The Midnight Dancers: A Fairy Tale Retold (30 page)

“He always takes things hard,” Rich spoke up. “He’s not a strong person.”

“That’s why he’s had such a rough time,” Alan agreed.

The girls looked at each other, and Rachel was consternated. She had never dreamed Keith Kramer, upstanding member of her dad’s Bible outreach group, would smoke pot—and with a sinking feeling, she thought,
If I hadn’t brought him to the island in the first place, maybe he wouldn’t have tried drugs.
But she forced that feeling aside.

“We’ve got to help him,” she said, briskly. “We’re friends. We can’t just stand by and let him do this.”

“Well, what can you do?” Alan looked at her. “You can’t stop people from taking drugs. That guy Dillon smokes dope like a freakin’ chimney. Keith might not have the money for it himself, but as long as he’s around these guys, he’s going to be smoking. And maybe doing the harder stuff too, if they give it to him. They have that stuff, too. I’ve seen it.”

Rachel thought. “Then we’ve got to get him to stop coming,” she said at last. A chill swept over her. “Dang it, Tammy, if he was smoking dope, why’d you let Becca and Taren ride home with him? You should have told me.”

Immediately all eyes went towards Keith’s boat. Rachel saw it, behind them. Keith seemed to be driving normally.

“Oh, come on,” Tammy protested. “Can’t you smoke marijuana and drive a boat? I mean, people smoke cigarettes when they drive. And it’s not like he’s driving a car. There’s nobody on the bay besides us.  It’s not like drunk driving, is it?”

“Oh yes it is,” Rich said bluntly. “The moron. He should know better.”

“We can’t let him do this again,” Rachel said.  The silence began again.

Rich shuffled his feet. “I’m friends with him,” he said. “I’ve known him since kindergarten. I’ll get him to go do something with me tomorrow night. Alan, you can take more people, can’t you?”

“Sure,” Alan said. “I’m getting on my dad’s case about all the junk he still leaves in here.”

Everyone seemed to be relieved by this decision. Rachel felt a flush of admiration for Rich, whom she barely ever talked to, and tried to think of something fitting to say to him. But all she could think of was to reach over and touch his hand. He raised his eyes and she smiled at him. He smiled back, and she thought to herself that she had overlooked someone worthwhile. A slight smart of conscience still irked her, and she looked away.

On Friday afternoon, Paul was juggling the clubs, in a single routine. Debbie and Linette were off exploring the festival, which was now at its height. Today was the busiest day yet, and the crowds had significantly increased. As Paul concentrated on doing a double-cascade fountain with the clubs, he saw a familiar face in the crowd around him. He glanced swiftly between catches and recognized Michael Comus.

The blond man, surrounded by his cronies, was watching his routine, a sardonic smile on his face. 

As Paul finished with a bow, Michael approached him. Paul licked his lips as he gathered up his clubs. He recognized Michael, and he guessed that Michael had recognized him. But the problem was, Michael couldn’t know that he, Paul, recognized him, Michael.

“So, a juggler,” Michael said, stuffing a dollar bill in Paul’s basket. “Are you new to this area?”

“Just passing through,” Paul said.

“A wandering clown,” Michael said, his face mild. “You’re the one juggling with the Durham girls. Are you a friend of the family?”

“Sort of. I actually just met them this summer,” Paul said, and added casually. “You know them?”

“Oh, to recognize, not necessarily to speak to,” Michael said. “I’ve heard about the young juggling girls, of course. They’re quite a local sensation. Picture in the paper and all that. So you trained them?”

“Yes.”

“Must be a hard life, being a clown.”

“It has its challenges,” Paul replied.

“I’m sure,” Michael said. Then he added, “I’ve always hated clowns, actually.” He continued to smile. But his eyes were cold and empty.

“Lots of people do,” Paul agreed, uncertain. “They get frightened by a man in a funny mask as a kid, and they’re scarred for life.”

“Yes. That must explain it,” Michael mused. He squatted down and picked up one of the clubs. “You juggle these things?”

“Yes,” Paul said.

“Like this?” and Michael suddenly threw the club upwards, straight at Paul’s face. Paul swiftly caught it, barely in time.

“Oh, sorry,” Michael smiled. “Good reflexes.”

“Thanks,” Paul said, reaching down and gripping the others, taking them out of the man’s reach. “Enjoy the festival.”

“I am.” The blond man strolled back to his companions, who had been standing a bit apart. As Michael reached them, they suddenly convulsed with laughter and walked away.

In a second, Paul was back at the air terminal under the hot desert sun, hearing the soft, high whistle of destruction wafting through the air towards him.

He put away his clubs quietly.

All day Friday, Rachel and the other sisters worked hard preparing for Prisca’s birthday. They had a chance to do quite a few things while Sallie took Prisca to the doctor’s for her tests.  Everyone pitched in to do something. Rachel even had Jabez and Robbie sit down and scrawl some birthday scribbles with crayons on pieces of folded paper.

