Dancing in the Dark

The waitress pursed her lips and scooped up their menus. “You got it.”

Seth waited until she’d walked away from the table. Then he leaned forward. “Only a stupid son of a bitch wouldn’t have realized you were leaving him, not just Cooper’s Corner.”

Wendy looked blank. “I don’t know...” She stared at him and then she laughed. Really laughed, which only sent his anger up another notch.

“You think that’s funny?”

“You think I went to Norway rather than simply break things off with you?” She sat back as the waitress served their coffee, her laughter dying as soon as the girl left. “You know what, Seth? If you believe that, you’re right. You really are dumb.”

“You know damn well what I mean. When you left here, I thought things were fine between us. And then, wham, you didn’t even have the decency to slam the door in my face. A Dear John letter, for God’s sake. Until then, I thought people only did those things in bad movies.”

His face was dark with anger. Wendy could see the faint, rhythmic tick of a muscle in his jaw. For a second, she wanted to reach across the table, put her fingers against that telltale pulse, tell him...tell him—

“All right.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I...I shouldn’t have done it that way. But I was in a hospital bed, remember? I wasn’t up to having conversations with visitors.”

“I wasn’t a visitor, damn it. I was your lover.” Seth leaned forward, his voice low and rough. “Do you have any idea what it was like? Being here, a million miles from you, getting that call from your mother, knowing you’d been hurt, knowing that you might—that you might be dying?”

“This is history. And I’ve already apologized. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? To hear me admit I was wrong? I should have told you I was ending things...except, if you think back, I tried. I refused to see you. I didn’t open your notes....”

She wrapped her hands around the mug, hoping some of the coffee’s warmth would seep into her icy fingers. She didn’t regret what she’d done. What choice had there been? Seth was over her. She was over him. But she owed him this moment.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I was wrong. I know it’s years too late, but...but thank you for coming.”

He made a sound that might have been a laugh. “I didn’t want your thanks, Wendy. I just wanted you to look at me. Tell me how glad you were to see me.” His voice turned husky. He cleared his throat, reached for the cream and poured some into his coffee. “What’s that old song?” he said with a quick smile. “Something about not always getting what you want, right?”

“You’re right about the note, too. I should have had the courage to face you and tell you I was ending things.”

He looked up from his coffee, and all at once he seemed young and vulnerable. “That you wanted me out of your life.”

“It wasn’t easy,” Wendy said. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I want you to know that.”

“Yeah.” He stirred his coffee, then put down his spoon. “But you did it.” He lifted the mug to his lips, took a sip. “And you were right,” he said briskly. “I mean, we were just kids. What do kids know about what they really feel or want?”

She felt a little tug at her heart. “Not much.” She took a deep breath. “Okay?”

Was it? He wasn’t sure, but he’d come for closure and that was what she was offering.

“Sure.” Seth held out his hand. “Friends?”

“Friends.”

She smiled and put her hand in his. His fingers, warm and callused, tightened around hers. An electric tingle of remembrance shot through her. Their eyes met and held. Then he let go of her hand and reached for his coffee.

“I hear you’re a teacher.”

“Mais oui,” she said, still smiling, still feeling the current running from her fingers straight through her blood. “And you’re a hotshot carpenter.”

She was doing her best to lighten the conversation, Seth realized. He could help her, now that they’d settled things. They’d been friends long before they’d been lovers. It would be nice to be friends again—and they could be, now that his anger was gone.

“That’s me.” He grinned. “Seth Castleman, Cooper’s Corner’s best carpenter.”

“I bet.”

“Hey, I can’t lose.” He dropped his voice to an exaggerated whisper. “I’m its only carpenter.”

They both smiled, waited, then spoke at the same time.

“So,” Wendy said.

“So,” Seth said.

They laughed. “You first,” he told her.

“No, you go ahead. What were you about to say?”

“I was going to ask what brought you home.”

A visit, she started to say, but he smiled, a crooked tilt of the mouth she’d never forgotten. Her heart gave that funny little lurch again, but there was nothing but pleasant interest in his gaze. Good. That was good. That was all she felt, too. It meant they could be, well, perhaps not friends, but friendly. In that spirit, she decided to tell him the truth.

“I’m here to meet someone. Well, to introduce myself to him.” Seth looked puzzled. She leaned closer. “Have you ever heard of a surgeon named Rod Pommier?”

He blinked and sat back. “Pommier? Yeah, sure I’ve heard of him. Actually—”

“Actually, what?”

I know him. The words were on the tip of Seth’s tongue, but he bit them back.

“A person would have to be dense not to have heard of the guy. He made the papers, the cover of all the magazines a while back....” He stared at her. “You want him to operate on you?”

“That’s right.” Wendy’s face seemed to light from within. “He’s developed a technique that could change my life. It’s a bonding thing. I don’t understand most of it but—?

??

“Change your life how? You’re walking. That was the big thing, wasn’t it? That you got back the use of your leg?”

“I want to ski again,” she said, as if he should have been able to figure that out for himself.

“Can’t you?”

“Is that your idea of a joke?”

Her voice had turned cold. He knew somehow he’d made a mistake, but about what?

“No. Of course not. Look, I know you walk with a limp—”

“That’s very incisive.”

“Wendy. Damn it, all I meant was... I still ski and—”

“Yes,” she said. Her tone had gone from cold to frigid. “I’m sure you do.” She grabbed her gloves and purse and began to rise. He reached out and caught her wrist. “Please let go of me.”

“Will you stop being an idiot? I’m trying to tell you that when I’m on the slopes, I see people with all kinds of handicaps.”

“Handicaps.” Ice crystals rimed each syllable.

“You know what I mean. I just assumed—”

“Assumptions are always a mistake.”

“Will you stop looking at me that way?”

“How about you let go of my wrist?”

“Look...” He sat back, telling himself that he wasn’t going to get anywhere by losing his temper again. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. If you miss skiing—”

“If I miss it?” She gave a bitter laugh. “You really don’t know me at all, do you?”

His eyes narrowed. “I guess not, because I figured you’d have been back on the mountains for a long time by now.”

“Where? How? On the beginner’s slope?”

“No, of course not. They held a race at Brodie last winter for people with disabilities.” He saw her flinch at the word. “For people who are challenged.”

“Don’t play with the truth, Seth. For cripples. Isn’t that what you mean?” She glared at him, her breathing quick. “Do you really think I could be satisfied with that?”

“These people don’t stay on the beginner’s—”

“Damn it, you know what I’m saying! No, I haven’t skied since my accident. Why would I? I don’t want to poke along, watching out for each bump. I want to ski the way I once did. To fly down a mountain. To compete.”