The Ballerina's Stand Page 3

  “Like hell it isn’t. You hired me. You made it my business.” Jason turned to leave. “Guess we’re finished here.”

  A wheeze of hard-won breath filled the air. “You’re nothing like your brother.” Another breath. “He’s a good, fair man.”

  “Yeah, we’re nothing alike.” Jason wasn’t talking about Wyatt, and he knew the old man caught his meaning. “I have very little respect for you, and you have even less for me. That’s part of why you had me do this job instead of your attorney in Dallas.”

  Cough. “Just get on with it.” Pal waved at the papers. “She’s safe.”

  Jason stood there for a long minute, the papers tight in his hand. “I’ll hold you to that. Everything has to protect her. Not you.”

  Oddly, the old man relaxed. His eyes grew distant, almost sad. That wasn’t possible—Pal Haymaker didn’t have emotions.

  “I know you hate me, boy,” he whispered. “But thirty years ago, I was a different man.” He paused, trying to catch his breath. “You might have even liked me.” He cleared his throat. “But that man died—” Breath. “With Lauren’s mother.”

  Lauren. The name held strength, and the pretty ballerina came to mind. It fit her.

  Jason watched as the old man’s gaze turned to the window. Emotions flitted across his weathered face. And something inside Jason shifted. He cursed. He didn’t want to care about this man. Or his daughter.

  * * *

  GLOOMY, CLOUDY DAYS like today were perfect for staying home. Last night’s performance had been the last of the run and Lauren needed the break.

  A book, the soft aroma of candles—the day was set. She settled on the yoga mat, tuning her body before letting it loose for the day.

  Her electronic bracelet that was programmed to her phone, the doorbell and a couple other devices, flashed as she settled into her first position. Damn. She looked at the bright light. The doorbell. Who the heck was here? She wasn’t expecting anyone. It flashed again. They didn’t seem to be going away.

  Jumping up, Lauren padded to the front door and peered through the sidelight. She stared at the unfamiliar man on her doorstep. His hair was damp, looking dark yet blond. His expensive suit was getting ruined by the rain and the wing tips on his feet were buried in a puddle.

  He didn’t look like a serial killer...but who knew? She stared at him for a long moment, then pulled open the door as far as the chain allowed. Odds were, he wouldn’t be able to communicate with her, but she’d give him the benefit of the doubt.

  Slowly, she signed “Hello.” Keep it simple. His frown told her way too much. Why was she disappointed? The usual loneliness she felt suddenly seemed more pronounced. She saw his lips moving, and while she was proficient at reading lips, he wasn’t looking directly at her, his head turning as if to recheck the address. And she wasn’t familiar enough with his patterns to read him from the side.

  She cringed. Very few times did she need, or desire, to speak, but this was one. As a child, her older foster brother, Kenny, had told her often enough that she sounded like a “moron” when she talked. She’d refused to learn to speak after that, and now it was her normal.

  “I’m sorry.” She made the sign she knew he wouldn’t understand. “I’m deaf,” she continued, making the sign out of habit.

  The man pulled a business card from his jacket pocket, just as the rain intensified. She took the card, and with the next gust of wind, she let him come in out of the downpour. Granted, it was just the vestibule, but still, he was a stranger stepping into her home.

  Fear made her stomach clench, but she didn’t have a choice. The white utilitarian card had clout. He was from the law firm of Joseph and Brown. Big names here. What did he want with her? Was someone in trouble?

  Times like this, she hated her deafness. She knew he wouldn’t understand her, and it was doubtful he’d take the time to help her understand him.

  He nodded and again his lips moved. She wished he knew sign.

  Lauren waved toward the couch, hoping he’d take off his soaked coat. When he pulled it off and left it on the coat tree in the hall she sighed in relief.

  While her home wasn’t fancy, it was hers, each piece of furniture hard-won and loved. He sat carefully on the edge of the couch and gently settled a soaked briefcase on the floor beside her coffee table.

