Dreaming Of Christmas. Susan Mallery

know you had a difficult childhood and it’s my fault. It’s just that you…” Tears filled her eyes, and she looked away.

      Evie told herself to be sympathetic. That nothing would be gained by snapping or complaining. There was no new material here. Just the same half-truths and partial explanations.

      May sniffed. “Can’t you forgive me?”

      Evie folded her arms across her chest in what she knew was a protective and not very subtle gesture. “Sure. You’re forgiven.”

      “You’re still angry.” May drew in a breath. “I know I wasn’t there for you, when you were little. There were so many responsibilities.”

      “I’m sure it was difficult to raise four children on your own,” Evie told her. “But we both know that’s not the problem. The problem is you had a one-night stand a few months after your husband died, and I’m the result. The problem is, every time you look at me, you’re reminded of your moment of weakness. You never wanted me, and, growing up, you made sure I knew it. It’s not enough that I don’t even know who my father is. I ended up with a mother who didn’t give a damn.”

      May clutched at her throat. “That’s not true.”

      “Isn’t it? You blamed me for being born. That’s my big crime. When I was little, you wanted nothing to do with me. You were never there for me. You weren’t overtly mean, but you also weren’t interested. You and my brothers had special things you did together. Rituals and celebrations. Things I wasn’t a part of. It was the four of you as a family and then me on the outside looking in. My brothers did their best with me, but it wasn’t their job to raise me. It was yours and you didn’t bother.”

      Evie felt herself starting to shake. She tried to hold it all together but knew she was seconds from a complete meltdown.

      “I left home as soon as I could because there was no reason to stay. I never wanted to come back and wouldn’t be here now if you and my brothers hadn’t literally brought me here while I was unconscious after the accident.” She almost blurted out that she wasn’t planning on staying, either, but May didn’t deserve to know her plans. She wouldn’t be a part of her future.

      “I was seventeen when I took off, and it was over a year until I heard from you. You never checked on me or wondered where I was or what I was doing.”

      “You were at Juilliard,” May whispered.

      “Right. For the first six months. Then I left. Did you ever wonder how a seventeen-year-old girl makes it on her own in the world? Did you bother to ask?”

      The room blurred, and it took her a minute to realize she was crying.

      “So, sure, Mom,” she said, her voice thickening. “I forgive you. You were everything I ever wanted in a parent.”

      Then she was running. She went out through the back porch and down the stairs. Somewhere along the path to the goat barn, she stumbled and nearly fell. The only thing that kept her from going down was a pair of strong arms.

      Dante pulled her against him and held her tight. He didn’t say anything. He just hung on and let her sob until she had nothing left.

       Chapter Five

      Dante was surprised to find Rafe in the office Friday morning. “Why aren’t you home with Heidi?” he asked.

      Rafe looked up from his computer. “She’s making cheese and let me know I was getting in her way. Figured I’d get some work done. What about you?”

      “Heidi pretty much only has eyes for you.”

      Rafe chuckled. “I’m lucky that way.”

      Dante walked to his desk and turned on his computer, then poured himself a cup of coffee. They were the only two working that morning. The staff had been given the long weekend off.

      “How’s your mom?” Dante asked.

      “Fine. Why?”

      Dante had wondered if May had told anyone what had happened. He’d let Evie cry herself out, then had driven her home. This morning he’d wanted to go check on her, but there’d been no sign she was awake when he’d left.

      He’d been forced to walk away, still feeling protective but with nothing to do.

      “She and Evie got into it last night,” Dante said and recapped the conversation.

      Rafe shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I wish they wouldn’t talk about the past. There’s nothing that can be done to fix it.”

      “Was Evie telling the truth?” Dante asked. “Was she that isolated as a kid?”

      “It was complicated,” Rafe admitted. “She was a lot younger, and I think she was a reminder of that one night for my mom. The four of us were used to being together, then Evie came along....” His voice trailed off.

      Dante had lost his mother when he’d been fifteen. While he hadn’t been the one to pull the trigger, a case could be made that he was responsible. They’d always been there for each other, and to this day, he would give anything to have her back. He couldn’t comprehend what it would be like to have family and not be close to them.

      “She’s your sister,” he began.

      “I know.” He sighed. “I was too busy being the man of the family. I figured the rest of them would worry about Evie. But that never happened. She was always an afterthought.” He shook his head. “There’s no excuse.”

      Dante had known Rafe a lot of years and trusted him completely. From what he’d seen, May was a sweet, loving person. So how had everyone managed to ignore what was going on with Evie?

      “She’s here now,” Rafe continued. “We want to make things up to her.”

      “Good luck with that.”

      “You think she’ll resist?”

      “If you were her, how forgiving would you be?”

      Rafe sighed. “Yeah, I see your point. I appreciate you looking out for her.” He stared at Dante. “That’s all it is, right? You’re not getting involved?”

      Dante knew exactly what his friend was asking. Telling Rafe he thought Evie was sexy as hell, from the way she walked to her hard-won smile, wasn’t a smart move. Instead he settled on the truth.

      “You know how I feel about relationships.” In his world, love had deadly consequences. He’d learned the lesson early and had never let it go.

      * * *

      THE FRIDAY AFTER Thanksgiving wasn’t a school day, so Evie had scheduled her dance classes early. She was done by three and showered, dressed and settled in front of her television by four. She pushed the play button on her remote, cuing up the DVD of the performance, then settled back on her sofa to watch it for the fortieth time.

      The story was simple. The Winter King had dozens of daughters. The girls wanted to go free in the world, but he loved them too much to let them go. So his daughters danced to convince him they were ready to leave. At the end, the girls were revealed as beautiful snowflakes and he released them into the world as Christmas snow.

      The girls danced in groups. They were mostly divided by age, with the younger performers having more simple choreography. Every student had a few seconds of a solo with the more advanced students having longer in the spotlight. Several styles of dance were represented. Modern, tap, clog and, of course, ballet.

      The sets were simple, the lighting basic. The music was a collection of classic holiday songs, leaning heavily on Tchaikovsky. What would the world have done without his beautiful Nutcracker? The biggest problem in her mind was the transitions. They were awkward in some places, nonexistent in others. Sometimes the girls simply walked off the stage, and the next group walked on.