Chapter 5: No More Surprises

Clare found Henry on the bench by the front door, bending to retie a shoelace that was already tied.

“I should have told you when I knew,” she said.

“When did you know?”

“Monday. I didn't know how serious it was until today.”

Henry sat up. “That's an answer. I'd have preferred it on Monday.”

“You're right.”

He studied her a moment, then stood. “I can still come Thursday?”

“Yes. We have the room, and the dance is on Saturday.”

“Then I'll see you Thursday.”

Ethan offered to drive him home. Henry said he would walk the short distance to the diner first and call when he was ready. Ethan almost objected, then put the keys back in his pocket.

That night Clare took the draft construction schedule home. It described temporary storage in the ballroom and a closure that could begin in January. There was no signed agreement. She marked the passages that needed a direct answer and wrote to Marisol for a copy of the center's proposed budget.

She made a second list beside it: entrance and exit access during construction, safe floor storage, evening hours, and how much notice students would receive. If there was another room in the building, she needed to see its dimensions before offering it to anyone. Henry had already seen what happened when people made arrangements on his behalf. She refused to make the same mistake with the class.

Ethan called the next morning. “My planner is looking at another storage arrangement.”

“Good.”

“I also asked a broker about vacant studios near the bus line.”

“I told you why moving won't solve everything.”

“I heard you. This would be a backup.”

“Did you tell the board you were doing it?”

“No.”

“Then they'll still need the same information I'm collecting. Send any real options to Marisol so everyone sees them.”

“I can get someone there to measure it today.”

“After Marisol agrees. She runs the center.”

“I'm aware.”

“You keep speaking as if the room is yours to replace.”

Ethan exhaled. “I heard you the first time.”

“Then let her make the call.”

There was a pause. “You think I'm trying to buy my way out of a conversation.”

“I think you're accustomed to solving a problem before anyone else gets a say.”

He didn't deny it. He said he would send the details to Marisol.

Thursday brought a light rain and a crowded class. Clare taught Rosa a turn, coached the brothers' mother through the basic step, and caught Henry trying to dance faster than the music. He complained that she favored the other students.

“They follow directions,” Clare said.

“Evidence?”

“All around you.”

Ethan arrived while the last couples were practicing. He carried a box of printed attendance forms Clare had asked Marisol to make. It was a small thing, but he'd brought what she requested instead of deciding for her what she needed.

He put them on the table and took a seat near the door. Clare could see him following the class rather than checking his phone. Rosa missed a turn, reset, and tried it again without waiting for Clare to come over. Ethan smiled at the exchange between students. When he noticed Clare watching him, he looked down at the forms and straightened their edges.

When the room emptied, Henry asked for one full rehearsal. Clare put on a simple waltz. He crossed the floor, offered his hand and managed the first turn. Ethan applauded twice from the wall.

“You may stop,” Henry told him. “I'm aware I did well.”

“I meant it.”

“That makes it worse.”

Henry went into the hall to change his shoes. Ethan helped Clare put away the portable speaker.

“He's angry at me,” Ethan said.

“He's angry he found out from half a conversation.”

“I'm trying to make sure he has everything.”

“Have you asked him what he wants from Saturday?”

Ethan rested the speaker on the table. “He wants to dance.”

“He told me he wants you to stay for the music. Even after his dance is over.”

Ethan's face lost its guarded look. “He could have said that.”

“So could you.”

“Say what?”

“That you want to be there.”

He sat in one of the chairs they'd just unfolded. “When Mom died, I was in Chicago. Dad called on a Thursday. She'd been tired, and I told them I'd come the following weekend.”

Clare stayed beside the speaker.

“She died Saturday morning. There wasn't a warning anyone could have acted on. I know that.” He looked down at his hands. “I still hear myself saying, ‘Next weekend.’”

“So now you come as soon as he calls.”

“Sometimes before. I arranged appointments he didn't ask for. Once I called his doctor because he didn't answer his phone for an hour.”

“Where was he?”

“At a movie.”

Ethan gave a brief, embarrassed laugh. Clare sat across from him.

“You can tell him you're afraid,” she said. “He's already had to live with your fear. He deserves to know its name.”

Henry appeared in the doorway carrying his dance shoes. “I can hear enough to know you're talking about me.”

Ethan rose. “I told Clare about Mom's last Thursday.”

Henry's hand tightened around the shoe bag. “I remember.”

“I keep trying to make sure there isn't another call.”

“There will be calls,” Henry said. “That part of being my son isn't going away.”

Ethan looked at him.

“I'd rather you answered because you want to hear me,” Henry continued, “than because you've counted how long I've been out of sight.”

Neither had an easy answer. Henry broke the silence by asking Ethan to drive him home. Ethan picked up his keys, and Clare watched them leave together.

She turned back to the music player. A rehearsal playlist had been left open on its screen. She selected the next track to make sure the volume would be right for Saturday.

Henry had reached the hall, but the first piano notes brought him back.

He stood in the doorway with the shoe bag in his hand. Clare reached to stop the song.

“Don't,” he said.

The bag slid from his fingers. His eyes were fixed on the empty space at the center of the floor.

“That's Margaret's song.”