Authors: Jennifer Faye
H
e needed to see Ella.
Even though he’d canceled the lesson, was there a chance she might have missed his message and gone to the dance studio? It was worth a try. The more time that passed, the more urgent his need became to talk with her.
With the setting sun splashing the earth with its last lingering rays, Tony drove through Whistle Stop. Couples strolled along the sidewalks hand-in-hand. Kids rode their bikes. Shopkeepers closed up their stores for the evening. Everything looked normal. But it wasn’t—not in his world. In fact, his world was nothing but a jumbled-up mess.
He wasn’t sure how to piece things back together with Ella. Was it even possible at this point? He sighed. It’d be so easy to turn around and head back home. But there was something deep inside him, a driving need to put things right with her. He had to at least try.
Tony parked his pickup before rushing across the street to Josie’s Dance Studio. He peered inside, but the lights were out. He tried the doorknob just in case they were in the office talking, but it didn’t budge. And then he noticed the note taped to the glass:
Be back later
.
Tony swore under his breath. He jumped into his truck. Just in case he’d missed a call from Ella, he pulled out his cell phone. There was no message from Ella, but there was one from his mother. It was a static-filled connection. He could make out only every third or fourth word, leaving him to wonder what she had wanted. He tried calling the house, but there was no answer. Next, he tried his mother’s cell phone, but it went directly to voice mail. He’d try again later.
He turned toward the ranch. With Johnny spending part of the evening with Bobby’s family, Tony was about to head home to an empty house. The idea of being alone with his troubled thoughts had him easing up on the gas pedal.
If he wanted to be honest with himself, he had to accept that he’d pushed her too hard, too fast. The acknowledgment lodged in his chest, heavy and jagged. He’d been expecting too much from her this early in their relationship. She obviously had trust issues. Why hadn’t he taken the time to go slow with her?
He’d never meant to scare her way.
Instead, he wanted to be the person she turned to.
The person she poured her heart out to.
This revelation shook him to the core. For the first time in days, he knew exactly what to do. A hard jerk to the left on the steering wheel had the pickup making a U-turn. He’d find her tonight. She might not speak to him after he’d missed their dance lesson. Still, he had to try to smooth things over.
On the drive to Roca Mountain, he tried to figure out what he’d say to her. His gut knotted up. He’d never been good at apologies, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try. He wanted…he wanted…oh, he didn’t know what he wanted, except to figure out this thing with Ella.
When he pulled into her driveway, disappointment coursed through him. The place was dark, and her car wasn’t there. Where could she be? With absolutely no idea where else to look for her, he headed back to town. He wasn’t ready to go home—not until he got a handle on his thoughts.
The street lamps of Whistle Stop lit up the road. A peacefulness had settled over the town as the shadows of evening grew long. Tony felt anything but peaceful. He slowed when he spotted his mother’s car in front of Mrs. Sanchez’s house. Her garbled voice mail gnawed at him. What if it had been something important? He pulled over to park. It’d take two minutes to pop in and check with her, then he’d head home.
♥♥♥
Ella’s mouth gaped open.
This is my surprise?
She stood in the middle of Mrs. Sanchez’s kitchen staring at the most gorgeous dress she’d ever seen. The fact that Carlota and her friend had graciously made it for her to wear in the dance competition left her speechless. Tears of joy moistened Ella’s eyes as she gazed at the amazing red and white creation. How could she not fall in love with a town filled with such generous souls?
“It’s stunning.” Ella frantically searched for the appropriate words of gratitude. “You two are wonderful. No one has ever done anything so sweet and thoughtful for me. Ever. I…I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Oh, don’t go getting all mushy,” Mrs. Sanchez said. “You’ll have my mascara running down my cheeks.” She swiped a hand beneath each watery eye.
“Don’t pay her any mind.” Carlota waved off Mrs. Sanchez. “She gets misty-eyed over everything—”
“Do not.” Mrs. Sanchez sniffled.
