Don’t Let Me Go(24)

“It’s broad daylight, baby girl.”

“So?”

She waited for him to answer. For a surprising length of time. Billy was amazed by her patience. But, of course, she did give up eventually.

“You can’t even go out on the patio?”

“Let’s just say I choose not to.”

“But I saw you out there twice.”

“But the first time it was nearly dark. And the other time it was dusky. And I was slithering on my stomach, if you’ll recall.”

Once again, Grace didn’t say anything for a long time.

So long, in fact, that Billy began wishing she would. Almost anything she could say at that point would be better than nothing at all.

Finally Billy couldn’t stand it any more, and filled the silence.

“I never claimed to be normal,” he said.

“I guess that’s true,” she said. “Well. Whatever. I like you anyway. How ’bout if I go out on the patio, and you stand right here and watch me through the glass, and if I do something wrong you open the door and tell me so?”

“That could work,” Billy said.

? ? ?

By the time Rayleen got off work and came to get her, Grace had put in a solid hour of dancing with no break of more than a minute or two. Her face glowed red, her short hair dripped, but still she danced.

She not only had arms, but she returned to practicing her time step, slowly, and in proper order, and when she memorized it and brought it up to normal speed, she somehow managed to bring her arms along.

She could be a dancer, Billy thought. If she cared enough, and took the time, and didn’t get distracted by boys or ego or the world, or all of the above, she could. If she didn’t get beaten down by the savagery of the life, maybe. It made Billy ache — a fine line of pain through his solar plexus — just to think of it, but he couldn’t tell if the ache meant he was proud of her, jealous of her, or scared for her.

Probably all of the above.

When Rayleen showed up, Grace pulled her into Billy’s apartment and over to the sliding-glass door, and made her watch while she performed her time step out on the patio. Rayleen stood shoulder to shoulder with Billy, playing her role in their audience of two.

“Impressive,” Rayleen said. “You know she’s learning Spanish, now, too.”

“Good for her. I wish I knew more Spanish. So useful in L.A. Although…probably more utilitarian for people who go out of the house.”

Rayleen glanced over at him, then back at Grace before Grace could notice the shift in her attention.

“I owe you an apology, I guess,” she said. “I didn’t say it straight out, but…I had my doubts about leaving her here.”

“Sounds like normal thinking,” Billy said.

She glanced over again, eyebrows raised.

“Hey,” Billy said. “Just because I don’t think normally doesn’t mean I don’t know normal thinking when I hear it.”

She placed one hand on his shoulder. And just left it there. And so it happened again. The melting. Only this time it wasn’t appropriate to fall to his knees, and there would be no way to cover for himself if he did. So he worked hard at keeping his knees solid and unmelted.

A moment later Grace finished her dance with a broad flourish, and bowed at the waist. Rayleen took her hand back to applaud, and Billy was both relieved and disappointed to feel it go.

Then Grace launched into an encore of stamps and stomps, proving she knew the difference between the two, and could alternate smoothly.

“Her mom came by,” Billy said. “I didn’t let her know Grace was here. I wasn’t sure if she was supposed to know.”

Rayleen pulled a couple of deep, audible breaths.

“Yes,” she said. As if deciding and speaking at the same time. “She can know. It’s OK for her to know. I just decided. Grace is thriving here, and I dare anybody to challenge that. Anybody who has a problem with that can come take it up with me.”

“Thank God,” Billy said. “Because I really hate it when people come take things up with me.”





Grace



It was about seven in the evening, two days later, when Grace and Rayleen heard Grace’s mother calling her from the basement stairs.

“Where are you, Grace?” her mom shouted, like she was already madder than hell not to be able to find Grace, even though she’d only just barely started looking.

“You better go tell her where you are,” Rayleen said.

“But my eggrolls will get cold.”

“Tell her where you are, and then come back and finish your eggrolls.”

“It’ll be kind of hard to walk.”

“Just don’t smoosh the cotton down too much. And keep your toes spread. Whatever you do. That way you won’t smear the polish.”

“I thought the cotton was supposed to keep my toes spread.”

“Keep them spread even more than that.”

“OK, I’ll try.”

Grace slid down from the hard wood chair and waddled to the door, one eggroll in each hand. Then she had to shove one of the eggrolls in her mouth so she could open the door. But she still had a little eggroll grease on her hand, and so couldn’t get the door open until she got smart and used her shirttail.