Etching Our Way (Broken Tracks 1)
“Do you have peanut butter cups, Uncle Nate?” Clay asks.
“Do I have them?” He raises his brows, a smirk lifting the side of his lips before handing him three packets. “Of course I do!” He hands him a can of soda and a packet of chips as well before continuing to pull more things out of the bag.
What the hell kind of bag is it? A Mary Poppins bag? I can only imagine what he’ll pull out next.
He finally settles back into the dark red, velvet covered seat after handing each of us something to eat and drink—although I refused—before popping a straw in his own drink and making a slurping noise that has me gritting my teeth.
“Nate!” I narrow my eyes at him as he lets the straw drop out of his mouth, his eyes wide and innocent.
“What?”
“Must you be so goddamn noisy?” My voice is practically a growl and I know he can see that I’m on edge, yet he’s still pushing it.
He points at his chest, mock outrage on his face before looking around at a smirking Amelia before turning back to Clay and me.
“Yes, you.” I shake my head, cursing under my breath and taking Clay’s open can of soda from him before he knocks it over.
Nate makes the slurping noise again and I whip my head back to face him, giving him a death stare. I swear, if he doesn’t stop it then I’m going to shove that straw so far up his—
“Sorry!” He places his drink down, holding his hands up in the air before winking at Amelia.
He’s doing it on fucking purpose.
“You’re such a child,” Amelia tells him.
“I know.” He smirks, proud of the fact and then starts to tell her all about the new addition to his office, some kind of running track that an intern came up with. He’s practically bouncing up and down in his seat when the lights go dark and the music starts to thrum throughout the theater.
Silence reigns around us as the dark red curtains start to pull open and a spotlight is shined on the stage.
“When is Izzie on?” Clay asks, trying his hardest to whisper as he leans closer to me.
I look down at the program that was left on the seat, trying to find out when Izzie will be on and finally finding her name on the second page near the end.
“She’s on eighth with her group,” I whisper back to Clay.
He rolls his eyes, popping another peanut butter cup into his mouth and watching the young girl on stage as she twirls around, her dress flowing around her and then whipping to the side as she comes to a stop.
We sit and watch, counting down the dances until Izzie comes on, my stomach fluttering with nerves at seeing her in her first big show. The last time I was in a theater like this, it was to watch Natalia’s show not long after we got married.
I swallow against the dryness of my throat as the images of her dancing on the stage and me sitting in the chair, still consumed with anger over the situation rained down on me. Things were so different back then, if only I had—
My thoughts are ripped from me when I see Izzie; arms wide, her feet pointed as she dance-walks across the stage and gets into her starting position.
The dark blue and green costume that she’s wearing is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen her wear and her hair is up in a bun, slicked back to her head. Her eyes scan the theater, and I know she’s looking for us. I want to wave my arm in the air and stand up to show her where we are, but I refrain, knowing that all it will do is cause her to lose concentration on what she’s doing.
Her arms lift up and down to the beat of the music, making the flowy material she’s wearing at her wrists move with her. She twirls and leaps up in the air to the haunting beat of the music, her timing impeccable. She lands on one leg, her other leg stretching behind her at a ninety-degree angle as she dips her head to the floor, extending her leg up to the ceiling.
There’s two beats before the other girls in her group walk out of the wings. She joins them as they all dance in a circle, their arms and bodies moving to the deep bass beat that echoes around us, the seats vibrating with its intensity.
She moves to the middle of the circle, her arms extending above her head before she lets them float down gently, matching in time with the cello that is playing behind the beat before she dips to the floor, her arms moving back above her head as her back bows and she rolls over.
I watch her intently, a lump forming in my throat at her ability to tell a story through her fluid movements.
She stands up, her head turned toward the ceiling as the circle comes to a stop and another dancer comes from the left wing, heading into the middle next to Izzie. She opens her arms wide, making all of the little dancers fall to the floor just before the spotlight turns off and the stage turns black.
Goose bumps spread across my skin as I watch Nate, Amelia, and Clay stand up, clapping and whistling. I can’t get up, I’m still sitting here mesmerized by her and caught in my memories of the past.
“That’s my niece!” Nate shouts.