look. “Another dysfunctional father-daughter duo,” said the girl under her breath. “I am so over school.” She bent to touch her toes in one long fluid movement.
“What about your ballet classes?”
“What about them?” The girl kept her eyes on the floor as she flexed and pointed one narrow bare foot. “Ballet is like entering a convent. Nothing but discipline. Who needs it?”
“Sister JoMo told me that you love your classes at Juilliard.”
“What would you know about what I love?”
Score one for the tough guy, thought Alexandra.
“I’ve blown my big chance, anyway,” muttered Juliet under her breath.
“What chance?”
A shrug of narrow shoulders. “Just a small role in a ballet at the Met. No big.”
“The Met!”
“It’s just a Halloween thing, with masks and… whatever! I missed rehearsal today, so I guess I’m out.” The bright shine in the green eyes belied the I-don’t-give-a-damn attitude.
“We won’t let that happen.”
Juliet looked at Alexandra with a strange expression. “ Whatever happens,” she murmured softly, “someday I’ll own that stage.”
The girl’s chin came up. “Do you know what the choreographer Lincoln Kirstein said? He believed that every great ballerina has had a formidable mother behind her. And a distant, or non-existent, father. Wouldn’t Freud love me!”
Alexandra smiled. “Then you absolutely will be a great dancer someday, Jules. When is your next rehearsal?”
“Monday afternoon.”
Alexandra bent to her knees to gather the window glass still scattered over the kitchen floor. “Good. We should be back in New York by tomorrow night.”
“Is that where you left your kid?”
“Ruby? Yes, she’s with her nanny.” She swept up the glass, sat back on her heels. “I’d like you to meet her. You’re her only cousin.”
“Family’s no big deal.” Juliet’s shoulders shrugged with a ‘who-cares’ attitude. “Why didn’t you bring her with you?”
“I wanted to! But I didn’t know if you were in trouble.” And your mother warned me of danger.
“Another kid cast aside,” mumbled Juliet. “I’m never going to have kids.”
Don’t go there. Alexandra bit her lower lip to stop her response. With an inner eye-roll at her cowardice, she simply gestured toward a grocery bag on the counter. “At least we have heat and light. I brought soup, bread, salad. Are you hungry?”
“I can take care of myself.”
“No kidding.”
Juliet caught her aunt’s look, stopped and raised a feathery eyebrow. “What are you staring at?”
“Your hair,” answered Alexandra honestly. “And the butterfly...”
“You don’t like my tattoo?”
“Your mother would disown me for saying so, but I have to admit that the butterfly is oddly appealing. But...”
“But what?”
“I guess - I keep looking for my niece. The one in your school uniform. You looked so much like your mother…”
“I’m nothing like my mother, nothing !” The adolescent’s voice was suddenly flip, edgy. “My tatt’s liberating! I think I look lethal.”
“Is lethal good or bad?”
“Definitely bad! But bad is good .” And there was her sister’s smile. “Mother always said that she - ” Juliet stopped suddenly and paled.
“Liked your hair long and silky,” finished Alexandra gently. She hesitated, then said, “It’s okay to be angry, Jules.”
“Don’t tell me what I can feel!”
Alexandra dropped the last of the glass into the trash bin. “Okay, truce. You said your mother left something for me in the nursery. Show me.”
With a last questioning glance at the dark, boarded-up window, Alexandra turned out the kitchen light and followed Juliet toward the stairs.
* * * *
Deep within the pines, the watcher was still, waiting for his chance. He saw the light go out. Far below him, the Atlantic roared against the
“What about your ballet classes?”
“What about them?” The girl kept her eyes on the floor as she flexed and pointed one narrow bare foot. “Ballet is like entering a convent. Nothing but discipline. Who needs it?”
“Sister JoMo told me that you love your classes at Juilliard.”
“What would you know about what I love?”
Score one for the tough guy, thought Alexandra.
“I’ve blown my big chance, anyway,” muttered Juliet under her breath.
“What chance?”
A shrug of narrow shoulders. “Just a small role in a ballet at the Met. No big.”
“The Met!”
“It’s just a Halloween thing, with masks and… whatever! I missed rehearsal today, so I guess I’m out.” The bright shine in the green eyes belied the I-don’t-give-a-damn attitude.
“We won’t let that happen.”
Juliet looked at Alexandra with a strange expression. “ Whatever happens,” she murmured softly, “someday I’ll own that stage.”
The girl’s chin came up. “Do you know what the choreographer Lincoln Kirstein said? He believed that every great ballerina has had a formidable mother behind her. And a distant, or non-existent, father. Wouldn’t Freud love me!”
Alexandra smiled. “Then you absolutely will be a great dancer someday, Jules. When is your next rehearsal?”
“Monday afternoon.”
Alexandra bent to her knees to gather the window glass still scattered over the kitchen floor. “Good. We should be back in New York by tomorrow night.”
“Is that where you left your kid?”
“Ruby? Yes, she’s with her nanny.” She swept up the glass, sat back on her heels. “I’d like you to meet her. You’re her only cousin.”
“Family’s no big deal.” Juliet’s shoulders shrugged with a ‘who-cares’ attitude. “Why didn’t you bring her with you?”
“I wanted to! But I didn’t know if you were in trouble.” And your mother warned me of danger.
“Another kid cast aside,” mumbled Juliet. “I’m never going to have kids.”
Don’t go there. Alexandra bit her lower lip to stop her response. With an inner eye-roll at her cowardice, she simply gestured toward a grocery bag on the counter. “At least we have heat and light. I brought soup, bread, salad. Are you hungry?”
“I can take care of myself.”
“No kidding.”
Juliet caught her aunt’s look, stopped and raised a feathery eyebrow. “What are you staring at?”
“Your hair,” answered Alexandra honestly. “And the butterfly...”
“You don’t like my tattoo?”
“Your mother would disown me for saying so, but I have to admit that the butterfly is oddly appealing. But...”
“But what?”
“I guess - I keep looking for my niece. The one in your school uniform. You looked so much like your mother…”
“I’m nothing like my mother, nothing !” The adolescent’s voice was suddenly flip, edgy. “My tatt’s liberating! I think I look lethal.”
“Is lethal good or bad?”
“Definitely bad! But bad is good .” And there was her sister’s smile. “Mother always said that she - ” Juliet stopped suddenly and paled.
“Liked your hair long and silky,” finished Alexandra gently. She hesitated, then said, “It’s okay to be angry, Jules.”
“Don’t tell me what I can feel!”
Alexandra dropped the last of the glass into the trash bin. “Okay, truce. You said your mother left something for me in the nursery. Show me.”
With a last questioning glance at the dark, boarded-up window, Alexandra turned out the kitchen light and followed Juliet toward the stairs.
* * * *
Deep within the pines, the watcher was still, waiting for his chance. He saw the light go out. Far below him, the Atlantic roared against the
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