Dance with the Doctor

“Are any of your friends in it?” he asked. Taylor didn’t talk much about her classmates. This hadn’t worried Mike before. Yes, all her hospitalizations had put her behind some of her classmates academically. Maybe that had hindered her socially, as well.

“Keisha and Monica are the only girls I really hang out with much at school,” Taylor said. “And neither of them is in the class. I think dancing might help me make more friends.”

The note of wistfulness in her voice tugged at his heart, and he felt the tightness in his chest from the old anger he could never completely bury. Why had his daughter been singled out for such cruelty? Why did she have to suffer so much? “I’m sure you’ll make friends,” he said.

“I think so.” She sat back in the seat. “It’s kind of special, you know? Being part of the dance group, I mean. I’ll bet a lot of girls wish they could be in it.”

Mike forced himself to loosen his grip on the steering wheel and reminded himself that in spite of everything, Taylor had been very lucky. She was alive, and likely to live a long, happy life, if she was careful. He turned onto Sycamore Street. “Did you remember to take your medicine?” he asked.

“Yes. I took it before class.”

“Good.” She’d been so excited about the dance class he’d been afraid she’d forget. It needed to be taken on a strict schedule. “I want you to be honest with me—you didn’t overdo it today, did you? The class wasn’t too strenuous?”

“No. It was fun. Darcy’s a really good dancer.”

Darcy again. Taylor was clearly captivated by her attractive teacher. “I imagine she’s been practicing for quite a few years.” Though how long could that be, really? Maybe her petite size made her look young for her age, but she hadn’t seemed a day over twenty-five to Mike. At thirty-six, he felt positively ancient next to her.

“If I start now, I could be that good by the time I graduate high school.”

“I thought you wanted to be a doctor.” He tried to keep his voice neutral.

“I do. But I could belly dance on the side. As a hobby.”

A belly dancing doctor. “That would certainly give your patients something to talk about.”

“Dad, please!” Taylor’s voice drifted toward an unpleasant whine. “You’re always telling people how important it is to exercise. Dancing will be good for me.”

It probably would. And she was bored with spending so much time at his office after school, where he worried she might come down with an opportunistic infection despite all his precautions. But he hadn’t found a sitter he trusted and he couldn’t leave Taylor at home alone.

Even two years out from her transplant surgery, she was still so vulnerable. How could he trust her with a woman he barely knew? “Like it or not, you’re always going to be more vulnerable than other people to illness,” he said. “What if something happened while you were in dance class? What if you have a reaction to one of your medications?”

“Dad, that only happened one time! And it was months ago.”

“But what if it happened? I don’t know if Darcy is prepared to handle that.”

“She would do the same thing they would do at school—she’d call nine-one-one.”

Taylor had to go to school, but Mike tried to keep her away from large groups of people otherwise. Maybe he was being overly cautious, or even silly, but he couldn’t help himself. The knowledge of everything that could go wrong, and the memory of how close he’d come to losing the most precious person to him, haunted him. “I’d be happier if you’d wait a little longer,” he said. The past two years had been a nightmare of hospital rooms and surgeries, antirejection drugs, infections and the constant fear that something as simple as a cold virus could undo all her progress.

“I just want to do something a normal kid would do.”

The plaintive words cut through him. Wasn’t that all he wanted, too—for his little girl to be happy and healthy, and to live a full, normal life? And she was doing better. She’d started growing, and it had been four months since she’d been sick a single day.

“I know,” he said. “And dance class will probably be fine. But if you have any problems at all …”

“I’ll have to quit. But I’ll be fine, I promise. Thank you, Daddy. I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.” All that love made making the right decisions for her even harder sometimes.

They pulled up to their townhome and Mike pressed the button to open the garage. He and Melissa had purchased the home shortly after their wedding. When they’d divorced they’d both agreed it would be better for Taylor to remain in the only home she’d ever known, and Melissa had moved into an apartment near the airport, convenient to her work. If not for Taylor, Mike would have moved, too. The house was one more reminder of dreams that hadn’t come true. He and Melissa had planned to raise a family in this home.

Taylor was out of the car as soon as Mike released the child locks. “I’m gonna call Mom and tell her about the class,” she called over her shoulder as she raced to the door.

