can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, and maybe I’ve already sampled complicated and intriguing women, and all I can say now is no, thank you.”
He makes a sound like he’s gargling gravel. “If you’re telling me that you found your Rebecca complicated and intriguing, I think you’ve got a lot more to learn.”
I sigh. I really am not interested in talking about my ex, but I can’t ignore this comment. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that you shouldn’t confuse complicated and intriguing with high maintenance and self-absorbed.”
My laughter is semi-automatic. “You think Aunt Lorraine isn’t high maintenance?” I’m not about to deny that Rebecca was. Is. She was and she is.
“Lorraine has always demanded a lot of attention and affection. That’s the truth. But she never asked for more than a man could and should give,” he says, letting the comparison hang there. “And never during our marriage—or marriages—would she have demanded I walk away from my dreams in order to help her chase hers.” He snorts. “Not to mention expecting me to walk away from my job, my family, and the community I love.”
He’s right. Lorraine wouldn’t do that. But it’s exactly what Rebecca did. The last thing I want to do right now is defend her. Instead, it feels like I need to defend myself.
“That’s why I have no interest in drama. I’ll take my tiny house and my borrowed view any day, Nonc.”
On Tuesday, I stay at school and manage to get through one and a half sets of the day’s exams. No Reve Coffee for me, a decision I’m regretting as I drive to the studio. I love my job. I love teaching French. But grading is boring. And exhausting. And by the time I pull in behind the studio, I’m beat.
But the sight of the black Range Rover gets a rise out of me. My uncle’s mystery client, plus entourage, are already here. I roll my eyes at the utter ridiculousness of anyone outside of high school needing to go anywhere with an entourage.
Most of my students travel in packs. They do everything in packs. Until, that is, they hit about seventeen. And then you can see them beginning to carve out an identity—an autonomy—all their own. The confident ones, anyway. The ones who aren’t a case of arrested development.
They don’t need a pack of friends to go with them to talk to their French teacher about a grade or to accompany them to do research in the library.
Or to go to a dance lesson.
I slip into the kitchen, a mid-century relic that Mom and Nonc never bothered to update, and hear “Opelousas Waltz” coming from the parlor. And voices.
And laughter.
I recognize my uncle’s deep laugh, but there are others too. Masculine and feminine.
In the hall I see that Nonc has posted signs on both parlor entrances: Private Session. Please do not disturb. —Merci
I unlock the front door, turn on the lights in the ballroom, and by the time I connect my phone to the Bluetooth speakers, a few of our Latin Dance students have started to arrive.
“My lands, Beau. I didn’t know you’d be here,” Mrs. Lena Lancaster exclaims when she sees me, but then she swivels her silver head left and right. “But where’s David?” Mrs. Lancaster has been coming to the studio for as long as I can remember. She hardly needs lessons—she’s actually a good dancer—but she says it’s her way of staying active and social.
It’s also her way of flirting with Nonc.
Mrs. Lancaster, who has been a widow for at least ten years, is a few years older than my uncle, but I’d be lying if I said he doesn’t flirt right back.
I shrug and give her a warm smile. “He’s giving a private lesson tonight.” I tilt my head in the direction of the parlor. “I hope you’re not too disappointed.”
She bats a hand at me. “Not disappointed at all,” she says, but then she cuts her eyes to the hallway and grips my bicep with surprising strength. “But who’s the client? It’s not that awful Lorraine, is it?”
I nearly choke. Maybe Nonc has been up to more than flirting with Mrs. Lancaster. That’s a distinct flash of jealousy in her pale blue eyes.
“I-I—No, it’s some folks from out of town,” I say vaguely. This is conveniently true and innocent enough that Mrs. Lancaster releases my arm and turns back to me with a relieved smile.
“Oh, is that all?” And before I can respond, she lowers her voice. “Say, how