initials, A.O.

  The flip side of Aidan was extraordinarily tender and generous. I vividly remember when I was ten, I was breaking in new toe shoes and had blisters so bad I could barely walk. My mom was lost in her own world of pain and couldn’t get out of bed, and my dance teacher told me that a little pain would make me tough. I was afraid to tell anyone my feet were getting worse, because I didn’t want to lose my spot in the recital. I was sure, if anything was going to get my mom out of bed, it would be the chance to make a pretty costume and do my hair and makeup like she used to before Daddy died. Aidan was the only one to notice something was amiss. He made me take my tape off and show him. I’ll never forget the look of anguish that crossed his face as he saw the raw, oozing sores on my feet. Even now, I recall the incident like it was yesterday.

  In a blink, I’m sitting on the wobbly wood step-stool with a fuzzy-haired Aidan kneeling in front of me, the smell of talc and sweat heavy in the air.

  “Tara,” he hisses, “you know those are infected, right? You could get real sick. My uncle is a soldier and he’s told me stories ‘bout people’s feet rotting off.”

  “I know,” I admit. “But, if I tell anybody, they won’t let me dance and my mom will be even sadder. I don’t know what to do. My daddy did all this stuff before, but he’s dead now.”

  Aidan looks at me for a really long time before he answers me. I am sure he is going to tell his parents. Part of me isn’t sure I don’t want him to, because as intimidating as they are, everything they want to happen seems to magically occur. I could use a little magic power in my life. I’m getting tired of peanut butter sandwiches and dry cereal.

  The muscle in Aidan’s jaw flexes and his eyes shut as he shakes his head sharply as if to clear an image. When he opens his eyes, he holds my gaze, pushes up his glasses and whispers, “I’ll take care of you.”

  I feel better for having shared my secret, but how can Aidan help? He’s even younger than me. I’m very confused. When we get back to our tutoring session, I’m afraid I made Aidan mad, because he barely even looked at me. Instead of eating lunch with me in our spot under the big Douglas fir, he announces that he’s going to go to the store with Rory, to buy Pokémon cards. I’m in
the corner eating my stupid sandwich alone and wishing I had some of the rice crispy treats I used to make with my dad. My dad and I used to speak only Japanese on those late night kitchen raids. I’m sad because I can’t remember as many words as I used to, having no one to practice with. I’ve tried with Aidan, but his accent is terrible and I can’t make him say the words in the right order. He thinks it’s like English, and it’s just not.

  I pull a Nancy Drew book from my backpack and try to tune out the world around me and disappear. Suddenly, Aidan squats in front of me and drops a bag on the ground. I think I’m familiar with this routine. I wait for him to pull out the Starburst candies and sort them. Strawberry and cherry for me and the rest for him. It’s what he always does. I never, ever have to ask. He just noticed one day when the teacher handed out lollipops that those were the flavors I preferred and every day since, it doesn’t matter if he has Skittles, Starbursts or Dum Dums; I always get first pick of the strawberry and cherry. I know he likes them too, because Rory about fell out of his chair in disbelief the first few times he saw Aidan do it.

  “Tara, take your shoes off,” Aidan directs.

  “Why?” I ask, confused. “Rory and I have to meet with the choreographer after lunch.”

  “We need to hurry, lunch is gonna be over soon.” He dumps the bag out on the floor. My jaw drops open in shock. This isn’t Pokémon cards and candy. It’s an assortment of first-aid stuff, mole skin, and even cotton balls.

  “Where’d you get this stuff?” I breathe in disbelief.

  “I bought it, silly,” he answers, crossing his eyes to make me laugh like he always does.

  “How?” I ask, still not quite understanding.

  He shrugs casually. “I’ve been saving my allowance for my Pokémon collection, and Rory was too busy flirting with girls to notice what I was doing.”

  I quickly take off my shoes and the athletic tape I tried to apply to protect my poor feet. Aidan picks up my foot and begins applying hydrogen peroxide and blowing on it to take away the sting. The fierce scowl on his face is in direct contrast to his gentle treatment of my feet. He swiftly finishes applying ointment, then moleskin, and wraps my feet like a professional trainer.

  “Holy cow!” I exclaim. “How do you even know how to do that? You play the piano!”

  “Who do you think patches up my knuckle-head brother when he gets in fights ‘n doesn’t want to get busted by Ma?” he explains with a grin.

  “Well, thanks for taking care of me,” I say as I tuck my bloody socks into my backpack and slip my shoes on.

  He blushes. “It’s no big deal. I said I would.”

  “It was still really nice of you,” I mumble. For the first time in my life I feel shy around AJ.

  I’m still lost in my memories, the magic of a late summer day and a childhood yet to be lived, when I feel a jacket being draped over my shoulders. I am so startled that I immediately send an elbow flying in a self-defense move.

  Aidan counters with an evasive move of his own, and I barely miss his rib cage. “Whoa, I’m friendly. I thought you might be getting cold. It’s getting a little breezy out here, and the mosquitoes are going to start eating you alive in a few minutes.”

  I bury my head in my hands. This makes about three times tonight I have done something really stupid in front of Aidan. “I’m so sorry. I was woolgathering and you scared me. Usually that doesn’t happen,” I begin to explain, but I let my explanation trail off as I realize it’s not making any sense. I pull the jacket tighter around myself. It’s comically large on me, even as tall as I am, and it smells warm and spicy. I resist the urge to sniff it like a bloodhound.

  A look of open curiosity crosses his face. It’s so similar to one I remember from our childhood back when he wanted to know my every thought; I’m not at all shocked when his next question is, “What were you thinking about?”