Mike hoped Melissa would be able to answer Taylor’s call. If she was in the middle of a flight that wasn’t possible. Taylor could leave a message, but Melissa wasn’t always good about returning her calls right away.

He followed Taylor inside, stopping to hang his coat on the rack in the foyer, opposite the portrait of the three of them as a family. Melissa smiled straight into the camera; a younger Mike focused on the toddler in Melissa’s lap. Taylor, in a lacy white dress, had been barely two then. She was laughing up at Mike—the happiest baby in the world.

And he’d been the happiest man, just beginning his practice, starting a family. How naive he’d been.

Taylor’s illness had changed all that. Mike didn’t know if he’d ever trust happiness again. He’d always be waiting for the other shoe to drop. He’d emerged from more than two years in hell with his daughter safe, for now, but the perfect family was gone. The messiness—both emotional and physical—of dealing with a chronically ill child had ended a marriage already strained by Mike’s long hours at work and Melissa’s erratic schedule.

The failure to save his marriage still stung. Mike’s parents had been married more than forty years now, while his grandparents had lived to celebrate seventy-five years together. His two sisters both enjoyed long marriages. Only Mike had failed.

He didn’t blame Melissa. Mike had deserted her when she needed him most. He’d been too focused on Taylor and on keeping his practice going to have much left over for his wife.

He found Taylor in the living room, curled on one end of the sofa, the phone still in her lap. “Did you talk to your mom?” he asked.

“I had to leave a message.” Her shoulders drooped.

“I should talk to your mother about setting up a schedule to see you more often,” Mike said. As it was, Melissa flew in and out of town, and her daughter’s life, with no predictable regularity. Taylor missed her mother, though she seldom said it.

He and Melissa had agreed to family counseling to help Taylor deal with the divorce, but her frequent hospitalizations had interfered with those sessions, and Mike wasn’t sure how much good they’d done. Taylor seemed well adjusted to their situation, but how could he be sure?

Right now, Taylor looked as worried as he felt. She was chewing on her lower lip, an unattractive habit he’d tried to discourage. “Honey, is something wrong?”

She glanced at him, then away. “Mom told me something last time I saw her. She didn’t tell me not to tell you, but I’m not sure you’re going to like it.”

“What is it?” What had Melissa done that had Taylor so worried?

“She said she has a boyfriend. His name is Alex and he’s a pilot.”

“Oh.” He shifted in his chair, trying to get comfortable with the idea of his wife—he still thought of her that way sometimes—dating another man. The emotion that rose to the surface wasn’t so much jealousy as regret that things hadn’t worked out the way they were supposed to.

One of them ought to at least be happy; he wouldn’t begrudge Melissa that. “That’s good, honey,” he said. “Are you okay with it?”

“It would be nice if she had someone, so she wouldn’t be alone,” Taylor said thoughtfully. “I mean, you and I have each other, except …” The words trailed away.

“Except what?”

“Do you think you’ll ever get married again, Dad?”

Was Melissa close to marrying this guy? Was that why she’d mentioned him to Taylor? “I don’t plan on getting married again, honey,” he said. “Not for a very long time, anyway.” Not before Taylor was grown, if then. He’d already proved he was lousy at dividing his attention.

“I wouldn’t mind if you did,” she said. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind having a stepmom, if she was nice.”

So that’s what this was all about. Mike moved to sit beside his daughter and pulled her close. “I know you miss your mom,” he said. “There’s not much I can do about that, but I’m not sure a stepmom is the answer. You and I will just have to muddle along like we have been.” He kissed the top of her head.

“I’m okay, Dad.” She squirmed around to look up at him. “Really. I just thought you might, you know, be lonely sometimes.”

Yes, he was lonely sometimes, but he’d survive. “Don’t worry about me, sweetheart,” he said. Life demanded sacrifices sometimes. Right now his priorities were Taylor and his medical practice, in that order. Any woman in his life would be shortchanged. He wouldn’t put himself or anyone else through that hurt again.

CHAPTER TWO

“SISTER, DEAR, if you lived a more normal life, this kind of thing wouldn’t happen.”