  She hoped whatever he was here for was important enough to destroy such an expensive case. He unzipped a compartment and pulled out a pen and legal pad.

  Taking her own seat across from him, Lauren smiled the smile her foster mother had diligently taught her. The one that was acceptably mellow to hearing people, the one that gave the impression she was “normal.” She hated it, but knew it worked.

  She wanted to get this over with. She waited patiently as he wrote. Shorter messages were always better. Straight and to the point.

  I’m Jason Hawkins, he’d written. She glanced again at the business card, noting his name in the lower corner this time. She looked up at him. He looked like a Jason. Then he smiled at her. Oh God, he felt sorry for her. Her stomach churned around the earlier clench.

  She looked back at Jason, frowning, wishing he were different.

  He handed her the notepad where she wrote her single question. “Why are you here?”

  He nodded, smiling like he’d uncovered the answer to some great puzzle. That gave her a drop of hope. At least he hadn’t dismissed her. He seemed willing to try.

  The man’s handwriting was atrocious. She sighed again. He would be here for ages. Finally, he finished and turned the page to her. He’d written direct sentences. Easy and quick.

  She looked back at the page. Then at him, confused. Estate? Her father’s estate. She didn’t even know she had a father...well, she’d known someone had to be her father, but that was it.

  Again, Jason reached into the sodden briefcase and this time he pulled out an envelope. He opened it and extended a copy of a last will and testament toward her. She frowned and shook her head. What was she supposed to do with this?

  He stood and came to stand over her. The damp scent of his cologne, light and warm, wrapped around her. Despite the fact that he was practically soaking wet from the rain, warmth flowed off him. He flipped the document’s pages until he reached the third page, and pointed to a paragraph in the middle.

  She stared at the printed words. Then looked up at him. Then back at the page. This wasn’t possible. No.

  Now? She shot to her feet. Now? I have a father? Her fingers flew. She knew the attorney didn’t understand—confusion blanketed his face. She should stop and breathe. Stop waving and crumpling the pages he’d given her. But she couldn’t stop herself. The twenty-three years since losing her mother was too much hurt to fight.

  A father. Money. A house. All the things she’d dreamed of since the day her mother died. The day the social worker had shown up and packed her tiny pink princess suitcase and taken her to that first foster home. Five years old and alone. Without anyone to love her.

  Where was he then? She signed the question, knowing this man couldn’t answer her.

  Why would a total stranger leave her anything? Especially when they’d stayed out of her life apparently on purpose.

  Jason hadn’t moved. He stood so close. Their eyes met and neither of them looked away. She dropped the papers to the coffee table.

  She let her fingers form the words and concepts trapped in her mind. If only he understood. If only—

  “I don’t want it,” she signed. Then, when Jason shook his head, she wrote it on the page, the pen gouging the paper. He continued to frown.

  “What? Why?” She could read that response.

  “Don’t need it.” The very idea scared her, angered her. “Give it to someone else.” Her fingers flew quickly, and his brow remained furrowed. After a long minute, he grabbed th
e notepad and dug in his briefcase again. He handed her the paper and another business card after he’d scribbled some more.

  “Come to my office,” he’d written. “I’ll get an interpreter to help.”

  He looked expectant.

  Her hopes died. He was just doing his job, so why had she even hoped he’d try to understand her himself? Slowly, she nodded, took the card, and led him to the door. She grabbed his coat and handed it to him. He waved and forced a smile as he stepped back out into the pouring rain.

  With the door finally closed behind him, Lauren slammed the dead bolt, knowing she had no intention of going to any office or ever seeing him again.

  She was happy in her little world. She didn’t need him or anyone else—especially a hearing person—reminding her of what was missing in that world.

  CHAPTER THREE

  LAUREN MOUNTED THE wide stone stairs, her steps quick and lively. Determined. Not because that’s how she felt, but because Maxine was watching, she was sure of it, judging her posture, her form, and the tilt of her head. Lauren didn’t want to disappoint her mentor. Or hear the inevitable lecture.

