Fools Rush in(83)

“No, no. I only had a glass of wine at Jill’s and just a little hit of the schnapps. I’m fine.”

“Good. Because I want you to go. Take my car back to my house, get your truck and just go home. I’ll get a ride.”

“Millie, come on. Don’t be like this.”

“I’m sorry, Joe. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

And tomorrow I would break up with him.

Staring at me for a long moment, Joe finally nodded. I fished my keys out of my bag, handed them to him and tripped back into the school to the girls’ bathroom. My face in the mirror looked as if I’d aged ten years. My makeup was ruined. The dress…who even cared? And now I had to go back into the gym and chaperone my nephew’s dance and act normal. My eyes welled again.

Don’t think about it, I ordered myself. Just wait till you get home and deal with it then.

I blotted my face as best I could with the grainy paper towels, blew my nose and fluffed my hair. Danny was having a wonderful time, and I didn’t want to make a scene. And for Danny, I would do anything. I heaved a great sigh, blotted my eyes again and went back to the gym. I headed to the punch table and downed a glass of sugary pink liquid, then asked for another one.

Thus fortified, I turned and surveyed the dancers again. There were Danny and Sarah, slow dancing again, just barely shuffling their feet. Jill and her husband were cutting the rug nicely, dancing with energy and symmetry that bespoke ballroom dancing lessons. She waved energetically at me and I smiled and waved back. There was Sam, dancing with a woman I didn’t know. He looked happy. The lump in my throat swelled again, aching sharply. I turned away for a minute, fanning my face ineffectively with my hand, tried a few more deep breaths. Hopefully, the dim lights would hide my teary eyes.

Someone tapped my shoulder. Sam.

“What’s the matter, honey?” he asked.

I pressed my lips together so I wouldn’t start crying again and shook my head.

“Is it Joe?” he guessed, taking my hand as if knowing that a hug would start me bawling. I nodded. Sam looked at the floor. “What can I do?”

“Can you drive me home later?” I squeaked.

“You bet.”

I looked around for a minute or two, waiting for the breathless, sobby feeling to leave me. The slow song ended and something livelier started up.

Sam tugged my hand. “Come on, kiddo. You said you’d take pity on me and dance.”

“No, not right now, Sam.” I swallowed and smiled, bravely, I thought.

“But this is our song,” he smiled, bending his knees to look in my eyes.

“We don’t have a song.”

“Well, we should, and it should be this one.” Without waiting for an answer, he dragged me onto the floor and promptly stepped on my foot.

“Ouch!”

“Whoops.”

“Did you do that on purpose?”

“Of course not! Come on, kiddo. Don’t just stand there. I might step on you again.”

“Are you trying to make me laugh?”

“No. Do not laugh. That’s an order. Whoops. Sorry. Come on, move those feet.”

I gave in and shuffled sluggishly. Sam gave me a quick hug. “It’ll be okay,” he whispered, twirling me around before I could start crying.

“You’re a terrible dancer,” I said above the noise, feeling a smile tug my lips despite the tears in my eyes.

“Takes one to know one,” he shot back, dipping and nearly dropping me.

“Jesus, Sam, be careful. Precious cargo and all that.”

“Right. So. Do you like our song?” he asked. It was awful, a garish, hideous, screeching song that the kids apparently adored.

“I love it. It’s so us. What’s the title?”

“I have no idea. Hey, Bobby,” he shouted to the boy nearest us. “What’s the name of this song?”

Bobby looked at us curiously. “‘The Unholy,’” he answered.

I MANAGED NOT TO CRY for the rest of the night, thanks mostly to Sam’s protection. At long last, the dance was over, and Sam and I got into his truck. I rested my pounding head against the cool glass of the window as we drove home in silence. When we got to my house, Joe’s truck was mercifully gone. Sam opened my door and helped me out, then walked me to the door.

“Want me to come in?”

“Oh, no, that’s okay.” Tears filled my eyes again, and my lips wobbled.

“How about just for a few minutes?” Sam offered.

I nodded, overwhelmed with gratitude at the comfort of his presence. I knelt down so Digger could kiss me, then went straight to the bedroom, unzipped my dress and slid it off. I heard Sam letting Digger out, then water running. I pulled on some old scrubs and went into the bathroom to wash my face.

Joe and I were done. I leaned over the sink and rinsed the tears away along with the soap, then went back into the kitchen. Sam had made coffee.

“It’s decaf,” he said, handing me a cup.

“Thanks,” I said, reaching for a tissue and blowing my nose. We both sat down at the kitchen table.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Sam asked gently, stirring his coffee.

“Well,” I said shakily. “It’s just that…I’ll be breaking up with Joe tomorrow.” I took a breath that was actually a sob and held the tissue up to my eyes.