As though Carlota hadn’t heard her friend, she continued, “You really like the dress? I mean, you don’t have to. We just thought you might want something special for the occasion.”
“I do. I really like it.”
Once Ella pulled her emotions under control, she inspected the fancy garment a little closer. Her gaze started with the fire-engine red satin A-line skirt. It was short. She highly doubted it’d reach the tops of her knees. She could easily imagine it fluffing out when she spun in a circle. The skirt was drawn in with a coordinating waistband. A white bodice shimmered with silver embellishments that emphasized a daring neckline. Her breath caught in her throat when she realized the dress had no sleeves.
Hoping they weren’t done assembling everything, she asked, “Is…is it finished?”
Mrs. Sanchez beamed. “Yes, it is. We worked on it every evening, except for when Carlota had another date…erm, plans.”
Carlota’s face filled with color as she cleared her throat, sending Mrs. Sanchez a warning glance. Was it possible that Carlota had a secret boyfriend? Interesting.
Mrs. Sanchez chuckled, before continuing, “I didn’t think we’d get done in time, but thankfully I was worried about nothing. Now all we need is for you to try it on so we can mark it for alterations.”
Ella kept a smile pinned to her face even though the dress’s daring cuts dampened her elation. She normally dressed rather modestly for her age group. It allowed her to fade into the background. There was nothing modest about this outfit. In fact, it was quite the opposite. The dress was glamorous and demanded attention. And without sleeves, how in the world would she keep her scars hidden?
“We should offer her some tea,” Carlota said, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table. “Sometimes we get excited and forget out manners. You do drink tea, don’t you, dear?”
Ella nodded, and on legs that felt wooden she moved to the designated chair. All the while, she admonished herself for her lack of enthusiasm. After all, she was exceedingly honored these women thought enough of her to take the time to make something for her.
As she sat down at the table, Mrs. Sanchez placed a plate of biscochitos in front of her. Ella didn’t have any appetite, but she forced herself to be polite. She couldn’t tell these ladies about her reservations. She helped herself to one of the thick sugar cookies. A coating of cinnamon and granulated sugar dusted the top of each one. Ella bit into the delicious treat, tasting a hint of anise.
As they sipped their tea, Mrs. Sanchez filled them in on the latest gossip about the upcoming renovations to the local train depot. She mentioned that plans were to totally modernize it with a bunch of electronic equipment as well as add on an addition for a bus station. Little Whistle Stop was about to have a growth spurt, if all went according to plan.
Ella wasn’t sure how she felt about more people moving in. She’d moved away from the city to gain a fresh start in a quiet small town. She hoped Whistle Stop didn’t grow too much.
Ella nibbled her way through the cookie. All the while, she thought of every excuse possible to get out of trying on the dress. Carlota raved about how wonderful the dress would look on her. Mrs. Sanchez chimed in about how many years it had been since she had last picked up a sewing needle, but she was pleased with how well the dress turned out.
Ella thought of mentioning her disfigurement, but she hesitated. She knew what would come next—the inevitable questions. Eventually they would lead to the agonizing fact that she had lived while her family had perished
. How could that be?
They’d think it, but they wouldn’t say it. And she couldn’t blame them. She’d had the exact same thought countless times.
With their snack finished, Carlota guided her to a bedroom. Once the door thudded shut and Ella was alone, she held the dress to her chest. It truly was the most amazing dress she’d ever laid eyes on. She spun around in a circle, letting the material billow out. Feminine and sexy all stitched together. Carlota and Mrs. Sanchez had certainly outdone themselves. No way was she going to hurt the woman who had become so dear to her by telling her she wouldn’t wear the handmade dress.
Ella slipped on the dress and turned to the mirror. The beauty of the outfit only partially compensated for the ugliness of her arms. Sure, the scars had faded some, but they were still painfully obvious.