Darcy helped her older brother, Dave, wrestle the snowblower from the snowbank where it had skidded and stopped working. “I do—” puff “—have a normal—” puff “—life,” she said. “At least it’s not abnormal.”

“If you had a normal life you’d store your snowblower in your garage instead of using the space for a dance studio. Then parts wouldn’t rust and you wouldn’t have to call me to come to the rescue.”

“You love playing the big, strong hero and you know it.” She folded her arms over her chest and watched him tinker with something on the snowblower. “Can you fix it?”

“What do you mean, can I fix it? Of course I can fix it.”

“Can you fix it today? In time to finish my driveway before my evening classes?”

“No, I cannot.” He reached in and yanked something loose and held it up. “I’m going to have to order this part. Depending on how hard it is to find or how long it takes to ship from the factory, you may be shoveling for a few weeks.”

She groaned. Not that she wasn’t capable of shoveling out her driveway, but it took a lot longer than running the snowblower, not to mention she almost always ended up hurting her back. “I don’t suppose you’d let me borrow your snowblower in the meantime?”

“I’m not even that generous with my girlfriend, much less my sister.” He straightened and wiped his hands on his pants. “Maybe you ought to put on one of those belly dancing costumes and see if you can persuade some big, strong guy to shovel for you. Either that, or pray it doesn’t snow again between now and whenever the part comes in.”

“Or I’ll just shovel it myself. And speaking of girlfriends, how is Carrie?” Dave and Carrie Kinkaid had dated on and off for five years. Lately it was definitely more on than off.

“Carrie is fine. She dyed her hair red and it looks great. I told her it was like dating a new woman without all the first-date trauma.”

“You’re such a romantic. When are you two going to get married?”

“Why should we get married? Things are good between us the way they are.”

“You can’t just date each other forever.”

“Why not? Seems like our family does a lot better at dating than marriage.”

Darcy grimaced. Whereas it bothered her that their family had so many failed relationships, Dave seemed to take a perverse pride in their poor track record. “Somebody ought to be the first to break the family curse,” she said. “Why not you?”

“You beat me to it,” he said. “You were a great wife and an even better mom.”

He meant to cheer her up with the compliment, but it only served to remind her of what might have been. “Pete and I didn’t have a perfect marriage.” Toward the end, especially, they’d had big problems, problems that only added to Darcy’s guilt.

“Who does? But you made it work. And I never saw anyone happier than you were with Riley.”

She nodded, afraid her voice might break if she tried to say anything. From the time she was a girl she’d wanted to be a mom. She’d loved babysitting and was always ready to help with her younger cousins. When Riley had been born she’d been over the moon. She hadn’t meant for him to be an only child, but the time had never been right for another baby, though before the accident she’d decided she and Pete should try for another child soon.

Dave left the snowblower and put his hand on her shoulder. “You should have more kids,” he said. “Not to replace Riley, but because you were meant to be a mother.”

She shook her head. “I think maybe … I’m the type of person who’s better off without that kind of responsibility.” How could she bear to love another child, knowing that at any moment she could do the wrong thing—make the wrong choice—and he could be taken away from her?

“That’s crazy.”

“No crazier than you not wanting to marry the woman you love.”

“Right.” He took his hand from her shoulder. “Then I guess we’re just a family of loony tunes. Come on—find me a shovel and I’ll help clear your driveway.”

“Now that’s the way to be a good brother.”

He grinned. “It’s just an excuse to hang around until your adult students start to show up in their skimpy costumes.”

She swatted his back. “Don’t you dare ogle my dancers.”

“Why not? Some of them might like it.”

“I’m going to tell Carrie you said that.”

“She doesn’t care if I look. And don’t try to pretend you don’t like it when men look—otherwise, you wouldn’t dress in those costumes.”

She sighed. “Okay, I’ll admit it. I worked hard for these abs, and I don’t mind showing them off. But that is not all dancing is about.”

“If you say so.”

He dodged her next blow and grabbed up the snow shovel. “If you want the driveway done, step out of my way. And be nice to me. I’m the only man in your life right now, so you might want to keep me around.”

“Sure. But only for your muscles.”

“You know you love me.”

