Dance with the Doctor

“Yes, please! We want to see you dance!”

The other girls added their pleas.

Darcy had planned to finish out class with a version of Simon Says using dance moves, but it would be fun to perform for the girls. She could show them some of the things they’d be able to do if they continued to study and practice. “All right,” she said. “Everyone sit on the floor at the back of the studio and I’ll dance for you.”

“With the sword,” Kira said.

“Not with the sword,” Darcy said. “With a veil.” She plucked a large gauzy blue silk one, spangled with sequins, from a shelf near the door. “Now just give me a minute to find the right music.” She felt a familiar tickle of excitement low in her stomach. Nothing like performing for an appreciative audience to make a dancer want to do her best.

ON WEDNESDAYS, Mike closed his office early. Most of the time he and Taylor did something special together. They went to the movies or out for pizza. Now that she was in dance class, he missed her more than he’d imagined. The office seemed emptier without her chatter, and he felt at loose ends, wondering what she was up to, and if she was all right. In a few more weeks he’d adjust to the change in routine, just as he’d adjusted to her return to school after her last hospitalization and her overnight visits with her mother. But for now her absence left him unsettled.

Nicole stopped in the doorway of his office. “Your last patient is ready,” the nurse said.

Grateful for the distraction of work, Mike headed for Exam Room One, where nine-year-old Brent Jankowski waited, along with his mom, Sarah, and three younger sisters. “What’s up with you today, Brent?” Mike asked, glancing at the boy’s chart.

“I have a cold.” Brent sniffed.

“I hate to bother you with such a silly thing.” Sarah looked up from tying her youngest’s—Emily’s—shoe. “But you did tell us we should come in for any sign of illness at all.”

“Yes, it’s smart to be careful.” Mike put his stethoscope to Brent’s chest and listened. There, under the normal lub-dub of the heart was a soft, sighing sound—a leaky heart valve. It was just the sort of defect that could lead to bigger problems down the road. Even something as routine as a common cold could turn more serious for Brent, as it had for Taylor. Fortunately, advanced diagnostics had caught the problem earlier and new treatment protocols promised a more favorable outcome than Taylor’s.

Mike moved the stethoscope to listen to the boy’s lungs, then checked his ears and throat. “There’s bronchitis setting in,” he said. “I’m going to prescribe a heavy-duty decongestant. We’ll try to avoid antibiotics for now, but if he starts running a fever above a hundred, call me right away.”

“All right. Thanks.”

As he typed the prescription into the computer, he marveled at Sarah Jankowski’s calm. He started imagining worst-case scenarios every time Taylor sneezed. Maybe Sarah’s blasé attitude came from having four children instead of only one.

He’d wanted more children, despite his long work hours, but Melissa had been as reluctant as he was to take time off from her job and felt one child was plenty.

He saw the Jankowskis to the front desk, then glanced at the clock. He still had a few minutes before it was time to pick Taylor up from her class, but it wouldn’t hurt if he arrived early.

When he pulled into the driveway and switched off the car he could hear music coming from the garage-turned-studio. He could make out drums and some kind of high-pitched instrument, maybe a flute. Smiling to himself, he slid out of the car. He’d just peek in, try to catch a glimpse of Taylor dancing without her realizing he was watching.

Snow crunched under his feet as he followed the path to the studio. He slipped through the foyer to a second door behind which the music throbbed. He eased it open and peeked inside.

But instead of watching Taylor and the other students, he found himself staring at Darcy, her back to the door, performing for a wide-eyed group of girls.

Moving slowly and gracefully, Darcy swayed in rhythm to the music, hips rolling, arms tracing patterns in the air. The exotic music, the sparkle of sequins and shimmer or silk, even the faint incense in the air, worked a spell on Mike. He felt as if he’d plummeted through a trapdoor from his everyday life to this erotic new world. Darcy twirled a veil around her, hiding, then revealing the curve of her hip, the smooth paleness of her bare back, the gentle roundness of her belly, the swell of cleavage above the sequined bra top. Mike’s heart pounded and he had trouble breathing, but he made no attempt to turn away.

His life was so devoid of the feminine. The sexual. He wasn’t the type of man who looked at magazine centerfolds or visited topless bars. He hadn’t dated since his divorce, his life consumed by work and caring for his daughter. The sexual side of him was there, but it wasn’t convenient or practical to think about it. Watching Darcy, he was thinking about it now.

