Chapter Three
Susan felt a lot better than last night, after sleeping off whatever drugs might have been in her system.
Waking up in a house where she wouldn’t get a sigh when she refused to accompany her father to church. A long, hot shower. Outside, the sun bounced off the snow, bright and warm. Today would be a good day.
Her phone said it was close to eleven. Later than she normally got started, but it meant Mercy should be up.
Susan wandered downstairs. The white of a Christmas tree, covered in gold and cream ornaments, winked at her through the living room doorway. She headed toward the murmur of voices. The open dining room flowed into the kitchen, divided up by a breakfast bar, then continuing into polished walnut, granite counters, and stainless steel. Mercy stood near the stove with Ian behind her, arms around her waist. Their backs were to Susan. He nuzzled Mercy’s neck, and she laughed and leaned into him.
Such a perfect couple. Susan wanted to be half of that kind of adoration someday, but that didn’t mean she wanted to watch them grope each other. She cleared her throat. And then again.
Mercy whirled, grinning. “Hey. You sleep okay?”
“Once I finally passed out, it was good.” Susan adored having Mercy back in her life. She was so young when her sister left. And Mercy saw and experienced so much. Susan wished it hadn’t been at the cost of family, but now they were back together. Besides, Ian was nice. The house had a happy presence to it.
Ian kissed Mercy on the cheek. “Give me ten, and we’ll go.” He squeezed Susan’s arm. “Brunch?”
“Absolutely,” Susan said. Her phone rang.
Mercy frowned. “I’m sorry last night it took me so long…”
“Don’t worry about it.” Susan ignored the pang of hurt at the reminder. “I have to take this.” She clicked Answer and turned to pace toward the living room. “This is Susan Rice.”
“Susan, it’s Grace, with Ballet West.”
Susan’s heart dropped into her stomach, and she swallowed back the surge of nervousness. “It’s great to hear from you.” She’d auditioned with the group for the last four years, with no luck. But this would be her year. She knew it.
“Same.” A hint of strain ran through the woman’s voice. “Listen, I’m sorry to bother you on a Sunday.” She laughed, but cut it off abruptly. “We don’t normally call back at all, in cases like this, but I wanted to talk to you.”
Susan ran the words through every second-guess filter in her brain. She wanted this job. Had prayed to make it through this audition. It wasn’t a big part, but if she performed well for their next season, she could move into larger roles in future years. It would also look fantastic on her resume, when she finished college and started teaching. It should be a stepping stone to instructing a high school drill team. She wanted this so bad she could taste it. “It’s not a problem. What can I do for you?”
“Ms. Rice, you’re very talented. It’s been years since I’ve seen such technically skilled performance.”
The words didn’t boost her spirits the way they should. “Thank you.”
“But this kind of performance requires a stage presence, which—to be direct—you’re lacking. This is a difficult thing to explain, but you don’t have a gift for playing to the audience.”
Susan swallowed a whimper. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard feedback like this. It kept her out of all but the one-off background dancer gigs, where she was cast to the back row. She’d never figured out what to do with the information. “Is there some way I can learn?” The question slipped out before she could stop it, carried on a pleading she wanted to hide. “I know you don’t have time. But if you could recommend someone—” She snapped her jaw shut before she resorted to flat-out begging.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Rice. It’s not that easy. The kind of presence you’re lacking isn’t the kind of thing one normally learns. The best advice I have for you is to do more in front of audiences. Do it until it’s as natural as dancing when no one’s watching. Come back during group try-outs in January. We might have an opening then, and you can see about observing from the background.”
“Of course. Thank you.”
“And Ms. Rice? You only have a few more years left. I’d love to see a talent like yours perform with us before you pass your peak.”
“Me too.” Susan failed to keep the bitterness from her voice. “Enjoy your Sunday.” She disconnected and dropped her cell phone onto the couch, before sinking down next to it. The fire crackled in the hearth, and the snap of a log blended with her mood. Dang it.
“Everything all right?”
Mercy’s question startled her, and Susan shifted to see her standing in the doorway. “Fine. Good. Status quo. Didn’t get the Ballet West thing. No big deal.”
“I’m sorry. I know how much you wanted that.”
Susan wasn’t in the mood for pity or sympathy or anything obligatory. She had her fill of that last night. “It’s fine. But I’m not up for brunch. Can you give me a lift back to my car?”
Sympathy bled into Mercy’s smile. “Of course. You know where to find me if you want to talk.”
“I do.” Susan didn’t want to talk. Wasn’t in the mood to get another lecture on living her dreams and pushing to achieve. What the heck did Mercy think she was trying to do? Susan buried the acrid thought. She needed a little time to work through this.