Page 25 of Happy After All

“I’m not much of a dancer,” Nathan says.

“It’s my dying wish,” says Wilma.

“You’re not dying, Wilma,” I say.

“All of us are dying. Some of us are just closer to it than others. And I would like to dance.”

Nathan looks like he can’t find a suitable argument against that, and therefore takes her outstretched hand and begins to sway with her near the pool. There are other couples dancing. Juan and Solis are moving in time with the music, Jonathan and Joseph holding each other tight as they look into each other’s eyes.

Wilma, for her part, looks delighted. I cross my arms and lean against the fence that surrounds the courtyard. Wilma twirls herself partly away from Nathan, while still holding his hand, then reaches out toward me. She extends her hand and pulls me close.

I find myself being brought toward Nathan. “Your turn, darlin’,” she says.

And with that I find myself held against his hard body.

I don’t know what I expected him to do. Push me away, maybe. Instead, he holds me, his palm on my lower back, the other hand clasping mine.

“Oh,” I say.

“What did I tell you?” He says this quietly.

“You think she did that on purpose,” I say.

“Yes.”

“Well. There’s no harm in giving her a show, then.”

That’s what I tell myself as I look into his eyes. As I let him hold me like this. I tell myself I’m doing it to make Wilma think her machinations are working. I tell myself it’s not because I want him to hold me.

My own name is on the tip of my tongue, and I want to tell him.

Because despite everything we’ve been through, unless he’s heard it shouted in the chaos, through the smoke, I’ve never told him my name.

It’s so tempting. To close that gap. Yet it feels so risky, and I can’t explain why.

We lived through a fire.

God knows I’ve lived through worse.

But there’s something about him—from the moment I first saw him, the moment he walked into the motel—that feels so significant. And the idea of doing anything to disrupt it, to bring him closer, to push him farther away, seems like a very bad idea.

I can still smell smoke on all my clothes, so maybe it’s just the wrong time to be risky at all.

The song ends, and he releases his hold on me. I still feel where he was touching me. I still feelhim.

“There,” I say. “That will give her something to talk about for days.”

“Glad I could help.”

“Always the hero,” I say.

Something goes grave in his eyes. “No. Don’t make that mistake.”

I feel a tug on my skirt and look down to see Angel looking up at me with large dark eyes. “Miss Pink Flamingo,” he says. “Can I have some more cake?”

“Of course, sweetheart.” I move to the table to get him another slice of chocolate, and after I hand it to him, I turn and look for Nathan.

He’s gone.

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