Alaskan Homecoming

She pocketed her key ring and stepped over the threshold. The interior of the house was dark, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She’d intentionally stayed out later than originally planned. After everything that had transpired at the church, she just wasn’t up to seeing her parents. Not yet.

“Posy?” a voice called from the darkened living room. “Is that you?”

So much for avoidance.

“Yes, it’s me, Mom.” She limped into the living room, dragging her rolling suitcase behind her. The television, a huge flat-screen Posy had never seen before, flickered quietly in the dark. “What are you doing awake this time of night?”

Her parents went to bed after the ten o’clock news every night. They watched the weather report, kept up with what was happening in Anchorage and headed to bed right after her dad’s favorite feature—the daily moose-sighting report, wherein viewers submitted photos of moose out and about town. Her dad held the record in Aurora for the most moose photos ever shown on the local news. Posy had sent him a new smartphone with a good-quality camera feature to replace his ancient flip phone for his birthday after she’d had her first three months’ pay as a professional dancer under her belt. He’d been ecstatic.

“What am I doing awake?” Her mother crossed the living room and gave her a tight hug. For some reason, it felt less comforting than the embraces of her girlfriends. More suffocating. “Waiting for you, of course. Your father headed to bed a little before ten, though. He has an early day tomorrow.”

“How early? He went to bed before the moose report?”

“Oh, honey. They don’t do the moose report anymore. They haven’t for a few years now.” Her mother released her. She smiled, and even in the dim light of the silent television, Posy could see lines around her eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Oh. Wow. I had no idea.” The demise of the moose report struck her as profoundly sad, which was silly, really.

She probably just needed sleep. She’d had an early-morning four-hour flight to Anchorage, followed by her commuter flight to Aurora. Then the church, followed by the coffee date. It was a tribute to the power of Alaska’s finest caffeine that she could still hold her head up.

“People were getting carried away. They decided it was dangerous when Ed Candy from the dry cleaners got trampled and broke his foot while he was chasing a moose into the hospital with a camera.”

The hospital? Trampled?

First Liam’s crazy dog, now the moose. The animals had gone crazy since she’d been away. Although she could sympathize with poor Ed Candy’s broken foot.

Posy’s foot throbbed with pain. She’d probably been up and about too much today. She needed to lie down and get it elevated. She needed an ice pack. She needed an Advil. Desperately.

Don’t go there.

As if she were reading her mind, Posy’s mother asked, “Can I get you anything?”

“Mom, you don’t have to wait on me. This is my home, too.” Posy forced herself to smile, even though she suddenly felt like crying.

She would not cry. Not now. She shouldn’t feel sad. She should feel mad.

She pretended she was onstage and rearranged her features in a mask of neutrality. “I need to talk to you about something.”

“Oh?” Her mom’s gaze flitted about the room, which told Posy she knew perfectly well what was coming. “It’s awfully late. You said so yourself. We can talk in the morning.” She extended a hand toward Posy’s suitcase.

Posy wheeled it out of reach. “No. I want to talk about it now.”

“Okay. Sit down, sit down.” Her mom patted the sofa cushions and then took a seat opposite in the chair where her dad used to sit when he watched the moose report. Who knew where he sat these days?

Posy obediently sat sideways on the sofa and propped her foot up on a throw pillow. She wondered how long it was going to take before one of them finally mentioned her injury. “Mom, I appreciate your talking to Lou and getting things in order for me to work at the church, but...”

Tears stung the backs of her eyes again. Why was this so hard to say? She had every right to be upset. But sitting across from her mother, looking at her face—at the new lines around her eyes and the worry in her gaze—her indignation began to slip away.

She should have visited more. She hadn’t even come home for Christmas. Not that she ever would have been able to take leave of the ballet company during the holidays. The weeks that stretched from the end of October to New Year’s Day made up Nutcracker season. Everyone knew as much.

“I wish you would have told me that Liam was the youth pastor,” she finally said.

Her mom sighed. “I’m sorry. I just thought...”

“You thought you could have him spy on me. To make sure I’m not taking any pills. Right?” Her throat burned. It hurt to say the words aloud, but someone had to.

“Posy.” The lines around her mother’s face deepened.

“Mom, admit it. Please.”

Her mom took a deep breath, and she seemed to wilt a little on the exhalation. “That’s part of it, yes. But try to understand. Other than the handful of times we’ve been to California to watch you dance, your father and I haven’t seen you in seven years.”

“Six,” Posy began to whisper, but the word died on her tongue.

“After what happened last time, we wanted you here. At home, where you belong.”

Is this where I belong, God?

She didn’t bother waiting for an answer.

This was her home, but no, it wasn’t where she belonged. Not really. She was just here because she was hurt. She belonged onstage. Her foot belonged in a ballet shoe, not the ugly plaster where it currently resided.

“It’s not like the last time, Mom. I promise.”

Her mother nodded. She didn’t believe her. She might want to, but she didn’t. That much was obvious. And Posy wasn’t altogether sure she blamed her.

God, why is this all so hard?

Posy glanced up at the ceiling. But instead of finding God, all she could imagine were the snow-laden boughs of the giant blue evergreen spread over the town like angels’ wings.

Chapter Five (#ulink_ae7ff4bf-6847-5722-96f1-85f2dfec39c5)

The next afternoon at the church, Posy scrolled through the playlists on her iPod, checking one last time to make sure she had the music she needed for barre work. Classical, of course.

For as long as she could remember, her barre exercises had been performed to classical piano. Sharp, staccato notes, perfect for the seemingly endless repetition of pliés, elevés, tendus and battements.

When she’d been a little girl in Madame Sylvie’s ballet school, the one and only in Aurora, the music had drifted from an ancient turntable—blue, the kind that could be closed like a suitcase. On it spun scratchy vinyl record albums with cardboard covers on the verge of deterioration that had been used by generations of dancers.

Posy turned the iPod over in her hand, wondering what had become of that turntable and those albums. Madame Sylvie had suffered a sudden heart attack only three months after Posy had moved to San Francisco. In a single, tragic episode, both the ballet teacher and the school itself ceased to exist.

Posy had missed the funeral. She’d been dancing in her first real performance with the corps. Swan Lake, notorious for being the toughest ballet for corps dancers. It was the marathon of ballets. So while the woman who’d first taught her how to point her feet had been laid to rest, Posy had been fluttering across the stage in white feathers for three solid hours. By the end of the matinee that Saturday, her feet had hurt nearly as much as her heart.

Of all the things she’d missed in Aurora, Madame Sylvie’s funeral was the one Posy had been the most conflicted about. Ultimately, she’d stayed in California because it was what her teacher would have wanted. Dancing that afternoon was the best way to honor Madame Sylvie’s memory.

Posy had stitched a tiny black satin ribbon on the inside of her right pointe shoe in remembrance. And she’d danced until she no longer felt like crying.

A bittersweet smile came to Posy’s lips as she clicked the iPod in place in the docking station. She hadn’t thought about Madame Sylvie in a long time. Years maybe. This town was so full of memories, she was beginning to wonder if her heart had room for all of them.

And of course, just as she was feeling particularly wistful, the biggest memory of them all walked into the room.