Dance with the Doctor. Cindi Myers
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monogamy she’d always idealized, in the same way some people didn’t have a talent for math or a good sense of direction.
She’d never been much of a gambler, but since the accident all she wanted was to play it safe. If that meant being alone, well, there were worse things in the world. Whoever said it was better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all didn’t know what he was talking about.
THE STUDENTS ARRIVED for their Wednesday afternoon dance class in a rush of cold wind and chaos. Most of them, including Taylor, walked up the hill to Darcy’s house from the bus stop, and surged into the studio, wrestling off backpacks, coats and shoes, chattering like a flock of parrots. Darcy stood to one side and watched, letting the energy and vitality of these young people wash over her.
When their conversation had subsided to a low murmur, Darcy stepped to the front of the room and clapped her hands. “Today we’re going to start learning the routine you’ll perform for your parents and friends in April,” she announced. “Everyone in your places so we can get started.”
Music up, Darcy led the way through the first few moves of the routine she’d choreographed with the girls in mind. The moves were simple but lovely, challenging enough to keep them entertained and to impress their families, and a foundation they could build on if they decided to continue studying belly dance. She watched in the mirror as they practiced the moves, the girls all smiles. Next to her, Taylor was grinning so broadly Darcy wondered it didn’t hurt.
“What kind of costumes will we wear in the show?” Debby asked from the back row as they practiced moving their hips in a figure-eight pattern.
“You can wear a skirt or pants and a top, and a hip scarf with coins,” Darcy said. “Something similar to what the adult dancers wear.”
“My mom said she’d make me a pink costume,” Jane’s daughter Hannah said.
“Where do you get a costume?” Zoe asked. “Can you just buy one?”
“You probably already have some skirts and tops at home you can use,” Darcy said. “Your moms—or dads—can decorate them with sequins or beads.” She smiled at the thought of Dr. Mike sewing sequins on a tiny top.
“What color costume do you want, Taylor?” Hannah asked.
Taylor shrugged.
“Well, what’s your favorite color?” Hannah persisted.
“Purple.”
While the others discussed the merits of skirts versus pants and sequins versus beads, Darcy was aware that Taylor had become very quiet. Her smile had vanished, and she seemed almost to have shrunk into herself. “Is something wrong, sweetie?” Darcy asked.
Taylor shook her head, not meeting Darcy’s eyes.
Clearly something was wrong. “Are you worried about your costume?” she asked. Maybe Taylor thought Mike would object to her wearing one. Or that a dad wasn’t qualified to help her put one together. Darcy bent low, and whispered, “I’ll help you find the right thing to wear. Don’t worry.”
Taylor nodded, though she didn’t look much happier.
“Darcy, will you dance for us, please?” Liz asked.
“Yes, please! We want to see you dance!”
The other girls added their pleas.
Darcy had planned to finish out class with a version of Simon Says using dance moves, but it would be fun to perform for the girls. She could show them some of the things they’d be able to do if they continued to study and practice. “All right,” she said. “Everyone sit on the floor at the back of the studio and I’ll dance for you.”
“With the sword,” Kira said.
“Not with the sword,” Darcy said. “With a veil.” She plucked a large gauzy blue silk one, spangled with sequins, from a shelf near the door. “Now just give me a minute to find the right music.” She felt a familiar tickle of excitement low in her stomach. Nothing like performing for an appreciative audience to make a dancer want to do her best.
ON WEDNESDAYS, Mike closed his office early. Most of the time he and Taylor did something special together. They went to the movies or out for pizza. Now that she was in dance class, he missed her more than he’d imagined. The office seemed emptier without her chatter, and he felt at loose ends, wondering what she was up to, and if she was all right. In a few more weeks he’d adjust to the change in routine, just as he’d adjusted to her return to school after her last hospitalization and her overnight visits with her mother. But for now her absence left him unsettled.
Nicole stopped in the doorway of his office. “Your last patient is ready,” the nurse said.
Grateful for the distraction of work, Mike headed for Exam Room One, where nine-year-old Brent Jankowski waited, along with his mom, Sarah, and three younger sisters. “What’s up with you today, Brent?” Mike asked, glancing at the boy’s chart.
“I have a cold.” Brent sniffed.
“I hate to bother you with such a silly thing.” Sarah looked up from tying her youngest’s—Emily’s—shoe. “But you did tell us we should come in for any sign of illness at all.”
“Yes, it’s smart to be careful.” Mike put his stethoscope to Brent’s chest and listened. There, under the normal lub-dub of the heart was a soft, sighing sound—a leaky heart valve. It was just the sort of defect that could lead to bigger problems down the road. Even something as routine as a common cold could turn more serious for Brent, as it had for Taylor. Fortunately, advanced diagnostics had caught the problem earlier and new treatment protocols promised a more favorable outcome than Taylor’s.
Mike moved the stethoscope to listen to the boy’s lungs, then checked his ears and throat. “There’s bronchitis setting in,” he said. “I’m going to prescribe a heavy-duty decongestant. We’ll try to avoid antibiotics for now, but if he starts running a fever above a hundred, call me right away.”
“All right. Thanks.”
As he typed the prescription into the computer, he marveled at Sarah Jankowski’s calm. He started imagining worst-case scenarios every time Taylor sneezed. Maybe Sarah’s blasé attitude came from having four children instead of only one.
He’d wanted more children, despite his long work hours, but Melissa had been as reluctant as he was to take time off from her job and felt one child was plenty.
He saw the Jankowskis to the front desk, then glanced at the clock. He still had a few minutes before it was time to pick Taylor up from her class, but it wouldn’t hurt if he arrived early.
When he pulled into the driveway and switched off the car he could hear music coming from the garage-turned-studio. He could make out drums and some kind of high-pitched instrument, maybe a flute. Smiling to himself, he slid out of the car. He’d just peek in, try to catch a glimpse of Taylor dancing without her realizing he was watching.
Snow crunched under his feet as he followed the path to the studio. He slipped through the foyer to a second door behind which the music throbbed. He eased it open and peeked inside.
But instead of watching Taylor and the other students, he found himself staring at Darcy, her back to the door, performing for a wide-eyed group of girls.
Moving slowly and gracefully, Darcy swayed in rhythm to the music, hips rolling, arms tracing patterns in the air. The exotic music, the sparkle of sequins and shimmer or silk, even the faint incense in the air, worked a spell on Mike. He felt as if he’d plummeted through a trapdoor from his everyday life to this erotic new world. Darcy twirled a veil around her, hiding, then revealing the curve of her hip, the smooth paleness of her bare back, the gentle roundness of her belly, the swell of cleavage above the sequined bra top. Mike’s heart pounded and he had trouble breathing, but he made no attempt to turn away.
His life was so devoid of the feminine. The sexual. He wasn’t the type of man who looked at magazine