Chapter 4

The applause began before Gerard found a place to put his hands. He left them open over the schedule, as though the paper had surprised him too.

"Lise, it's one dance."

Colette's fingers tightened around the fabric at his wrist. Around us, chairs scraped back and guests turned toward the cleared floor. The bandleader lifted his bow and waited.

I had taught Colette to count music against my palm before she could reach the piano keys. At seven, she had stood on my shoes and laughed whenever I moved backward. At sixteen, she had asked her father to practice with her because he never looked down when he danced.

Now she smoothed the schedule across her knees without looking at me.

"You said she'd be safer sitting down," she said.

Gerard looked at my right knee, never my face. "She will be."

That was the answer he had brought into the room. My knee. The length of the song. The number of turns. He touched each reason lightly, certain that care could excuse the choice he had hidden.

Vivienne stood beside the first row with both hands clasped at her waist. She had no flowers, no place card, and no one waiting to claim the chair behind her. When the bandleader glanced her way, she took one step forward.

"I can leave."

Gerard shook his head. "Don't make this worse."

The first notes rose before anyone answered him. Colette released his sleeve, then placed the schedule facedown on the empty chair beside her. She had accepted his fear because she remembered the afternoon my knee had folded during rehearsal. She also wanted a first dance that did not stop halfway while every guest watched me fail her.

I understood her reason. It did not return my place.

Gerard offered Vivienne his hand. She looked at me once, then took it because the whole room had already been arranged around that decision. The clapping covered the soft strike of her heel against the floor.

They moved into the opening turn. Gerard kept the careful frame I had corrected at our kitchen table for twenty-one years. Vivienne followed without hesitation, matching him where the music asked them to turn.

Guests smiled toward Colette. Someone behind me whispered that her father still remembered every step. My daughter pressed both palms flat against her skirt and watched the dance she had chosen.

I stayed standing beside the platform. The worn edge beneath my right shoe held the angle my leg could no longer hold alone. Each time Gerard crossed the center, the applause gathered again, warm and generous.

When the song ended, he bowed over Vivienne's hand. Colette rose with everyone else. The band moved straight into the next number, and couples filled the space before the clapping had finished.

Gerard turned toward me at last. He made it two steps before an older couple passed between us. By the time he came around them, I had reached the stage.

I sat down on the edge of the stage while they were still clapping, and I unlaced both shoes, and I set them side by side under the chair.