Chapter 2
MAGGIE
To: Frasier Hale,
From: Margaret Hale,
How did you run away? Hank proposed and I said no and now I have to get out of here. I’m thinking of going to Vegas. And no, NOT to be a showgirl. I’ve always wanted to audition for the contemporary dance company there. I saw them perform a couple of years ago and it was magical. What do you think? Am I crazy? I’ve got a little saved. I figured I can take a bus, stay in a hotel until I can find an apartment and a job. You’ve been to Vegas, do you know a good neighborhood? Preferably cheap?
Anyway, how are you? Are you still in Vancouver? Or have you moved on again? What about that girl you were seeing, Kimmi, wasn’t it? You sounded pretty SERIOUS in your last email. Maybe you should bring her around. You know Mom and Dad would love to see you.
I hadn’t seen my brother Frasier since I was sixteen. He’d come home to visit after being away a couple of years, although I was pretty sure he was just there begging for money. He hadn’t been back since.
Frasier and my parents didn’t exactly get along. He’d always been a “reprobate,” as Dad liked to call him. Skipping school, hiding pot under his mattress, getting drunk at our church Nativity one year and “accidentally” letting the sheep loose through town. Where I was the dutiful preacher’s daughter, attending church and Bible study and staying away from the demon alcohol (and the other demons my father preached about—there were a lot of them), Frasier was the typical black sheep, and he embraced the role, right down to the tattoo of a flaming skull he got on his back when he turned sixteen.
But he loved me, always had. Frasier was the one person I knew would be fully in my corner on this. The one person who wouldn’t tell me how foolish I was to give up being the Maggie Hale that everyone knew.
To: Margaret Hale
From: Frasier Hale
You said no to Hank?! Did he cry? Did he turn to his favorite stallion for comfort? I always thought that guy was a little too close to his horses, if you know what I mean.
So as soon as I got your email, I called my old friend Bronwyn. You remember her? The girl who looks like an Amazon goddess? (We may or may not have hooked up in a snowdrift at the annual Williams party when we were fourteen.) ANYWAY, she lives in Vegas now and after some begging and pleading (and coercing and blackmailing), I convinced her to take on a roommate. YOU, in case you were wondering. She said she’s barely at her apartment anyway, she spends a lot of time with her boyfriend, blah blah blah, but you can move in with her for decent rent. You’ll still have to get a job though and I can’t help you with the dance company. Good luck on your audition. Maybe if I come to Vegas I can seduce the owner or head dance lady or whoever and get you in.
Have fun running away. It’s about frickin’ time. And don’t sweat Mom and Dad. Mom will understand and Dad loves his gospel more than us anyway, so he’ll get over it. Just remember to bring earphones to the argument because it’ll be a doozy.
Maybe I’ll see you in Vegas soon. ;)
I was actually doing it. Leaving Hillstone. I’d booked a bus ticket, emailed Bronwyn about the details, and packed my stuff.
Next step: break it to my parents.
Mom cooked shepherd’s pie for dinner, my favorite. It felt like a farewell meal. Beside my plate, cucumbers floated in vinegar and pepper, almost translucent from swimming there so long. I took a swig of milk to wet my throat, the words I’d practiced earlier jumbling in my head.
Dad looked at me. “Is everything okay, pumpkin?”
I choked on the milk. “Went down the wrong tube, is all.”
Dad wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Are you sure? You seem a little anxious.”
“Honey,” Mom said to Dad.
“No, I’m fine. I—”
“I’m sorry about what you went through with Hank.” Dad reached his hand out to me. I took it, the coldness of his palm sharp against my sweaty one. “It must have been very hard for you both.”
I nodded.
“But I think you did the right thing,” Dad continued. “If you really feel like you don’t love him, then saying yes would have been a mistake. It could have led to unhappiness, divorce, perhaps even sin of a worse kind.”
Mom shot Dad a look. She probably thought this sermon of his wasn’t helping. Truth was, it made no difference. For one, I knew I’d made the right choice, nothing my dad would say could change that. For another, I was used to Dad and the way he handled problems—both his own and everyone else’s. I loved my parents. I’d never understood Frasier’s constant need to battle them. My parents were good people, if a little strict and stifling at times.
That was how I felt now. Stifled.
“I’m moving to Las Vegas.”
Dad let go of my hand and leaned back in his chair. He stared at Mom as if she had spoken, or this was her fault somehow.
“I’ve bought a bus ticket,” I said. “For Friday. I’ve got an apartment set up with one of Fraze’s old friends. I’ll look for a job right away but I plan to audition for Essence Dance Theater at the end of August.”
“Oh, honey,” Mom said through a sigh.
Dad spoke right over her. “Absolutely not.”
“To which part, exactly?” I asked.
Dad’s chair scraped against the wood floor as he rose. My announcement had officially ended dinner. “Contemporary dance is not only a waste of time, it’s inappropriate.”
My jaw tightened. Dad had never objected to me taking dance classes here in Hillstone. “So if it was ballet, you’d be fine with it?”
“Dance was a perfectly acceptable after-school activity. But it is not a future.”
“Maybe we should discuss this,” Mom said.
I rose from my chair so I was on the same level as Dad. “There’s nothing to discuss. I’ve made up my mind.” I went for the door.
“Margaret,” Dad called. “Please.”
I turned around. Mom looked at me with sad eyes, already accepting that I was gone. Dad’s face was firm, however. He wouldn’t change his mind. I’d always admired his strength. I still did. But I had strength too. I squared my shoulders.
“I don’t want to leave with bad feelings between us. But I’m going. There’s no future for me here.”
Dad circled the table. “There’s no future in Las Vegas, either. It’s an awful place. They call it the city of sin for a reason.” He lowered his voice. “I’m afraid of what might happen to you there.”
I tried not to roll my eyes. Dad’s Bible was showing. “It’s not Sodom or Gomorrah.” I placed my hand on his arm. “I’ll be fine.”
He shook his head. “I can’t approve.”
I’d won. He wouldn’t stop me. “I’m sorry.” I was getting good at disappointing people lately, and apologizing.
Mom followed me from the dining room. Dad stayed behind, probably considering his next move. “Are you really sure about this?”
“One hundred percent.” I walked up the stairs to my bedroom, ignoring the creaks under my feet from the old hardwood. Mom leaned against my doorframe.
“And you’re sure this isn’t about Hank?” She watched me pull out the suitcase I’d hidden in my closet.
“It’s not about him,” I said, “but it’s sort of because of him.”
She sat down on the edge of my bed. Her hands refolded my yellow and white baby quilt, still on my bed after all these years. “What do you mean?”
“I might not have done this if he hadn’t proposed. I mean, I’ve always wanted to, but…”
She nodded as if she understood. “I don’t know if your father will ever approve of this. But he’s only thinking about your future. Is that really contemporary dance?”
“I know it won’t last forever. It’s not an ideal career, if I even make it into the company. But I love it. And I’m good.”
“You are,” she said with a small smile. “Very good. But make sure you have something to fall back on, just in case.”
It was the responsible thing to have back-up plans or five-year plans or some kind of long-term future goals. But I was sick of the future, I wanted the now. The now that would start on Friday.