The Ballerina's Stand. Angel Smits

blanketed his face. She should stop and breathe. Stop waving and crumpling the pages he’d given her. But she couldn’t stop herself. The twenty-three years since losing her mother was too much hurt to fight.

      A father. Money. A house. All the things she’d dreamed of since the day her mother died. The day the social worker had shown up and packed her tiny pink princess suitcase and taken her to that first foster home. Five years old and alone. Without anyone to love her.

      Where was he then? She signed the question, knowing this man couldn’t answer her.

      Why would a total stranger leave her anything? Especially when they’d stayed out of her life apparently on purpose.

      Jason hadn’t moved. He stood so close. Their eyes met and neither of them looked away. She dropped the papers to the coffee table.

      She let her fingers form the words and concepts trapped in her mind. If only he understood. If only—

      “I don’t want it,” she signed. Then, when Jason shook his head, she wrote it on the page, the pen gouging the paper. He continued to frown.

      “What? Why?” She could read that response.

      “Don’t need it.” The very idea scared her, angered her. “Give it to someone else.” Her fingers flew quickly, and his brow remained furrowed. After a long minute, he grabbed the notepad and dug in his briefcase again. He handed her the paper and another business card after he’d scribbled some more.

      “Come to my office,” he’d written. “I’ll get an interpreter to help.”

      He looked expectant.

      Her hopes died. He was just doing his job, so why had she even hoped he’d try to understand her himself? Slowly, she nodded, took the card, and led him to the door. She grabbed his coat and handed it to him. He waved and forced a smile as he stepped back out into the pouring rain.

      With the door finally closed behind him, Lauren slammed the dead bolt, knowing she had no intention of going to any office or ever seeing him again.

      She was happy in her little world. She didn’t need him or anyone else—especially a hearing person—reminding her of what was missing in that world.

       CHAPTER THREE

      LAUREN MOUNTED THE wide stone stairs, her steps quick and lively. Determined. Not because that’s how she felt, but because Maxine was watching, she was sure of it, judging her posture, her form, and the tilt of her head. Lauren didn’t want to disappoint her mentor. Or hear the inevitable lecture.

      The wide double doors opened and Maxine’s longtime butler, Hudson, stood there, a smile on his weathered face. The old man didn’t know much sign, but over the years he’d learned to make the correct gestures for hello, goodbye and a few simple niceties. Today he greeted Lauren with a warm smile and led the way to the studio.

      Maxine was already there, her slim, perfectly upright frame poised at the barre. At seventy-two years old, Maxine Nightingale, once a world-renowned ballerina, looked young and lithe. Only the lines on her face gave any hint of her true age.

      Mirrors surrounded them while polished wood floors reflected almost as clearly. Maxine’s lips and hands moved to speak. “There you are,” she signed. “Time to work.”

      Her smile told Lauren they were listening to Maxine’s favorite. Lauren smiled in response. She knew the expectations, the moves, without having to think twice. Maxine didn’t have to instruct her or gesture the routine the way she used to in class all those years ago.

      Lauren left her things by the door and joined Maxine at the barre. Like images in the mirror, they moved together. Going through all the steps, matching poses, all the way through the entire first movement of the song. By the midpoint, Maxine was dancing with her eyes closed, getting lost in the sound while Lauren let herself relax and settle deep into the rhythm and her own thoughts. It felt wonderful. So freeing.

      Finally, Maxine bowed, and the soft thump of the music vibrating the air stopped. Lauren took a deep breath and walked over to the small table in the corner by the narrow floor-to-ceiling windows. The sweet-scented towel made quick work of the sweat from her face and shoulders.

      Hudson came in then as if on cue. No doubt he’d heard this same music for the past fifty years as Maxine’s employee. He carried a tray of afternoon tea. The porcelain pot and matching cups were old, brought here from Germany by one of Maxine’s husbands. Lauren wasn’t sure which one. The scent of the tea and the sweet cakes wafted in the air as Hudson walked to the table.

      Maxine reached over and gave Lauren a long hug. Her fingers moved quickly, and Lauren smiled. “I’ve missed you, too,” she signed back.

      They each settled in their seats, just as they always did, as if months hadn’t passed since Lauren had last been here. Hudson poured; then with a wave of her hand, Maxine dismissed him. He vanished, without a word or a sign.

      Lauren sat back, waiting for the inquisition regarding her absence. Maxine wasn’t one to beat around any bushes, but they both busied themselves with preparing their drinks. Finally, Maxine looked up, a frown on her brow.

      Her aged hands were as graceful in sign as her body was on the stage. Her perfectly groomed nails and be-ringed fingers flashed in the room’s ambient light. It also helped that Lauren had been reading Maxine’s face and lips since childhood.

      “So, where have you been?”

      Lauren took a sip of tea and pretended to focus on settling the cup back in the fragile saucer, not meeting Maxine’s eyes, not giving her a chance to read her. “Working.” She focused on selecting a cake. “Working with D-y-l-a-n.” She avoided Maxine’s glare.

      “That boy will be your downfall.”

      “No.” They’d had a similar conversation many times before. Dylan was part of the reason Lauren had come here today. “He’s good. One of the best.” She waited a beat, then forced herself to catch her teacher’s eye. “You took me on, didn’t give up on me.” The intensity of Lauren pointing her finger at Maxine then back at herself wasn’t lost on the older woman.

      Maxine fought the smile. Finally, she nodded. “You think he’s that good?”

      Lauren nodded. “I do.” Neither of them moved for several long minutes. No fingers moving or flashing. Lips doing nothing beyond sipping the cooling tea. Finally, Maxine reached over and curled her fingers around Lauren’s hand to get her attention. Their eyes met.

      “All right. Let me see this prodigy of yours.”

      Lauren stared. Maxine was willing to give Dylan a chance? Maxine couldn’t work with Dylan the way she had with her. Fifteen years ago, Maxine had been well past her prime as a performing ballerina, but she’d been one of the best teachers in the world. Lauren had been the troubled deaf girl Maxine had taken in as a foster child, a poor replacement for the son she’d lost to death the year before.

      Even now, Lauren felt the weight of that role. She’d been angry, lost, and this regal woman had demanded so much. Had found the talent buried inside Lauren’s silent world.

      Did Dylan really have that same spark? Lauren thought she saw it, but Maxine had a sharper eye. An eye and knowledge that came from much more time on this earth, and experience.

      “Really?” she signed.

      Maxine nodded. “You’ve got me curious.”

      Lauren knew not to let the opportunity pass. “When?”

      “Next week. Tuesday. I’ll come to your studio.”

      Maxine’s composure returned and the predictability of it took Lauren back. It was comforting, and she realized how much she’d missed Maxine. She’d been so edgy lately, and Maxine’s controlled manner eased that edginess.

      She admitted