Authors: Ann Warner
His eyes filled with tears. Clare, as lovely as she’d ever been, but so different from the woman he’d last seen dance in another lifetime. Instead of the vivid joy she’d projected in those days, tonight she appeared contemplative—the smooth, slow grace of her movements a direct contrast to Denise’s athleticism.
The music ended and there was a beat of silence, then the audience surged to its feet. As if awaking from a dream, Rob looked around to find several women wiping tears from their eyes. He brushed at his own tears, as Clare and Denise stepped forward for their bow. Clare bent down to accept a bouquet. He should have done that. Bought his ticket early, so he’d be in the front row, able to hand her flowers.
At least a day late and more than a dollar short, again.
His permanent position
vis-à-vis
Clare.
He’d walked this road before. Standing on the sidelines. Watching Clare in the spotlight. Knowing deep down, but refusing to admit it that dance meant more to her than he did.
He left the theater and returned to his apartment. The moonlight pouring in the windows was so bright, he didn’t bother turning on the light. He poured himself a tumbler of Crown Royal then sat in the recliner in the living room, sipping and staring out at the night sky.
He rolled the whisky in his mouth, flipping through his memories. Clare, tonight, so heartbreakingly beautiful. Clare, other times, other places. Most recently, standing in the doorway when he’d returned from Peru, looking appalled to see him.
God, was it really four years since they met? And from that first moment the simple knowing.
Yes. This is the one
.
He could manage without her, of course. He’d learned that from his time in the jungle. Life went on whether you wanted it to or not. But he would mourn her loss the rest of his life.
The phone rang and, startled, he sloshed whiskey on his wrist.
“Hi, Uncle Rob.” Lynne’s husband sounded ebullient.
“Jim. So the baby arrived?” He’d wondered if Lynne made it to the benefit.
“Yep. Little girl. Prettiest little miss you’ve ever seen. Well, Lynne says she will be in a day or two.”
“Congratulations.”
“Man, you’ve got to join us. Your folks are here, and we’re going out for dinner. Celebration time.”
Rob snapped on the light and looked at his watch. “It’s ten thirty. Where do you think you’ll find dinner at this hour?”
“Scorpio’s. They serve till midnight. You’ve got to come.”
“Okay. I’ll meet you.”
“Great. We’re leaving the hospital now. We should be there in fifteen minutes. That work for you?”
Not really. He’d rather be alone, but he hadn’t eaten before the benefit, and his stomach suddenly reminded him of that fact. “I’ll be there.”
Clare let herself into the West Roxbury apartment, turned on a light, then stood in the doorway leaning her head against the jamb, listening to the quiet. Remembering the small noises in Rob’s apartment that let her know he was there.
She was reaping her reward for shutting him out. Something she could now admit she’d done from the beginning of their marriage. Never telling him all of what she was thinking, feeling. Her excuse had been that there was nothing positive about her thoughts in those days. Still, it was what marriage was supposed to be about. Sharing everything. Good and bad. Joys and fears.
Tonight, standing on the stage, accepting the applause, staring into the dazzle of the footlights, she’d seen clearly for the first time. She’d traded something real for something make-believe. And then the surprise of her instinctive “no” to Justin shocked her into a further certainty.
Rob, not the dance, owned her heart.
Grand battement
Raising and lowering one leg while the body remains still
Rob visited Lynne in the morning before she and the baby were sent home. She greeted him with a big smile, then turned back the blanket to show off her new daughter. He was surprised at how scrawny and red the infant was, like a wizened little monkey. Not that he’d ever say so. Hopefully, Lynne was right about her looks improving.
He reached out a finger and touched the tiny hand. It curled around his finger and eyes opened and peered sleepily at him.
His heart contracted. “Have you decided on a name yet?”
Jim had acted oddly when Rob asked that question last night and his mother had pursed her lips, a sure sign something was up.
Lynne gave him a fierce look. “I want to name her Robin Clare.”
Well, that explained the pursed lips.
“Mother said it’s insensitive of me. I agreed I’d wait and ask you what you thought.”
“Why?”
Lynne looked at her daughter, her lips quirking into a half smile. “Because she looks like a Robin Clare.”
As if responding to her name, the baby opened her eyes and stuck her tiny fist in her mouth and began sucking with a faint sibilance.
“And because I haven’t lost hope.”
Lynne might still have hope, but his was gone.
Clare awoke and it took a moment before she realized she was listening for Rob. For water running, the clink of dishes and silverware, the rustle of a newspaper, footsteps. But the apartment was silent. In the kitchen, she found the message light blinking on her answering machine—Jim, saying Lynne had the baby. He was so excited, he forgot to mention if they’d had a boy or a girl.