“I do love you.” Sometimes it was nice to have a little testosterone around the house, even if he was related to her. Men, like children, had a different perspective on life. She hadn’t always agreed with Pete’s point of view about things, but sometimes he had helped her see a situation in a new light, and that was probably healthy.

But the opportunity to hear the male perspective wasn’t a big enough benefit to risk another botched relationship. She might joke with Dave about breaking the family curse, but she believed in that curse. Maybe she and Dave and the rest of her relatives weren’t meant for the lifelong monogamy she’d always idealized, in the same way some people didn’t have a talent for math or a good sense of direction.

She’d never been much of a gambler, but since the accident all she wanted was to play it safe. If that meant being alone, well, there were worse things in the world. Whoever said it was better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all didn’t know what he was talking about.

THE STUDENTS ARRIVED for their Wednesday afternoon dance class in a rush of cold wind and chaos. Most of them, including Taylor, walked up the hill to Darcy’s house from the bus stop, and surged into the studio, wrestling off backpacks, coats and shoes, chattering like a flock of parrots. Darcy stood to one side and watched, letting the energy and vitality of these young people wash over her.

When their conversation had subsided to a low murmur, Darcy stepped to the front of the room and clapped her hands. “Today we’re going to start learning the routine you’ll perform for your parents and friends in April,” she announced. “Everyone in your places so we can get started.”

Music up, Darcy led the way through the first few moves of the routine she’d choreographed with the girls in mind. The moves were simple but lovely, challenging enough to keep them entertained and to impress their families, and a foundation they could build on if they decided to continue studying belly dance. She watched in the mirror as they practiced the moves, the girls all smiles. Next to her, Taylor was grinning so broadly Darcy wondered it didn’t hurt.

“What kind of costumes will we wear in the show?” Debby asked from the back row as they practiced moving their hips in a figure-eight pattern.

“You can wear a skirt or pants and a top, and a hip scarf with coins,” Darcy said. “Something similar to what the adult dancers wear.”

“My mom said she’d make me a pink costume,” Jane’s daughter Hannah said.

“Where do you get a costume?” Zoe asked. “Can you just buy one?”

“You probably already have some skirts and tops at home you can use,” Darcy said. “Your moms—or dads—can decorate them with sequins or beads.” She smiled at the thought of Dr. Mike sewing sequins on a tiny top.

“What color costume do you want, Taylor?” Hannah asked.

Taylor shrugged.

“Well, what’s your favorite color?” Hannah persisted.

“Purple.”

While the others discussed the merits of skirts versus pants and sequins versus beads, Darcy was aware that Taylor had become very quiet. Her smile had vanished, and she seemed almost to have shrunk into herself. “Is something wrong, sweetie?” Darcy asked.

Taylor shook her head, not meeting Darcy’s eyes.

Clearly something was wrong. “Are you worried about your costume?” she asked. Maybe Taylor thought Mike would object to her wearing one. Or that a dad wasn’t qualified to help her put one together. Darcy bent low, and whispered, “I’ll help you find the right thing to wear. Don’t worry.”

Taylor nodded, though she didn’t look much happier.

“Darcy, will you dance for us, please?” Liz asked.

“Yes, please! We want to see you dance!”

The other girls added their pleas.

Darcy had planned to finish out class with a version of Simon Says using dance moves, but it would be fun to perform for the girls. She could show them some of the things they’d be able to do if they continued to study and practice. “All right,” she said. “Everyone sit on the floor at the back of the studio and I’ll dance for you.”

“With the sword,” Kira said.

“Not with the sword,” Darcy said. “With a veil.” She plucked a large gauzy blue silk one, spangled with sequins, from a shelf near the door. “Now just give me a minute to find the right music.” She felt a familiar tickle of excitement low in her stomach. Nothing like performing for an appreciative audience to make a dancer want to do her best.

ON WEDNESDAYS, Mike closed his office early. Most of the time he and Taylor did something special together. They went to the movies or out for pizza. Now that she was in dance class, he missed her more than he’d imagined. The office seemed emptier without her chatter, and he felt at loose ends, wondering what she was up to, and if she was all right. In a few more weeks he’d adjust to the change in routine, just as he’d adjusted to her return to school after her last hospitalization and her overnight visits with her mother. But for now her absence left him unsettled.

