Slow Dance in Purgatory(21)

“Gus?” Maggie asked the old man as he rocked beside Aunt Irene on the front porch swing. “Do you think I could go to the school and dance for a while – would that be okay?”

Gus thought for a moment and then gave a quick puff on his fragrant pipe. “I suppose it wouldn’t do no harm. But take Shadrach with you."

Maggie stopped in her tracks. Taking Shad wouldn't work. Gnawing her lip, Maggie turned, wondering how she was going to get out of the house without hurting his feelings.

"I was going to rehearse my dance routines, and Shad will be bored, won't you Shad?" Maggie asked hopefully.

"I can shoot a little hoop, get my Michael Jordan on." Shad shot an imaginary ball and then dribbled it through his legs. His feet got tangled with the imaginary ball, and he went down hard on his butt. His Michael Jordan definitely needed work. Maggie groaned.

"Fine," Maggie grumped, "but you stay in the gym. I can't dance with you wanting to show me a move every ten seconds, okay?" Maybe Johnny would still show up.

“Take the car, dear!” It’s getting dark, and I don’t want you riding that bike home at night,” Irene insisted graciously.

And don’t go wanderin’ about alone, Miss Margaret.” Gus had been quite shaken by her near fall the week before. “Your guardian angel may not be nearby to help you this time.”

Irene raised questioning eyebrows at Gus’s comment. They hadn’t told her about the dumbwaiter fiasco. Maggie didn’t hang around to see if Gus spilled the beans. Shouting at Shad to meet her in the car, she ran into the house and up the stairs, pulling on a leotard and a wrap around skirt and pushing her feet into ballet flats. Pulling a brush through her long hair, she flew back down the stairs and yanked the keys from the rack, slipping out the back door to avoid the couple on the front porch.

Aunt Irene’s ancient Cadillac was parked in the unattached garage, and Maggie eased into the front seat next to Shad, slamming the door and starting the engine. Aunt Irene had had this car since high school. Its tailfins dated it to the late 50s, and it was so long Maggie only drove it when she knew she wouldn’t have to maneuver it into any tight spaces. It had been meticulously cared for and could probably be sold for a pretty penny. Aunt Irene had stubbornly hung onto it through a bad marriage and Roger’s attempts to sell it. She’d hung on to it through the loss of her wealth and most of her possessions, and finally through the loss of all of her family except Maggie. The Honeyville Bank and Trust would get Irene’s home when she died. The only reason she had stayed in it as long as she had was because her close friends owned the bank and had reversed the mortgage, taking ownership of the house and giving her a small stipend to live on and the right to live in the house until she died. When she did, Maggie would be out of a home once more. But she would have the car. Aunt Irene had made sure of that.

Maggie parked her inheritance in the back of the school and hoped that her being there wouldn’t get Gus in trouble. They should be safe. Nobody spent Sunday evenings at the school. She would stay in the dance room like she had said she would, and Shad would stay in the gym. Hopefully, Johnny would know she was there. Her heart sped up at the thought of him, and she checked her reflection in the big rearview mirror. Her blue eyes were bright with anticipation, and her cheeks and lips were flushed pink. Her skin looked good; she could usually count on that, and she looked much better without her glasses. She was going to have to replace them soon. Everything was so blurry. Gus had looked for them at the bottom of the dumbwaiter shaft, but he hadn’t been able to find them. She wished she had contacts, but Irene couldn’t afford them and Maggie would never ask. Her own money went to dancing and school clothes and the miscellaneous items that really seemed to add up. Contacts were a vanity she really couldn’t indulge. It had never really bothered her before, but somehow she didn’t think a girl with big glasses was the type of girl Johnny Kinross would go for, or would have gone for…before. Maggie sighed. She was mooning over a guy who was ‘sorta dead.’ Something was seriously wrong with her. She pushed the thought out of her head.

"Come on, Mags! I'm the only one here to impress, and I already think you're beautiful." Shad had already gotten out and was waiting in front of the car, impatiently tossing his basketball from one hand to the other.

The school felt warm and cozy when she entered, like maybe it was glad to see her. Shooing Shad to the gym, she waited until his footsteps faded. Several minutes passed, and she wondered if she should call out to Johnny. She suddenly felt shy and awkward. He would know she was there. Better to let him come to her. The thought made goose bumps rise on her arms, and she hoped he wouldn't simply appear in front of her. She walked slowly down the hall to the dance room and unlocked it, propping it wide. Could ghosts open doors? Maggie shook her head violently. The whole thing was bizarre, and trying to make sense of it was impossible.

Maggie moved to put some music on and hesitated once more. How could she start dancing when, at any moment, Johnny could waltz into the room or worse, not show himself at all? She could rehearse her team's dance numbers, but the routines were flamboyant and sexy, and Maggie knew she didn’t have that kind of confidence at the moment. She was at a complete loss. How was she ever going to be able to dance as long as she knew he could be watching? Maggie walked to the barre and proceeded to move through her standard warm-up, but found that her eyes kept searching the room behind her in the mirror, expecting him to be there, knowing he would startle her when he was. After fifteen minutes of a truly pathetic warm-up, Maggie sighed and sank to the floor. This wasn't working.