Two by Two(65)

 

"I hope so. Right now, I just want to …  escape, you know?"

"You need a break from all this," she said, putting her hands on her  hips. "Why don't you guys come with Bodhi and me to the zoo in Ashboro  this Saturday?"

"What about art class?"

"Puh-lease." She tossed a length of her thick hair over her shoulder.  "The kids can skip a day. And I know Bodhi would be thrilled. Has London  ever been there?"

"No," I said.

The directness of her offer was disarming and I struggled to come up  with a response. Was she asking me on a date? Or was this more about  Bodhi and London?

"Thanks," I said. "I'll let you know." By then, I could see teachers  beginning to congregate near the door, students assembling by classroom.  Emily noticed it too.

"I should get back to my car," she said. "I don't want to hold up the  line. It takes them long enough as it is. Good seeing you, Russ." She  waved.

"You, too, Emily."

I watched her walk away, trying to decipher the meaning of her  invitation, but as she drew farther away, I felt the distinct urge to  see more of her. I might not be ready and it might be too soon, but I  suddenly wanted that more than anything.

"Hey Emily," I called out.

She turned.

"What time are you thinking of leaving?"





When we got home London was feeling a little better, so we went for a  bike ride. I let her take the lead, following along as we traversed the  streets of the neighborhood. Her biking ability was improving with every  ride. I still had to caution her to move to the side of the road when a  car approached, but kids on bicycles were a common sight in the  neighborhood, and most drivers gave us a wide berth.

We rode for an hour. Once home, she ate a snack and went upstairs to  dress for dance. It seemed to take forever, and after a while I went up  to check on her. I found her sitting on the bed, still wearing the same  outfit she'd worn earlier.

I took a seat beside her. "What's wrong, sweetie?"

"I don't want to go to dance tonight," she said. "I'm sick."

Her cold hadn't adversely affected her bike ride, so I knew something  else was going on. Namely, that she didn't like dance class or Ms.  Hamshaw. And who could blame her?

"If you're too tired or still feeling sick, you don't have to go."

"Really?"

"Of course not."

"Mommy might get mad."

Your mom left us, I thought. But I didn't say that.

"I'll talk to her. If you're sick, you're sick. But is there something else going on?"

"No."

"Because if there is, you can tell me."

When she added nothing else, I put my arm around her. "Do you like going to dance?"

"It's important," she said, as if reciting a sacred rule. "Mommy used to dance."

"That's not what I asked. I asked if you like it."

"I don't want to be a tree."

I frowned. "Honey? Can you tell me a little more about what's going on?"

"There's two groups in my class. One group is going away to dance at the  competition. They're the good dancers. I'm in the other group. We have  to dance, too, but only for our parents. And I have to be a tree in the  dance that we're doing."

"Oh," I said. "And that's bad?"

"Yes, it's bad. I'm just supposed to move my arms when the leaves grow and fall."

"Can you show me?"

With a sigh, she got up from the bed. She made a circle with her arms  above her head, her fingertips touching. Then, separating her arms, she  wiggled her fingers as she lowered her hands to her side. When she  finished, she took a seat beside me on the bed again. I wasn't quite  sure what to say.

"If it makes you feel any better, you were a very good tree," I finally offered.

"It's for the bad dancers, Daddy. Because I'm not good enough to play the frog or the butterfly or the swan or the fish."

I tried to imagine what those animals would be doing and how the dance  would unfold, but what was the point? I figured I'd see it soon enough.

"How many other girls are trees?"

"Just me and Alexandra. I wanted to be the butterfly and I practiced  really hard and I know all the moves, but Ms. Hamshaw said that Molly  gets to be the butterfly."

In the world of a five-year-old, I supposed this was a very big deal.

"When is the show?"

"I don't know. She told us but I forgot."

I made a note to check with Ms. Hamshaw. Before or after class, obviously, so I didn't offend or disrupt her.         

     



 

"Do you want to go to the zoo this weekend? With me and Bodhi and Miss Emily?"

"What?"

"The zoo. Miss Emily and Bodhi are going. She invited us, but I don't want to go if you'd rather not."

"A real zoo?"

"With lions and tigers and bears. Oh my."

She furrowed her little brow.

"Why did you say ‘Oh my'?" she finally asked.

"It's from a movie called The Wizard of Oz."

"Have I seen it?"

"No," I said.

"What's it about?"

"It's about a girl named Dorothy. Her house gets picked up by a tornado  and she lands in a place called Oz. She meets a lion and a tin man and a  scarecrow, and they try to find the wizard so she can go back home."

"Is there a bear and a tiger in the movie, too?"

"Not that I can recall."

"Then why does the girl say it?"

That's a good question. "I don't know. Maybe because she was afraid she might run into them."

"I'm not afraid of bears. But tigers are scary. They can be really mean."

"Yeah?"

"I learned that when I watched The Jungle Book."

"Ah," I said.

"Is Mommy going to come to the zoo, too?"

"No," I said. "She's working."

She seemed to consider that. "Okay," she said. "Since Bodhi's going, we can go, too."





When Vivian FaceTimed later that evening, I noticed she was dressed as  though she were about to go out to dinner, no doubt with Spannerman. I  said nothing to her about it, but as she visited with London, the  thought stewed in the back of my mind.

Eventually London wandered back to me, holding out the phone. "Mommy needs to talk to you."

"Okay, sweetie," I said, taking it. I waited until she was gone before raising the screen.

"What's up?" I asked.

"I wanted to let you know that I'm going to be out of town this weekend and it might be hard to reach me."

Every part of me wanted the details, but I forced myself not to ask. "Okay."

She had apparently expected me to press for more information, as my  single-word answer seemed to throw her off. "All right," she went on  after an awkward pause. "Anyway, I'll definitely be in Charlotte to see  her next weekend, and I'd like to stay in the house again."

"Without me," I said. I tried hard not to appear wounded.

"I'm thinking about London here, so yes, without you. And, of course,  her birthday is two weekends after that, and I'd like to do the same  thing. Stay in the house, I mean. Her birthday's on a Friday, but I want  to put together a birthday party with her friends on Saturday. You  should obviously come to her party, but after that, it would probably be  best if you let us have the rest of the weekend to ourselves."

"It's her birthday weekend," I protested. "I'd like to spend time with her, too."

"You're with her all the time, Russ," she said, raising her chin.

"She's in school. And at her activities. You might think I get a lot of downtime with her, but I don't."

She gave an annoyed sigh. "You get to see her every night. You get to  read to her. You get to see her every single morning. I don't."

"Because you left," I said, enunciating slowly. "Because you moved to Atlanta."

"So you'd keep me from seeing my daughter? What kind of father are you?  And on that subject, you shouldn't have let her miss dance class today."

"She has a cold," I said. "She was tired."

"How is she supposed to improve if you keep letting her miss class?"

The accusatory tone made my back stiffen.

"This is first one she missed. It's not the end of the world. Besides, I don't think she even likes dance class."

"You're missing the point," Vivian said, narrowing her eyes at me. "If  she wants a bigger role the next time they have a show, she can't miss  classes. You're setting her up to be disappointed again."

"And my point was, I don't think she'll care, since she doesn't like dance in the first place."

I could see her chest rise and fall, a flush creeping up past the  neckline of her black cocktail dress. "Why are you doing this?"

"What am I doing now?"

"What you always do! Finding fault, trying to pick a fight."

"Why is it that when I tell you what I think or offer an opinion that's  different than yours, you accuse me of trying to pick a fight?"