He groans and squeezes me tighter in a way that feels like reassurance or possibly worry. “The Bible says our body is a temple for The Holy Spirit—”
“I know that, Dad.” The words come out harsher than I intend, but the fact that he insists on repeating things we’ve been over a hundred times is infuriating. Not to mention, he’s absolutely right. I focus on steady breathing and hope my voice doesn’t shake. “It’s just a job.”
“To you, it’s just a job. But there are men you dance for who are struggling in their marriages, dipping into pornography. You have to consider the stumbling block that your dancing is to—”
“That’s not my problem. Grown men are capable of making decisions for themselves.” I turn and look at him. “Free will, right? They want to screw their lives up, destroy their marriages; they have the right to do that. Don’t blame me for it.”
He nods and takes my hand in a gentle hold. “I don’t blame you. I just don’t want you to look back and wish you’d spent time doing something more with your life. Something that involves serving and helping others. That’s where true joy lives.”
Bitterness wells up in my gut and turns my stomach. Serving others. That’s what my parents have always preached to us. The joy in giving. The blessing in selflessness. But it doesn’t always work out for everyone, now does it?
“True joy?” I sit up and put down a foot to stop the swing. “Dad, it was Lana’s selflessness that got her killed.”
He blanches but recovers quickly. “No, it was the sin and the brokenness of man that killed your sister. It—”
“She pulled her car over to help. It was dark, and she knew if she drove by a person in need without stopping she’d be letting you down, letting God down. She’d never be able to look at herself in the mirror. That was Lana, Dad.”
“Honey—”
“She never should’ve stopped. If she never stopped, she’d be here.” And I wouldn’t be stripping! “She’d be sitting right here with us, but she’s not.” I push up from the swing.
“No, but she’s with our Father in heaven, and that’s better than—”
“Don’t.” I hold up my hand. “Please, don’t tell me that her being in heaven is better than her being here with us.”
He stands and studies me with a compassion that wrecks me. “I love you, Beatriks. You and Svetlana were the first children that God brought to us. You two were a package deal. Your sister refused to leave you even at a young age. I can only imagine how her death—”
“Murder.”
“Murder . . . must’ve affected you. Still affects you.” He steps forward and places a comforting hand on my shoulder. “You’ve got to let her go, Bea.”
“I can’t.” Not until whoever killed her pays for what he’s taken from me. “She refused to let me go, Dad. I’m doing the same.”
“She held onto you to keep you safe. Your holding onto her is poisoning the life you could have. The life you were fated to have.” He squints up at the sky and then back down at me. “Don’t you see, Bea? Her life’s purpose was your safety. Your happiness. Everything she did revolved around her protection of you. Honor her life and all she sacrificed by becoming all you can be. Don’t settle for simply being an”—he clears his throat—“exotic dancer.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “You don’t understand.”
“That’s probably true, but know this. There is nothing, and I mean nothing, you could do that would change my love for you. I don’t think any father dreams that his daughter becomes a dancer in Vegas, but if this is truly what makes you happy, that’s all I want for you.” As painful as the words must’ve been to say, I truly believe he means it.
The truth is it doesn’t make me happy. It hasn’t made me happy in a long time. Ever since my best lead took off to Mexico, everything else has led me to a dead end. Sure, I like to dance, but I get plenty of that at the Youth Club.
He pulls me in and wraps his arms around my shoulders. “I love you, sweetheart.”
I bury my face into his shoulder, fighting tears. “I love you too, Daddy.”
“Now, we better get these kids ready for bed.” He yells into the yard for the kids to come in. “Shouldn’t take longer than just a few minutes.”
Two hours and thirty-seven minutes later I’m lying on the top bunk bed in my little sisters’ room, my nose about a foot from the ceiling and the sound of two little girl snores coming from the bed below mine.
I can’t stop thinking about what my dad said earlier tonight. I’ve given up almost four years of my life to stripping, all in the hope of finding something that even the police were unable to find. What seemed so possible at one time now seems as impossible as lassoing the fog. How many more years of my life will I give up for my dead sister? One? Ten? Would I give up my life? If Svetlana were here right now, she’d tell me I’d already wasted too much time. Her interests were always me first, everything else second, and all I ever wanted was to give that back to her.
But she’s gone.
Dead.