The Ballerina's Stand

She had offered to fund the studio for Lauren. An offer that tempted Lauren frequently, especially when the bills came. She made good money, just not enough to support a business and herself.

But if she accepted Maxine’s offer, her mentor would make a change here, a change there. She’d buy something new just because she felt it was necessary, something Lauren might not want. Lauren would lose control.

“Thanks, but I like doing the show.” And she did. Last year it had raised enough money for them to order half the new costumes and replace the stage curtains. “I want to do a good job.”

“The offer is always there.”

“I know and I appreciate it.”

The stillness stretched out. Maxine sat looking at her. “You’re not telling me everything.” She crossed her arms and met Lauren’s gaze with the piercing glare Lauren knew well.

Getting slowly to her feet, Lauren walked over to her bag and pulled out the papers, giving in to her need to share this with someone. Handing them to Maxine, she watched her eyes widen. “Your father?”

Lauren nodded, still not used to the idea.

“In Texas?” Lauren nodded. “Why now?” Lauren shrugged and the motion caught Maxine’s attention.

“Oh, honey.” She stood, setting the papers down on the table.

As if sensing Lauren’s mood, Maxine stood and took two steps to reach her. She pulled Lauren to her feet, and enveloped her in the motherly hug Lauren had fought against for so long, but which she now savored.

Finally, Lauren pulled away. “Why didn’t he find me when he was alive?” she signed slowly, not really wanting to admit her thoughts.

“You may never know.” Maxine tapped the papers with her finger. “But he owes you. This is what you deserve.”

Lauren wasn’t so sure. She wasn’t even sure what this was.

“I don’t want it!” She shook her head to emphasize her point. Maxine frowned but wisely didn’t say anything more. One third of an estate could be anything—or nothing. No sense getting her hopes up for nothing.

An hour later, Lauren headed home. Coming out of Maxine’s house, she paused at the top of the hill, waiting for the cab to wind its way up the long driveway, and looked out over the city.

Maxine’s parents had built this place, back when LA was a much smaller city, when the town hadn’t yet reached these hills. The other homes around were smaller, newer, not nearly as interesting as this place. Lauren remembered when social services had first brought her here. She’d been so scared. This was so far beyond anything she’d experienced. While she’d never thought of it as home, she was comfortable here.

She’d always been safe here.

The headlights of the cab cut through the growing night. She’d learned long ago to carry business cards with her home address on them. If she wasn’t going to drive, it wasn’t fair to expect a total stranger to know sign language. The man smiled at her and as she handed him the card, she signed hello, knowing he’d realize she was deaf. He glanced at the card and nodded.

They drove down the hill, the lights of the house blazing in her wake, the lights of the city reaching out and flashing over them as they moved.

He stopped at her door and she paid him. Her little condo was dark. She hadn’t left any lights on, not expecting to stay so long at Maxine’s. She laughed. Who was she kidding? There was no such thing as a short visit with Maxine.

Still, when she entered the small foyer and flipped the light switch, she smiled. This was hers. Her place. Her home. She’d worked so hard to afford it.

Putting her bag down, she saw the corner of the envelope. Had she done the right thing in telling Maxine? The doubts still lingered—about everything.

She stared at the envelope, suddenly curious about the two people who were listed to split the estate with her. She hastily pulled the pages out again. Palace Haymaker Jr., Palace A. Haymaker III—or Trey, as he was called. Why hadn’t it dawned on her before? A brother. A nephew.

Racing into the other room, she booted up her computer, wondering, hoping. Her fingers froze on the keys. Was this right? For so long she’d kept to herself. As a child, she couldn’t communicate with others, so they’d never asked questions. And neither had she. But...she’d never wanted to know so badly before.

She opened the browser. And typed in Palace Haymaker. Her finger hovered over the enter button for a long time. Then with a deep breath, she stabbed it, and watched the little hourglass spin.

