I made sure Laney’s bedroom door was shut, then padded around the small living room, moving back the few pieces of furniture to create a dance space. Tonight I needed something to calm and focus me.
People think rumba is the dance of love, but to me it’s the dance of passion. It can be angry, sad, selfish, dramatic, jealous, cathartic and loving—all the passionate emotions. Besides, I preferred Rumba Flamenco to its safer cousin, ballroom rumba. This dance was part rumba, part Paso, part Flamenco—full of intensity. You needed focus to dance it well, full concentration. It suited me right now. I needed it.
Laney had left her iPhone in the kitchen, so I plugged it into the docking station and turned the volume down low as Hozier’s Take me to Church flowed softly through the speakers.
My body understood this: music, movement, the single-minded focus that comes from being carried by the sounds, the lyrics, that crazy synergy of a perfect moment of dance and song.
I danced until sweat poured from my body and my muscles ached for relief. But it was my mind that needed the escape from the thoughts that hummed like angry bees, the stings of honesty the sharpest and deepest.
You can’t let her do this.
She wants to help.
It’s a mistake. You know it. Don’t let it happen.
Shut up! Leave me alone!
It means nothing. You can never have her. She’s with another man.
He’s a prick.
She loves him.
I don’t think so.
It doesn’t matter what you think—she’s not yours.
“Stop!”
“Ash? What’s wrong?”
Laney stood blinking in the doorway, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
I turned around, wishing I hadn’t woken her raving like a lunatic.
“I’m sorry.”
I shut off the music.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said. “I know music helps you, dancing helps you.”
I gave her a frustrated grimace. “Not tonight.”
She nodded her head slowly. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you? About marrying me.”
“I am. It’s the most anyone has ever . . .”
“Ash, don’t say no. Let me do this for you.”
“You’ve done so much for me already. I can’t let you break the law.” I gave a humorless laugh. “Your father would kill me.”
“Ash, I want to see you succeed. You’ve been so happy since the audition. Seeing you like this . . . it’s what you should be doing. You’ll be giving pleasure to so many people. It might be the wrong thing to do in some people’s eyes, but not mine. There’s too much grimness and disappointment in the world—I don’t want that for you.”
“But marriage . . .”
She smiled suddenly. “And maybe I’m feeling a little rebellious.”
I looked at her curiously. “What are you rebelling against?”
She sighed, her smile dipping.
“The RA mostly. People think when you have an illness, a disability, that you’re automatically some sort of paragon; ‘Look how good she is, putting up with that pain. So young and in a wheelchair’, blah blah. I’m just me, and I’m not always good. Maybe I’m rebelling against expectations. Does that make any sense?”
I sagged down on the couch. I understood that, rejecting the road laid out for you, pulling to go in another direction. I understood that only too well.
She sat down next to me, close, but not touching. Then she reached over and took my hand in hers, the small fingers stroking over my knuckles.
“Maybe one day I’ll see you dance on Broadway.”
“It’s insane,” I laughed quietly, watching her fingers drawing lazy letters across the back of my hand, a shiver rippling under my skin.
“Ash! This could be your big chance!”
She was so passionate, so full of life. I admired everything about her. Except her two left feet. She couldn’t dance—probably not even to save her life. She made me smile.
“What do you get out of this?”
She blinked, confusion and irritation at war in her expression.
“Me? I . . . well . . .”
“You get nothing out of this, Laney. It doesn’t make any sense.”
She shook her head.
“You’re wrong. I get to see you live your dream. And that . . . that means a lot to me.”
But why? “I already owe you so much.”
“No, you don’t, because you’re going to . . .”
“ . . . pay it forward. I know.”
She sighed. “Ash, everyone always says, ‘you can achieve anything if you want it hard enough’. Well, we both know that’s bullshit. I can dream about being an Olympic gymnast for the rest of my life, but it isn’t going to happen. And even though I kick and scream about not letting disability rule my life, there is definitely some dream adjustment involved. But you, you have the chance to catch that shooting star. You should do it for everyone who’ll stare at the stars, but can never be one of them.”
I shook my head.
“You make it sound selfless, but if I do this, it’s for me. And it will be the most selfish thing I’ve ever done.”
Laney smiled. “Now you’re getting it!”
“You are a crazy woman. I love that about you!”
Her lips popped open and I wished I could swallow back the words, but she just smiled.