Clare ate breakfast then visited Lynne in the hospital. She found her sister-in-law sleeping and the baby, wrapped in a pink blanket, in a bassinet beside the bed. She sat near the baby, looking but not touching, her heart aching in memory of the baby she and Rob lost.
“We’re going to name her Robin Clare,” Lynne said.
When the words sank in, Clare shook her head. “Why?”
“We had another name picked out, but once she arrived, it didn’t fit, and Robin Clare does.” She reached out to touch the infant’s head. “Rob was here. At seven, no less.” Lynne grimaced. “Miss Robin was already awake and hungry.”
Clare’s heart jumped. So where was he now? Probably at the University. He’d always worked long hours, and ever since their problems set in, he’d spent his weekends working as well.
“When do you get to go home?”
“I have to be out by noon. Jim is on his way. We just have to wait until the pediatrician checks Robin. Oh, I almost forgot. How did the benefit go? I planned to be there until Robin decided to put in an early appearance.”
“Fine. Really good, actually. Full house.”
“Oh, I’m so glad to hear that. I was sorry to miss it.”
Clare stood. “Well, I better get out of your hair.”
“Would you hand Robin to me, Clare? I’m still sore.”
No way out of it short of bolting for the door. She slid her hands around the well-wrapped baby and lifted her. Robin Clare opened her eyes, yawned, then blinked, looking solemn.
Clare transferred the baby to Lynne. “Well, congratulations again. She’s precious.” Trembling, she escaped.
It was such a bright morning, she decided to walk to Northeastern. She’d surprise Rob,
but when she got to Rob’s office the door was locked, and the student working in the laboratory next door said she hadn’t seen him.
After visiting Lynne and his new niece, Rob was too restless to stay indoors. He wanted to see Clare. Maybe go sailing. Out on the boat, leaning into a spring breeze was the perfect place for them to talk. He caught a trolley back to the apartment to call Clare, but she didn’t answer her phone. Frustrated, he decided a day of sailing was still a good idea.
As he left the harbor, the wind chilled him, filling his lungs with cold sea-scented air. The one unfinished statement Clare made the last time they met drifted into his mind.
I guess I was trying to make up for.
.. Was she going to say, “our baby”? Probably not. No doubt it was his visit to Lynne and his new niece this morning that suggested that. Robin Clare. Christ. What did Lynne expect him to say?
Clare. She’d found her way back into her world. The ballet. The article in this morning’s paper quoted the artistic director as saying he anticipated Clare’s return to the company. Rob had no interest in competing with the ballet for Clare’s affections. The divorce was set. The papers drawn up. Clare’s signature already in place. All he had to do was sign and then get on with his life, unencumbered by expectations that were never going to be met.
Go ahead, Chapin, admit it. You were wrong. Clare wasn’t the one
.
Divorce. An ordinary, everyday event. According to statistics, half of all married couples experienced it eventually. No reason then to feel so...totally, utterly, bereft. Dammit, he had to let go.
The boat suddenly pitched, and he looked up to find clouds blanking the sun. Lightning zigzagged and fat drops of rain hit his head, hands, and the deck. The
Ariadne
heaved restlessly, and he braced himself against the motion, relieved to turn his focus to the boat, the waves.
He reefed the mainsail, pulled on oilskins, attached a lifeline, and snapped on the weather radio to learn this was only a narrow band of storms. Enough to give him a wild ride and force him to concentrate, but not enough to be dangerous.
The drops of rain multiplied making him feel as if he were enclosed in a small space. He started the engine and used it to keep the boat turned into the strengthening wind. The shore was obliterated and when he looked sideways, he was able to see only a short distance, as if he were moving through a wall of thick fog.
In spite of the oilskins, he was quickly soaked, the water pelting his face and slipping down his neck. He opened his mouth to the deluge, drinking it in as the boat heaved and shuddered in seas growing more restless. The rain slid down his cheeks companioned by tears, and his voice, an inarticulate cry of pain, joined the sound of the storm.
Eventually, his inner storm stilled. Still, he stood at the helm of the pitching, tossing yacht, blinded by a thick curtain of gray, and yet seeing clearly. He and Clare. What he’d done. Stepping in to save her instead of letting her discover she could save herself. Making her dependent instead of providing the support for her to learn to find a new purpose, new joy.
He thought, as well, about Soraida’s vision. Maybe it didn’t mean he should banish Clare from his life. What if the vision were telling him he needed to free Clare to be the person she was meant to be?
Clearly that person was a dancer.
And yet, the way he’d reacted when she said she was dancing again...instead of support, he’d given her unspoken opposition. What a small man he’d become, one focused on his own needs. But realizing that, was it perhaps possible he might be able to find a different way to be with Clare? A way that left them both free?