I know I have to pull myself together. I know it.
Blitz is asked to do a talk show in New York and I send him on without me. I spend more time up at the church doing menial tasks and hanging out with Mindy and Irma.
We unpack every ornate cloth that has ever been used on the altar and start cleaning each one by hand. We want to preserve the hand-stitched crosses and other appliqués, many of them decades old.
Taking a soft damp cloth to the lovely linen is a balm for me. It’s a simple goal, to make something beautiful again. I’m surrounded by the places that I once knew. It helps.
Irma pokes her head into the small sacristy to see how it’s coming. She wears her favorite plum paisley dress and her brown hair is in its usual sloppy topknot. When she sees me, she approaches the sink to hold up a corner of the cloth I’m working on.
“I sure wish our predecessors had taken better care of these,” she says.
“I’ll get them in shape,” I tell her.
She nods and lays the cloth carefully back down. “I wanted you to know Father Stephen will be here in about half an hour. I sense you’ve been avoiding seeing him.”
I continue to sweep the gentle cleanser across a particularly stubborn pale brown stain on the linen. “He’ll tell my parents I’ve been here.”
“And he will protect your right to be here. He will not turn away a child of God from the Lord’s house.”
“I know. I just feel happy here. I’ve lost a lot lately, and getting this back has been helpful.”
Irma pats my shoulder. “I know, child. And I can’t abide by the way your father has treated you. But one day, you will have to mend that relationship.”
“I don’t see how,” I say. “He only sees me the way he wants to.”
“Perhaps Father Stephen can help him find forgiveness in his heart.”
My pulse rockets. I want to tell her that I don’t need forgiveness. That he is the one that needs it. But that’s not very godly, so I bite back the words.
I keep my measured, easy pace on the altar cloth, and finally the discoloration fades.
“Look at that,” Irma says. “All the stain has been cleansed away.”
I know what she’s trying to do. Make a big connection between my life with my father and this cloth.
“I’ll just hang this up to dry now,” I say, stepping away. There’s a rack for the vestments on one wall of the sacristy, and I carefully drape the linen there. “I’m done for the day, I think.”
She knows I’m not up for Father Stephen, or a forgiveness talk, or to mend the bond with my family. But Irma’s good at saying her piece and then letting things go.
We walk together back to the office so I can gather my things.
I nod at her. “I’ll be back in a few days.”
She waves. “Mindy will be here on Thursday.”
“Usual time?”
“Usual time.”
My little white car gleams in the sun. It’s already really hot, as summer has come in earnest. School has let out and a few children run along the sidewalk, followed by a distracted mother looking at her phone.
I drive slowly down the street, past my family’s house. Mom’s minivan isn’t there. No one’s home. I’m tempted to walk up and peer in the windows. Take a good look at my old life.
But I resist.
The park is next, the peeling equipment and patchy dying grass. I do stop here, pulling up alongside the curb.
There’s a lot of memories to sort in this space. Recess with Andy. Walks with Mindy. Mom reading her book. Dad checking up on me.
And of course Blitz. We met here more than once.
As I get out of my car and walk through the trees, I wish I could figure out exactly what is going on with me so I could work at it, scrub myself free of it like that linen stain.
But it’s a low nagging ache. And I can’t break free.
A few kids run amok on the sidewalks and a pair of mothers sit conspiratorially on a bench, one of them burping a baby.
I don’t know why I’m here. I should be looking ahead, not behind.
So I go back to my car. I purposely turn away from Dreamcatcher Dance Academy so I don’t have to drive by it and face my memories there. As I head back to my empty house, I get a message from Blitz.
I wait until I’m in the garage to take out my phone.
Hey, call me when you get this. You won’t believe the message Hannah just got.
Hannah is Blitz’s manager. Well, sort of. We can’t fire her due to the contract, but we don’t work directly with her anymore. He has his assistant Shelly be the go-between.
As I walk into the house, I wonder what could be up. The new season of Dance Blitz won’t start filming for months. They are still auditioning contestants for Mack. There shouldn’t be anything to do, unless some other show wants Blitz to come on, or both of us.
When I’ve kicked off my shoes and am ensconced on the sofa, I dial Blitz’s number.
His voice makes me smile. “Princess! Sorry, I mean, Livia! You will never guess what has happened!”
I regret snapping at him for calling me Princess. He’s done it since the day we met.
“Let me guess,” I say, trying to sound upbeat. “You and Giselle are going to host a new dance show together.”
Giselle was the trampy Dance Blitz finalist who went a little crazy when she got eliminated.
“Good one. And ugh. No way. This is about you! The casting director for Dominika Sokolov wants you to come to a rehearsal tomorrow at Jenica’s!”
“Wait. What? Who is Dominika whatever you said?”
“That Russian ballerina who is going on tour. The one Jenica talked about!”
“I didn’t audition for that.”
“You don’t have to. Their scout saw you and wants you to come.” Blitz’s voice sounds like he is literally resting on cloud nine.
“But he didn’t even look at me. The other girls were much better.”
“Doesn’t matter. He wants you.”
My fingers run along the velvety surface of the sofa. “Do I have to?”
Blitz is quiet. In that empty space, I picture him rubbing his eyes, unsure of what to do with a sad, mopey girlfriend who doesn’t want to buy a house or take advantage of an incredible opportunity to dance.
“Well, just think about it. I can come back tonight and go with you tomorrow. Shelly can get me on a red-eye.”
I don’t know what to say. That I don’t have the energy. That I don’t want to go on tour, strange people, strange cities, strange everything.
“You know what,” he says, “I’m going to go ahead and get on a plane as soon as the show is over. I’ll be there before you wake up.” Blitz’s energy hasn’t slowed down. “It won’t hurt to just go check it out.”
He’s right. I can put on my big-girl leotard and at least be considerate of their interest. It’s what you do in show business, no matter what form it takes. This is what I signed on for when I chose Blitz.
“Okay. I’ll see you then.”
“Terrific! We’ll have to find you an agent. We definitely don’t want both of us tied up with the Evil One.”
I manage a short laugh. “That’s for sure.”
“I love you, Livia,” he says. “I’m super proud of you.”
This makes my throat form a lump. “Thank you, Blitz. I love you too.”
I set the phone on the floor and fall back on the cushions. I’m going to have to pull myself together.
And if I’m dancing tomorrow with real ballerinas, then I better get my butt off the sofa and practice.