  The wide double doors opened and Maxine’s longtime butler, Hudson, stood there, a smile on his weathered face. The old man didn’t know much sign, but over the years he’d learned to make the correct gestures for hello, goodbye and a few simple niceties. Today he greeted Lauren with a warm smile and led the way to the studio.

  Maxine was already there, her slim, perfectly upright frame poised at the barre. At seventy-two years old, Maxine Nightingale, once a world-renowned ballerina, looked young and lithe. Only the lines on her face gave any hint of her true age.

  Mirrors surrounded them while polished wood floors reflected almost as clearly. Maxine’s lips and hands moved to speak. “There you are,” she signed. “Time to work.”

  Her smile told Lauren they were listening to Maxine’s favorite. Lauren smiled in response. She knew the expectations, the moves, without having to think twice. Maxine didn’t have to instruct her or gesture the routine the way she used to in class all those years ago.

  Lauren left her things by the door and joined Maxine at the barre. Like images in the mirror, they moved together. Going through all the steps, matching poses, all the way through the entire first movement of the song. By the midpoint, Maxine was dancing with her eyes closed, getting lost in the sound while Lauren let herself relax and settle deep into the rhythm and her own thoughts. It felt wonderful. So freeing.

  Finally, Maxine bowed, and the soft thump of the music vibrating the air stopped. Lauren took a deep breath and walked over to the small table in the corner by the narrow floor-to-ceiling windows. The sweet-scented towel made quick work of the sweat from her face and shoulders.

  Hudson came in then as if on cue. No doubt he’d heard this same music for the past fifty years as Maxine’s employee. He carried a tray of afternoon tea. The porcelain pot and matching cups were old, brought here from Germany by one of Maxine’s husbands. Lauren wasn’t sure which one. The scent of the tea and the sweet cakes wafted in the air as Hudson walked to the table.

  Maxine reached over and gave Lauren a long hug. Her fingers moved quickly, and Lauren smiled. “I’ve missed you, too,” she signed back.

  They each settled in their seats, just as they always did, as if months hadn’t passed since Lauren had last been here. Hudson poured; then with a wave of her hand, Maxine dismissed him. He vanished, without a word or a sign.

  Lauren sat back, waiting for the inquisition regarding her absence. Maxine wasn’t one to beat around any bushes, but they both busied themselves with preparing their drinks. Finally, Maxine looked up, a frown on her brow.

  Her aged hands were as graceful in sign as her body was on the stage. Her perfectly groomed nails and be-ringed fingers flashed in the room’s ambient light. It also helped that Lauren had been reading Maxine’s face and lips since childhood.

  “So, where have you been?”

  Lauren took a sip of tea and pretended to focus on settling the cup back in the fragile saucer, not meeting Maxine’s eyes, not giving her a chance to read her. “Working.” She focused on selecting a cake. “Working with D-y-l-a-n.” She avoided Maxine’s glare.

  “That boy will be your downfall.”

  “No.” They’d had a similar conversation many times before. Dylan was part of the reason Lauren had come here today. “He’s good. One of the best.” She waited a beat, then forced herself to catch her teacher’s eye. “You took me on, didn’t give up on me.” The intensity of Lauren pointing her finger at Maxine then back at herself wasn’t lost on the older woman.

  Maxine fought the smile. Finally, she nodded. “You think he’s that good?”

  Lauren nodded. “I do.” Neither of them moved for several long minutes. No fingers moving or flashing. Lips doing nothing beyond sipping the cooling tea. Finally, Maxine reached over and curled her fingers around Lauren’s hand to get her attention. Their eyes met.

  “All right. Let me see this prodigy of yours.”

  Lauren stared. Maxine was willing to give Dylan a chance? Maxine couldn’t work with Dylan the way she had with her. Fifteen years ago, Maxine had been well past her prime as a performing ballerina, but she’d been one of the best teachers in the world. Lauren had been the troubled deaf girl Maxine had taken in as a foster child, a poor replacement for the son she’d lost to death the year before.

