“Everything.” My mother drew a belabored breath. “Tomorrow you’ll see how big of a mistake I’ve made, and you just might change your mind.”
ChapterEight
Tuesday’s classesat Little Elves Dance Studio started with ballet for toddlers at five and ended with ballet for high school girls at nine.
The toddler girls were performing a beginner’s ballet toWaltz of the SnowflakesfromThe Nutcracker. Their moves were very basic – first position, second position, and so on, followed by running on their toes in a circle, and then repeating. I had them practice their positions and let them scurry through the dance twice. They were adorable and their mothers gushed over my presence.
Ivy’s class came in next. Half the class were toy soldiers, and the others were the rats. Ivy’s bestie Laura was dancing the role of Clara, technically not a part of the fight between the rats and toy soldiers. But Eve had worked something out in a much shorter version of the classic ballet. And it was all done without toe shoes. The elementary school girls wore regular ballet slippers.
“Mom says we don’t get our cardboard swords until a few days before the Christmas Extravaganza,” Ivy said solemnly. “We all pretend we have them by holding glow sticks.”
On cue, twelve little girls snapped their glow sticks and requested I turn down the lights for their performance. There was mayhem when they “marched” between the ranks of their opponent and I could understand why Eve didn’t want them holding larger swords, even if they were cardboard. We spent most of their session walking through the advance of the fight portion of the dance. Fortunately, no toy soldiers or rats were injured during our rehearsal, for which the stage moms were grateful.
The next class were middle schoolers. Their ballet was theWaltz of the FlowersfromThe Nutcracker. The girls had good form, although they weren’t performing the dance with toe shoes. I encouraged them to channel delicate flowers in their movements and to think about arm and leg placement. For the little instruction I gave, the dancers and their parents seemed thrilled.
The final class of the night was theDance of the Sugar Plum Fairyportion ofThe Nutcracker. The high school dancers were all sugar plum fairies. They’d progressed to pointe shoes, some recently, or so it seemed as a few wobbled. We did a fair amount of barre work to refine their movements and clean up their lines. When their class was over, a few of the girls asked me if they thought they had potential to dance professionally.
“Anyone can do it if they work hard enough,” I reassured them.
At the end of the night, the dancers and their parents were happy, which would please Eve. And most importantly, I was happy. I’d never thought about teaching dance after my career was over. It opened up a new realm of possibilities, although not in Christmas Mountain since Eve was there first. I doubted my hometown could support another dance studio. And besides, the gushing compliments I’d been given felt undeserved. Other than being a Rockette, my dance performance had never headlined a show.
When I locked up, Nick was waiting for me in his truck, engine running, the heater on, and theTwelve Days of Christmasplaying on the radio. The sky was clear tonight and full of stars.
“How did it go, Miss Allie?” Nick looked like he enjoyed using my dance teacher name. He wore his jacket over a white sweater embellished with Santa grilling burgers.
“Class was good.”
He peered at my face. “I sense a but.”
“Well…” I don’t know why I hesitated telling him about my career situation in New York. But suddenly, the need to unburden myself to someone was too intense to ignore. “I enjoyed teaching, but the girls and their moms seem to think I made a huge splash as a dancer in the Big Apple. And if I’m being honest, so does everyone else in town.”
“Didn’t you make a big splash?” Nick came up to a stop sign, and turned to face me, not going anywhere. “You were accepted into a prestigious performing arts academy. And then you worked for years as a dancer.”
“As astrivingdancer,” I corrected. “I didn’t specialize. I wasn’t a ballerina. I don’t have the best of singing voices, so I couldn’t land supporting roles singing and dancing on Broadway. That meant I was limited to the chorus or special performances here or there.”
“You struggled,” he surmised, concern in his eyes.
I nodded, jumbled thoughts in my head suddenly clarifying. “And I’m tired of stressing about where my next paycheck will come from. I mean, what’s the point continuing? I’m not an actress. Or a singer. I’m a dancer. And unless I land a role onDancing with the Starsas some actor’s professional dance partner, chances are that I’ll age out of my field in another few years.” If I hadn’t already.
“Not to mention the toll dancing takes on your body.” He gestured toward my feet.
“Yes.” I shifted my feet closer to the seat.
“What are you going to do?” He turned down the radio, an indication that he was seriously vested in the conversation. “Stay in Christmas Mountain?”
My insides spun unhappily. “Can you imagine me retiring from professional dancing and living here? My mom would nag me to no end about walking away from a good thing before I was forced to. And people would expect me to dance every year at the Extravaganza.”
“None of that would matter if you were happy,” Nick said gently.
“But that’s just it. I crafted my whole life around dance making me happy.” And it no longer did.
I didn’t have to say the words. I could tell by the pitying look in Nick’s eyes that he knew.
Someone honked behind us.
Nick faced forward and drove through the intersection, frowning a little.
My insides were still spinning. I cast about for a change of subject. I patted the folded blanket between us. “What’s this for?”