  I burst out laughing, unable to contain myself any longer. When I finally regain my composure, I manage to reply, “I see being a responsible grown-up hasn’t taught you any boundaries.”

  I swear he blushes a bit, but it’s hard to tell in the subdued hues of dusk. “Come on now, this is us we’re talking about. Cut me some slack. I’ve seen you with the chicken pox, remember?”

  I smile and counter, “I do remember. You couldn’t stay in your own space then, either, so you ended up just as itchy as me.”

  Aidan’s expression sobers as he continues to study me. “Tara, were you thinking about me? About us?”

  I sigh. I’ve never been able to hide a single thing from Aidan and I know there’s really no use in trying now. I nod as I reply, “It’s been a really long time since I remembered what life was like before I entered my own private hell.” I let out a wry chuckle, as I will my body to stop shaking and continue my explanation. “It’s ironic, really. I thought the times I went through after Dad died, and my mom just faded away, were pretty awful. Turns out they were just the warm up act. In retrospect, they were the best years of my childhood. After my dad died, you were the only person there for me until I met Kiera.”

  Aidan looks like I just gave him a roundhouse kick to the face. “Tara, if those were the best days of your childhood, I swear to God, I’ll send that bastard through a wood chipper and no one will ever see him again. There were days you were so worn out from taking care of your mom, it’s a wonder you didn’t fall asleep in the middle of dance lifts. I remember one month your mom forgot to pay the power bill one too many times, and they cut your power off. You accidentally let it slip you were eating soup cold from a can. After that, I brought two of everything. Ma thought I had an eating disorder and I had to blackmail Rory not to tell. Fortunately for me, he had some Playboy magazines under his mattress, and I was able to use it to my advantage,” he recounts.

  I’m embarrassed that he remembers all of the humiliating stuff. “Aidan, don’t waste your energy on the jerk who attacked me. He isn’t worth it. There was nothing you could have done. What’s done is done. I’ve learned from it. I’m prepared for the next bad guy.” I assure him.

  “But that’s just it—” he argues.

  “What’s it?” I ask, thoroughly confused.

  “If I hadn’t been so wrapped up in my own personal drama, I could have been there for you. If I had been there, your life might not have descended into hell,” Aidan clarifies.

  “Or not,” I reply bluntly. “I was pretty naïve and blinded by flash and muscles back then. I might have just shaken you off as Rory’s pesky little brother. You had your own really serious crap to deal with. Don’t downplay your life to patronize me. To borrow your line, ‘This is me you’re talking to’.”

  “Touché,” he concedes. “What can I do to make your life better, Tara?”

  “Honestly, I don’t have an answer for you, Aidan. Some days are great, and other days, if a newscaster uses the wrong phrase I’m puking in my kitchen sink. I can’t make any guarantees. What do you want to do?”

  Aidan stands in front of me just like he used to as a child. His green eyes are intense even under the paper lanterns. As I contemplate what might come out of those lips, he slowly reaches out and links his left index finger with mine. The wave of nostalgia is staggering as I remember the gesture that became our ‘secret pact’. We made it up during a rare trip to the library, when we discovered a book on the mysterious world of sign language and took a pledge, at seven, to be friends for life. Linked index fingers were our secret handshake based on the sign for friend. It’s odd how comforting I find that simple gesture, even now.

  “Tara, I want to keep the promise I made way back then. I want to take care of you. I want you to take care of me too. I miss you,” Aidan confesses, in a low whisper against my temple.

  “What if I can’t do that?” I ask, panic starting to make my voice tremble. I sway a little and cross my arm over my stomach as a wave of nausea threatens to overtake me.

  Our single point of contact remains our left index fingers, yet somehow he manages to
channel calming energy into me. He looks at me and crosses his eyes. I laugh the same as I've done every other time he’s pulled that trick.

  “See, that’s the Gracie I know and love. Breathe. I’m not scared off by a little puke. You used to be like a cat with hairballs before every performance or test,” he teases gently.

  “Don’t be feeling too smug there, Mr. O’Brien. I’ve cleaned up a fair amount of your puke in my day. Remember the day you decided you needed to perform in your recital with a 102 degree fever?” I ask, counting the infractions down on my free hand. “Or what about the time you thought it was a great idea to eat three chili dogs and a funnel cake before you went on the Tilt-a-Whirl? Maybe you remember the time Rory dared you to eat earth worms and you took him up on it because you thought it might make him hurl?”

  He holds his hand over his mouth and makes an exaggerated gagging sound. “You win! I am definitely the grossest person in this relationship. Clearly, you have nothing to worry about,” he says with a smile.

  “That’s a pretty low standard of acceptable dating behavior. Are we seriously going to build our relationship around who pukes less?” I ask, my voice laden with skepticism.

  Aidan shrugs nonchalantly as he replies, “Just think of it as a starting off point, while we see how much we’ve still got in common.” He reaches his hands behind his neck and rolls his shoulders in a stretch I’ve seen him do a million times. I don’t ever remember being enticed by the play of the muscles under his clothing before, but we were kids then, and now we’re not. I am so mesmerized by the artistic play of muscle and tone, I completely miss the fact that he has resumed speaking. I’m sure he’ll get that Bambi caught in the headlights feeling when he realizes the messy situation he’s backed himself into. But, instead of freaking out, he gives me a gentle smile and nervously asks, “I’ve got a late gig on Thursday in Salem. Can we grab lunch somewhere?”

  I pull my schedule up on my cell phone. I have a very rare day off on Thursday. I take it as a sign. I nod cautiously. He can’t possibly know what a huge leap I’ve just taken with that simple nod. Then I remind myself that this is Aidan. He probably knew before he even asked and had four creative ways planned to defeat any objection I might have thrown his way.