The tempo of the song increased. Drums pounded and flutes trilled. Darcy whirled, hips bouncing, the bells on the blue scarf knotted over low-slung blue velvet pants chiming furiously. Mike stared, mesmerized, as she undulated and shimmied, hips, then stomach, then chest. Trying to regain his composure, he lowered his gaze to the floor, watching her feet, but this was no help; Darcy even had sexy feet, small with high arches and pink-painted toenails.

The music ended abruptly, with a drumroll. Darcy froze, arms over her head, breathing hard. The girls erupted into applause. “That was so awesome!” Taylor gushed. “Dad, wasn’t that fantastic?”

All eyes turned toward the door, including Darcy’s. Mike felt as guilty as a schoolboy, but tried not to show it. He stepped into the room. “That was … very impressive,” he said.

Taylor ran to greet him, swinging on his hand. “Wouldn’t it be great if I could do that?”

The thought of his little girl shimmying and undulating to exotic music, dressed in a skimpy costume, made Mike queasy. Of course Taylor had to grow up someday, but she was only ten ….

His thoughts must have shown on his face, because Darcy laughed. “Go easy on your father, Taylor. Dads have a hard time thinking of their daughters as all grown-up.”

She couldn’t know how especially hard it was for him, after having once faced the very real possibility that Taylor would never grow up at all.

He turned to her. “I hope you don’t mind that I watched your dance. I got here early and heard the music and thought I might catch a glimpse of Taylor.”

“Of course I don’t mind,” she said. “I’m used to performing for an audience.”

“Do you do shows often? I mean, for the public?”

“I dance at a restaurant in Denver—Arabica—most Friday evenings. You’re welcome to come watch anytime.” Her eyes sparkled. Was she flirting with him?

He smiled. “I might do that sometime.” Not that he would, but there was no harm in pretending. It felt good to interact with a woman who wasn’t the mother of one of his patients or Taylor’s teacher.

Other parents began arriving and Darcy turned to greet them. There was a flurry of donning coats and finding backpacks, then calls of “Goodbye!” and “See you next week!”

Then Taylor was at Mike’s side, tugging at his hand. “Dad!”

“What is it, hon?”

“I forgot to take my meds before class.” Worry made a deep V between her brows. “I thought about it on the bus, but then when we got here I was so excited …”

“It’s okay.” He patted her shoulder, as much to reassure himself as her. True, the medications were supposed to be taken at regular intervals, but there was nothing to be done about it right now. Later, at home, he’d emphasize to Taylor again the importance of keeping on schedule. Maybe he could set up a reminder on her phone. “You can take them now.” He turned to Darcy, who was closing the studio door behind the rest of the parents. “Could Taylor have a glass of water?” he asked. “She needs to take some pills.”

“Pills?” Darcy looked at Taylor, who blushed and stared at the floor. “Of course. Come up to the house with me.”

DARCY LED the way up the path to her house, hurrying her steps, aware of the anxiety radiating from the girl at her heels. Taylor looked so ordinary and healthy—why would she need to take pills?

“One glass of water, coming up,” she said once they were in the kitchen. She got a glass from the cabinet, while Taylor opened her backpack on the kitchen table. Mike stood just inside the door, hands shoved in his trouser pockets, studying the photograph in Kali’s arms.

“The boy looks like you,” he said.

Darcy turned from the sink, glass of water in her hand. “Excuse me?”

Mike nodded at the picture of Pete and Riley. “The boy looks like you. He has your eyes.”

Darcy handed the glass to Taylor. “That’s my son. Riley. And his father, Pete. They were both killed in a car wreck two years ago.” There was no easy way to reveal this tragedy—better to say it straight out.

“Oh.” He was clearly shocked. “I’m very sorry.”

“Thank you.” The kindness in his eyes touched the tender spot inside her where the pain was still raw. She looked away, focusing on Taylor. “What kind of pills do you have to take?”

Taylor pulled a pill case from her backpack—the plastic kind with multiple compartments. “This is Gengraf and that one is CellCept. This is prednisone, that’s quinine and this one is Zantac.” She rattled off the names of the drugs as if she was reciting a list of favorite music groups or the names of relatives.

“You take all these every day?” Darcy asked, stunned.

“Most of them three times a day—the prednisone and quinine only once. I was taking some drugs five times. Dad says as I get older, I should be able to get down to taking meds only twice a day, and some of them I should be able to stop altogether.”