Nicole stopped in the doorway of his office. “Your last patient is ready,” the nurse said.

Grateful for the distraction of work, Mike headed for Exam Room One, where nine-year-old Brent Jankowski waited, along with his mom, Sarah, and three younger sisters. “What’s up with you today, Brent?” Mike asked, glancing at the boy’s chart.

“I have a cold.” Brent sniffed.

“I hate to bother you with such a silly thing.” Sarah looked up from tying her youngest’s—Emily’s—shoe. “But you did tell us we should come in for any sign of illness at all.”

“Yes, it’s smart to be careful.” Mike put his stethoscope to Brent’s chest and listened. There, under the normal lub-dub of the heart was a soft, sighing sound—a leaky heart valve. It was just the sort of defect that could lead to bigger problems down the road. Even something as routine as a common cold could turn more serious for Brent, as it had for Taylor. Fortunately, advanced diagnostics had caught the problem earlier and new treatment protocols promised a more favorable outcome than Taylor’s.

Mike moved the stethoscope to listen to the boy’s lungs, then checked his ears and throat. “There’s bronchitis setting in,” he said. “I’m going to prescribe a heavy-duty decongestant. We’ll try to avoid antibiotics for now, but if he starts running a fever above a hundred, call me right away.”

“All right. Thanks.”

As he typed the prescription into the computer, he marveled at Sarah Jankowski’s calm. He started imagining worst-case scenarios every time Taylor sneezed. Maybe Sarah’s blasé attitude came from having four children instead of only one.

He’d wanted more children, despite his long work hours, but Melissa had been as reluctant as he was to take time off from her job and felt one child was plenty.

He saw the Jankowskis to the front desk, then glanced at the clock. He still had a few minutes before it was time to pick Taylor up from her class, but it wouldn’t hurt if he arrived early.

When he pulled into the driveway and switched off the car he could hear music coming from the garage-turned-studio. He could make out drums and some kind of high-pitched instrument, maybe a flute. Smiling to himself, he slid out of the car. He’d just peek in, try to catch a glimpse of Taylor dancing without her realizing he was watching.

Snow crunched under his feet as he followed the path to the studio. He slipped through the foyer to a second door behind which the music throbbed. He eased it open and peeked inside.

But instead of watching Taylor and the other students, he found himself staring at Darcy, her back to the door, performing for a wide-eyed group of girls.

Moving slowly and gracefully, Darcy swayed in rhythm to the music, hips rolling, arms tracing patterns in the air. The exotic music, the sparkle of sequins and shimmer or silk, even the faint incense in the air, worked a spell on Mike. He felt as if he’d plummeted through a trapdoor from his everyday life to this erotic new world. Darcy twirled a veil around her, hiding, then revealing the curve of her hip, the smooth paleness of her bare back, the gentle roundness of her belly, the swell of cleavage above the sequined bra top. Mike’s heart pounded and he had trouble breathing, but he made no attempt to turn away.

His life was so devoid of the feminine. The sexual. He wasn’t the type of man who looked at magazine centerfolds or visited topless bars. He hadn’t dated since his divorce, his life consumed by work and caring for his daughter. The sexual side of him was there, but it wasn’t convenient or practical to think about it. Watching Darcy, he was thinking about it now.

The tempo of the song increased. Drums pounded and flutes trilled. Darcy whirled, hips bouncing, the bells on the blue scarf knotted over low-slung blue velvet pants chiming furiously. Mike stared, mesmerized, as she undulated and shimmied, hips, then stomach, then chest. Trying to regain his composure, he lowered his gaze to the floor, watching her feet, but this was no help; Darcy even had sexy feet, small with high arches and pink-painted toenails.

The music ended abruptly, with a drumroll. Darcy froze, arms over her head, breathing hard. The girls erupted into applause. “That was so awesome!” Taylor gushed. “Dad, wasn’t that fantastic?”

All eyes turned toward the door, including Darcy’s. Mike felt as guilty as a schoolboy, but tried not to show it. He stepped into the room. “That was … very impressive,” he said.