She was so involved that she was surprised, and a bit annoyed, when her father called her into his office. When she walked in, she was taken aback to find her dad sitting at his desk, his head in his hands. When she shut the door, he lifted his head, and she was even more concerned to see that it looked as though he had been crying. But with her dad, she couldn’t be completely sure. She approached him warily.

“Dad, are you okay?”

He looked up at her, and then looked down at his hand. She saw he was holding his cell phone. 

“I was checking my voicemail, and deleting old messages. Then I listened to this one message.  It was someone talking in a harsh, angry tone of voice.  This person was berating someone for being late. I was really offended by what I heard, and I was racking my brains, trying to think of who could have called me and left such a rude, disrespectful message on my phone. Before I deleted it, I listened to it again, and I realized—” he paused. “I realized the caller was me, talking to you, on one of the days when you had the cell phone.”

She remembered that day, and looked down at the carpet, silently.

“And what hit me was that the message was indicative of how I talk to you much of the time. I just heard myself, Rachel, for the first time in years.”

He looked up at her, and now she guessed that he really was on the verge of tears. “Rachel, I don’t blame you for not opening up to a man who has been treating you like that. Can you please forgive me?”

Embarrassed, she swung her foot on the carpet and whispered, “Of course I can, Dad.”

He looked at her, and, as if in a dream, tentatively reached out his hand.

She went to him and hugged him, and he held her tightly. Just as she remembered him holding her when she was a little girl.  Involuntarily she felt the tears coming, and heard him weeping as well.

“Rachel, I’m so sorry. I wish I could recall each time I’ve talked to you like that and ask your forgiveness.”

“That’s okay, Dad,” she spoke at last, her voice choking her.

“I was just thinking of the time after your mother died, and how much I depended on you, and how capable you were—it’s not right for me to call you scatterbrained the way I did. I’ve just acquired some bad attitudes, and I want to change them, Rachel.”

She nodded, and wiped her eyes. Looking around, she reached for the tissue box, and handed it to him. With a grin that reminded her acutely of how he used to smile at her, he took it.

“See? You’re always capable, and aware of what others need. When’s the last time I told you that?”

She sniffled herself, and shrugged. “I can’t remember.”

His shoulders sagged again. “That’s part of the problem right there. All this time, Rachel, I’ve been thinking it was you who were the problem, but I think a big part of it was me and my attitude towards you. I wonder when I began to get off track.”

She blew her nose, and said quietly, “I think I know.”

“You do? When?”

“When they made you a leader in the church,” she said. “You began to get busy. And stressed out, and you weren’t as home so often. Even when you came home from a military tour, you still weren’t home.  You gave so much time to the church.  I think it was too much.”

He shook his head, looking at her.  “So that’s how it happened.”

“I knew at first it was because you were lonely, after losing Mom. So we tried not to mind. But then even after you met Sallie, you just kept on getting further and further away from us, and more involved with these other people.”

She couldn’t believe she was saying this to him, and that he was listening to her. Steeling herself, she went on, “You have a big family, Dad. It takes a lot of your time and energy. But you don’t have that much time and energy because you’re letting yourself be pulled in too many directions.”

“Let me ask you this,” he said slowly. “Is that why you girls resent our church so much?”

A bit startled, Rachel nevertheless nodded, “I would guess, yes, that’s it.”

“I see.” He sat back in his chair, thinking. After a moment, he looked at her. “There was actually another reason why I called you in here.”

“There was?”

“Yes,” he leaned forward, a bit uncomfortable. “Today is Prisca’s birthday. I’d like to get her a present and I’d like it to be something she really wants. But I’m not sure of what that is. I thought maybe you could give me some ideas.”

eighteen

Rachel chewed on her fingernail, not sure of how diplomatically she could answer this question. Usually Dad got them devotional books on their birthdays. “Something that she really wants?”

He nodded, a bit flustered. “Yes.”

Rachel sat up, took a deep breath, and folded her hands in her lap. “Well,” she began hesitantly, “what she really, really wants is a manicure and makeup kit.”

She held her breath, waiting for the speech about St. Paul and godly women and vain adornments. But instead, her father paused. She could see that he was trying to be open-minded about it.

“Okay,” he said, “Where do I get a—what was it you said?”

“A manicure and makeup kit. At the drugstore, they have them on sale for twenty-five dollars, in a silver case that locks. I know that was the one she was wishing she could get.” She watched her father carefully.

“Okay,” he pulled out a paper and pencil and he wrote.

“Dad, are you really going to get that for her?” she asked, scarcely able to believe what she was seeing.

He glanced up at her, saw her face, and continued writing, smiling a bit jokingly. “She’d never expect to get a gift like that from me in a million years. Might be worth it, just to see the expression on her face, don’t you think?”

“I’d say so,” she agreed, still half-stupefied.

“Of course, I’m going to ask you to keep this a secret, if that’s all right.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

She paused, and then asked, “Dad? Can I ask you a favor?”

“What’s that?”