No Matter What - By Janice Kay Johnson Page 0,45

were talking today about Thanksgiving. Are you staying here with your dad?”

Trev’s gaze flicked to his father. “I guess.”

“You must miss your sister.”

“I talk to her,” he said after a minute.

“Maybe if I bought her a ticket she’d come up for Thanksgiving,” Richard heard himself say. “Hell, it’s next week, isn’t it? I should have thought of it sooner. I suggested Christmas, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to leave your mom alone.”

“Maybe,” Trevor mumbled.

Richard guessed it was his turn to plow some conversational ground, so to speak. Not his strength. “So, Caitlyn,” he ventured, “I hear you’re quite a dancer.” He winced inwardly at the avuncular tone, which was pretty well guaranteed not to go over well. “Is it ballet?”

She stared at him. Her mother shifted in her seat, which seemed to snap her out of her state of disbelief. “Um, I do ballet, but I do jazz and modern dance, too.”

“Even belly dance,” her mother said brightly.

“Really?” That was Trev. “Hey, cool. I didn’t know that. Do you ever perform?”

Richard gaped at his son, then closed his mouth. Had that been an involuntary exclamation of interest, or was Trevor actually making an effort?

“Um, yeah, sometimes,” Cait said. “I belong to a troupe, and we do dinner shows once in a while. You know that club in Everett? We’ve got a show there in December.” She shot her mother a spiteful look. “Mom doesn’t like them.”

“I never said that....”

“You didn’t have to,” her daughter shot back.

“I love the dancing. You know that.” Her conflict was apparent on her face. “It’s the part where you shimmy around with people giving you money that reminds me a little too much of strippers. When I saw that creep stick a dollar bill in your cleavage…”

“Some old guy?” asked Trevor.

“That was gross,” Cait admitted. “He had, like, gray hair and kind of a wobbly chin. And I didn’t like the way he looked at me.”

“Belly dancing is sexy,” Molly said. “The problem is, most of the troupe are older than Cait. In their twenties, at least.”

“Bathsira, our leader, is, I don’t know, thirty-five or something,” Cait contributed.

Molly’s age, Richard thought with amusement. He wondered if fifteen-year-old Cait had thought to equate a dance partner with her aging mother.

“Bathsira?” Trevor echoed. “Really? In West Fork?”

Cait’s chin came up. “That’s her stage name. Her real name is…it doesn’t matter. We all have stage names.”

“Yeah? What’s yours?”

“Mariam.”

“That’s pretty.” Trevor was eating with astonishing enthusiasm. He’d polished off his first serving of manicotti and even the green beans and was reaching for the serving dish.

“I thought so,” Cait said. “Here, do you want some more garlic bread?”

“Yeah, cool.”

Trevor coaxed Cait to tell them the stage names of some of the other dancers, then asked if she’d perform after dinner.

“No! You’d just make fun of me, or…” Her cheeks got pink.

“I wouldn’t,” Trevor claimed. He shoveled in a big mouthful of manicotti.

“The dancing really is beautiful,” Molly said. “And Cait’s won some local contests. Somehow her body flows.”

There was a moment of silence, during which they all undoubtedly thought about Cait Callahan’s body, and what it was up to right now. She ducked her head. “Geez, Mom.”

“Well, you’re good.”

Cait looked at Trevor. “You should try dance. Some pro athletes do it, you know.”

Trev snorted.

“Coach Bowman would give his right arm if Trevor would only play basketball,” Molly said.

Caitlyn turned her blue eyes on him. “You should, you know,” she said earnestly. “If you’re that good. Why aren’t you playing?”

Richard made a fist under the table and gave it a surreptitious punch. He avoided meeting Molly’s eyes.

Trevor looked down at his plate. “I’m still thinking about it.”

“Our team could use some help,” Molly said matter-of-factly.

He hunched his shoulders. “Even if I wanted to… It’s not fair,” he finished in a burst, “if Cait can’t keep dancing.”

When nobody said anything for a minute, Richard did. “I’m proud of you for thinking about that.” He cleared his throat then nodded toward the garlic bread. “Molly, would you mind handing that to me?”

She did, and he passed it on.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Cait said tentatively. She was looking at Trevor. “Really. It might be fun to watch you play.” She flushed. “If it wouldn’t embarrass you.”

He swallowed hastily. “You mean having you there? No! I mean, I’d like it if you’d come to games.” Now his cheeks had reddened, too, and he stole a look from his dad to her mom. “If I decide to play.”

“I hope you do,” Molly told him.

Richard had