She took a steadying breath as she ran her hands down over the soft material before giving her reflection another glance. The time had come to make a decision. Her stomach grew nauseated as she realized either she insulted those sweet women by refusing to model the dress or she sucked up all of her long-held insecurities and walked out there bare-armed.
Fear cemented her feet to the floor. There had to be a compromise. Some way to keep from hurting their feelings. Some way to cover her scars. A glance around the room revealed a lightweight white sweater hanging on the closet door handle. Surely Mrs. Sanchez wouldn’t mind if she borrowed it.
With the little sweater hiding her physical scars, Ella opened the door. A fluttering sensation filled her stomach. She swallowed hard as she forced one foot in front of the other. When she returned to the kitchen, the women were indulging in another cup of tea. Ella plastered what she hoped was a smile on her face as she put her arms behind her back.
Carlota’s face creased. “Goodness, girl, are you cold?”
“I can turn up the temperature on the swamp cooler.” Mrs. Sanchez got to her feet.
“No. Don’t. I’m fine.” In actuality, she was quite warm.
Carlota sent her a puzzled look. “You’ll have to take off that sweater if I’m going to check the dress.”
Ella clenched the tender flesh of her lower lip between her teeth. What choice did she have? Her stomach twisted.
Carlota helped her take off the sweater. The knitted fabric swished the whole way down her arms before she could stop it. Her scars fully revealed, she yanked her arms behind her back. Even if she could speak, she didn’t know what she’d say. She clutched her hands, squeezing her fingers to the point they throbbed.
“You were right, Carlota.” Mrs. Sanchez circled Ella. “The bodice fits her like a glove. I don’t think we’ll have to make many adjustments there, but the waist and hem need a bit of work.”
Carlota knelt down to pluck a piece of lint from the material. “I told you I have an eye for these things. If I hadn’t become a teacher, I’d have been seamstress in Hollywood.”
The women laughed. Ella stood there, eyeing up the hallway. If only her legs would cooperate, she could make an excuse and slip away. Once she was back in her long-sleeved T-shirt, her heart would quit pounding and the heat would leave her face.
Carlota straightened. “Relax your arms.”
Ella hesitated. Then, sucking in a deep breath, she let her arms hang limp at her sides, revealing her scars.
The women’s intent gazes swept over her from head to toe. Ella was unable to tell if it was her scars or the dress they were studying so intently. Feeling subconscious, she once again put her arms behind her back.
Carlota patted her shoulder. “Relax, child, I’ve got worse scars after having two kids than you do. You really shouldn’t hide beneath those long sleeves.”
Stunned that Carlota truly didn’t think much of her arms, she stood there, dumbfounded. How could this be? The kids in school had taunted her, saying she had cooties. Her own grandmother insisted she keep her scars covered, as though they were too awful to stomach. And her last boyfriend—a man she foolishly thought she could trust—had turned away.
How could Carlota be so different? So understanding? Of course, it’d all change if Carlota found out the whole story. Of that, Ella was certain. She wanted to believe the woman, but she knew her scars were big and ugly. Though their redness had faded years ago, they were still as evident as the outline of the Rocky Mountains on the horizon.
Mrs. Sanchez sent her a reassuring smile. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. You’re very pretty.”
Ella’s eyes misted over. When she spoke, her voice was rough with emotion. “No one’s ever said that to me before.”
Carlota’s caring gaze met hers. “Well, they should and often. Now I need to make a few adjustments.”
“I’ll go grab my sewing box and a stool.” Mrs. Sanchez shuffled out of the kitchen.
“Relax.” Carlota sent her a reassuring smile. “You and my son will make a great couple—for the dance, that is.”
Ella didn’t know what to say to that, so she said nothing. Thankfully, Mrs. Sanchez returned and placed a wooden stool in the middle of the floor.
They had her stand on it while they adjusted the lustrous material and pinned it. The women chatted as they worked, but Ella soon learned that when their mouths moved, their fingers stopped. The adjustments took much, much longer than she’d ever imagined.