  Even now, Lauren felt the weight of that role. She’d been angry, lost, and this regal woman had demanded so much. Had found the talent buried inside Lauren’s silent world.

  Did Dylan really have that same spark? Lauren thought she saw it, but Maxine had a sharper eye. An eye and knowledge that came from much more time on this earth, and experience.

  “Really?” she signed.

  Maxine nodded. “You’ve got me curious.”

  Lauren knew not to let the opportunity pass. “When?”

  “Next week. Tuesday. I’ll come to your studio.”

  Maxine’s composure returned and the predictability of it took Lauren back. It was comforting, and she realized how much she’d missed Maxine. She’d been so edgy lately, and Maxine’s controlled manner eased that edginess.

  She admitted to herself that that was truly why she’d come here today. She’d needed reassurance. And Maxine did exactly that.

  Jason Hawkins, the lawyer, with his papers and startling announcements, had turned her world upside down. The security Maxine had always given her wrapped comfortingly around her now. In her mind’s eye, she saw Jason as he’d left her place. Plunging into the pouring rain, he’d seemed unconcerned that he was soon soaked to the bone as he climbed into the dark car parked across the street.

  “What’s going on?” Maxine asked, only with her lips and a frown this time.

  Maxine knew her better than anyone else. Too well, perhaps. She’d spent endless hours coaxing the shy foster girl out of her self-imposed shell. That same intensity and focus, which characterized Maxine overall, paid off in that there was no hiding anything from the woman’s eagle eye.

  Lauren glanced at her satchel propped beside the door. The papers Jason had given her were inside, badly wrinkled and creased from all the times she’d pulled them out and read them.

  She wanted to share the information with someone, needed to discuss it. Needed to—

  Maxine’s hand settled on Lauren’s forearm and Lauren looked up. “What’s the matter?” Maxine prompted. The concern in her foster mother’s eyes was so deep. Lauren started to tell her.

  But she held back.

  While Maxine could help her, she would take over. Was Lauren ready for that?

  “Is it the show?”

  Lauren nodded, taking the reprieve Maxine inadvertently offered.

  Maxine smiled and leaned back in her chair. Pulling h
er hand away, she signed as she spoke. “You’ll do magnificent, like always. Last year was a huge success.”

  Lauren nodded, though still anxious about how this year would go. The annual fundraiser brought in the biggest chunk of the studio’s budget, after tuition. “There’s so much to do.”

  Maxine tilted her head, an eyebrow lifted. “You don’t have to do this—”

  Lauren was already shaking her head. They’d had this conversation a dozen times since Lauren had opened the studio. “I know,” Lauren signed. Looking around at the sumptuous surroundings of Maxine’s home, Lauren knew what Maxine meant.

  Maxine had been on the stage as a child prodigy of ballet by five years old. Her toes had graced every great stage in the world. She’d earned more money than she could ever begin to spend.

  She had offered to fund the studio for Lauren. An offer that tempted Lauren frequently, especially when the bills came. She made good money, just not enough to support a business and herself.

  But if she accepted Maxine’s offer, her mentor would make a change here, a change there. She’d buy something new just because she felt it was necessary, something Lauren might not want. Lauren would lose control.

  “Thanks, but I like doing the show.” And she did. Last year it had raised enough money for them to order half the new costumes and replace the stage curtains. “I want to do a good job.”

  “The offer is always there.”

  “I know and I appreciate it.”

  The stillness stretched out. Maxine sat looking at her. “You’re not telling me everything.” She crossed her arms and met Lauren’s gaze with the piercing glare Lauren knew well.

  Getting slowly to her feet, Lauren walked over to her bag and pulled out the papers, giving in to her need to share this with someone. Handing them to Maxine, she watched her eyes widen. “Your father?”

  Lauren nodded, still not used to the idea.

  “In Texas?” Lauren nodded. “Why now?” Lauren shrugged and the motion caught Maxine’s attention.

  “Oh, honey.” She stood, setting the papers down on the table.