Several notations filled the screen. An obituary? She swallowed. She wasn’t ready for that yet. She scrolled down. The Cattle Baron’s Ball in Dallas? Oh. Wow. She clicked the link and watched as pages of images flashed on the screen. Cowboy hats and big hair characterized them all.

Hungrily, her eyes scanned the page, skimming the captions. None of the faces, none of the names familiar. And then she saw it. Pal Haymaker and his son, Pal Jr. enjoy the music and drink.

The two men looked so much alike. Two big men, gray Stetsons on their heads. Neither of them smiled, looking at the photographer as if they were doing him a favor. Her father. Her brother. She stared, hoping to find some resemblance to herself. The hats made it difficult to see what color their hair was, and she assumed the cut was short. She remembered her mother having bright copper hair, the same color Lauren’d had as a child. The color that had faded as she’d grown up.

Maybe in the eyes? Leaning closer to the screen, she couldn’t tell what color they were. Her frustration grew. She needed something to prove this was real.

She typed Trey Haymaker into the search box. Another smattering of pictures appeared. Another reference to the Dallas ball. This time, a young man’s face stared back at her, smiling under a too-long mop of bright blond hair. She gasped. He looked too much like the face she saw in the mirror each day.

His eyes shone bright, blue and light. He looked like the opposite of the other, austere faces. He looked happy.

Maybe...maybe...this was real.

She swallowed, and before she could stop herself, she saved both images to the hard drive.

They were the only pictures she had of anyone related to her by blood. Her only family photos.

She turned off the computer, not wanting to look anymore. A faded image filled her mind as she climbed the stairs to her room. Her mother’s picture, the only one she’d had, captured in a cheap fake-brass frame, had vanished in one of the many moves between foster homes.

Her mother’s image had faded in Lauren’s mind with time. The wispy memories were vague now. She wished the internet could find her mother, but Rachel Ramsey had vanished long before there was an internet to capture pictures, words, lives.

She’d made it halfway up the stairs when her phone vibrated in her pocket. Who was calling so late? Her heart hammered in her chest as she pulled up the screen.

Dylan Bishop. His words appeared and she froze. I’m in jail. Help me. An address she recognized as the courthouse flashed on a second message.

Her heart sank and she turned back around, hurrying down the stairs. What had happened? Her mind filled with images of the boy, in a cell, no one understanding his sign, no one bothering to realize he was deaf. She took a deep breath and texted for a cab.

Please, please hurry. She had to purposefully stop her fingers from moving in the flow of the words.

The bright yellow cab pulled up, and she hastily ran to greet it, leaving her quiet home and newfound images behind. She had no time for herself. Dylan and his sister, Tina, needed her. That was more important.

* * *

JASON STARED AT the computer screen. For once, he understood what all of his clients meant when they referred to legal gobbledygook. The pages on the screen looked like that to him right now.

His concentration was off. It had been for days, ever since visiting Lauren Ramsey. Foolishly, he’d believed that Haymaker had given him full disclosure. Standing there in the rain, he’d felt like an idiot as she’d tried to explain her situation using sign language.

Vague memories of having to learn the finger alphabet in something like fourth grade nagged at him. Fat lot of good that had done him. He couldn’t remember a damned thing.

In anticipation of her coming in to the office, he’d found a sign language interpreting service. Their number was on a sticky note on the frame of his monitor. He’d also gotten online and downloaded a copy of that long-forgotten alphabet.

He’d tried to make his fingers remember even simple letters. He had the skill level of a three-year-old, and for a lawyer who thought he had a fairly quick mind, who prided himself on his communication skills, that was very...daunting.

But she hadn’t come in, called or emailed. Nothing. He’d wrestled with the decision of whether to contact her again. He wouldn’t normally, but then he didn’t normally go to people’s homes, either. He’d done that at Pal’s request.

He stared at the folder on his desk. He’d give it to his assistant, Susan. Have her send a follow-up note to Lauren and call the Dallas firm for the rest of the info. Decision made, he forced himself to turn back to the computer and the briefs he needed to finish.