All in all? A success.
The music was still going strong, though the only ones dancing now were Marge and Lou. Wrapped around each other like pythons, the hippie and the matchmaker were something to behold. And by that, I mean it was terrifying watching them practically mount each other on the makeshift dance floor.
“No more slow songs, I told you that,” I whispered to Lucas, who was trying his best not to watch the train wreck that was currently two-stepping by to the tune of “I Only Have Eyes for You.”
“Come on, chickie baby, it’s nice. In a somewhat gross way.”
“But I liked this song! Now it’s forever tainted by this memory,” I moaned, turning away. And catching something I never thought I’d see again in my life. My father, leading my mother onto the dance floor.
Now, I’d been told by my mother expressly when planning my wedding to Charles that under no circumstances would there be a Mother/Father dance taking place, and that if I pushed it, I’d regret it. So imagine my surprise when the two held hands and, with an appropriate amount of space in between them, began to dance.
“I don’t believe it,” I said, my jaw somewhere down by my feet. “I’ve got to get a picture of this; Clark will never believe it.”
He and Vivian had left long ago, arguing over some historic lighthouse he wanted to see on the way home. As they’d headed to their car, that discussion shifted into which route to take home. I’d also seen Clark’s hand disappear down the back of her skirt as they walked, and I had a feeling that if they stopped, it wasn’t going to be to look at a lighthouse.
“I’m sorry my parents couldn’t make it,” Lucas said. “Dad had to cover a shift at the clinic, and my mom’s getting over the flu. She’s dying to meet you, though, and said to tell you congratulations.”
“Dying to meet me? You been talking about me?” I asked, taking my eyes off my parents dancing for the first time in years to look up at Lucas. Dusk had fallen, and a warm breeze was blowing in off the ocean, carrying the faintest scent of brine, cut with the night-blooming jasmine that was just beginning to open.
“If I had, would that be so bad?” he asked.
“No,” I murmured. “Not bad at all.” I swayed a bit to the music, watching the couples that had now joined Marge and Lou, and my mother and father. Suddenly I wanted to be dancing in my backyard.
I looked up at Lucas, just as he started to say, “Would you—”
“Chloe, dear, your father’s just informed me that there seems to have been a mistake at the hotel, and there’s only one room available. So if it’s all right with you, it looks like I’ll be staying here.”
“What?” I asked, looking around wildly and spying my father heading inside with a devilish grin. “I mean, of course you can stay with me, Mother.”
She sighed dramatically. “I do hope you have enough hot water for my bath. This house always seemed to have the tiniest water heater in the free world. Though since you used paper plates, that should save on some hot water.”
“There’s plenty of hot water, Mother. It’s practically scalding.” I sighed and leaned against Lucas, who tucked me into his side.
Something that my mother’s eyes didn’t miss for a second. Narrowing them, she looked up at Lucas. “My, you are tall, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered, and I giggled into his armpit.
She gave him one more appraising glance, then called to my father, “Thomas, if you’re leaving me here, you’re doing it after you’ve brought in my bags. I’m not hauling them up that long driveway myself.”
“Yes, Marjorie. I said I’d get your bags. Pipe down.”
“One dance, and he thinks he can take that tone with me again,” she said, but not without some amusement.
As she headed into the house I slumped further into Lucas’ side, the day’s excitement beginning to wear into exhaustion.
“Rain check on the dance?” Lucas asked.
“Oh, were you going to ask me to dance?” I said, tilting my head and giving him my best coy look.
“Just like your peep show, I guess we’ll never know,” he replied, catching me by the hand and spinning me out, just to spin me right back in.
I laughed. “Hey, what’s with the slick moves?”
“Every ring-a-ding kid has his moves,” he said in his best Sinatra.
And I realized that I’d been in almost constant contact with him all day—whether a shoulder rub, a hip check, or a spin move designed to wrap me in his arms. Those ring-a-ding moves? They worked. I stared into his eyes, wondering if enough time had passed to move forward, and frankly not caring if they had.