The Wish Collector
Page 55
She was surprised to find that the lights had been turned off. Was she really the very last one in the building? She’d stayed on stage before, practicing a move or two, and there had always been at least a few other dancers who had lingered for one reason or another . . . or janitorial staff or someone.
She made her way down the darkened hall, a small smile teasing at her lips. The darkness suddenly had a whole new appeal to her.
The darkness was where he lived.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
Clara spun around, letting out a gasp of surprise, but then bringing her hand to her chest as she saw that it was Marco. “God, you scared me.”
He didn’t smile as he approached her, and a small jolt of unease ran down Clara’s spine. “This whole hard-to-get thing is getting old.”
He moved closer, stopping several feet from her.
Clara shifted, watching him, this strange standoff making her suddenly uncomfortable, his words causing the hair on the back of her neck to stand up. She couldn’t read his expression in this dimly lit hallway. But his voice contained annoyance . . . and something else she couldn’t identify, something that didn’t sound like the Marco she knew. And now she was alone with him.
Be wary of the man with two faces. He’ll hurt you if you let him.
Was he angry? Why was he confronting her like this? Alone in a building where it was only the two of them? She backed away. He advanced.
“Don’t run from me, Clara. You’re always running from me.”
“Marco, listen—” She put her hand against the wall, feeling for the switch she thought for sure was there. She found it with a gust of relief, flipping it as light flooded the hallway. Marco flinched away, putting his hands in his pockets as he looked back at her. Clara stared. He looked . . . sad.
“I know you’re hesitant to give me a chance because you think I’m some sort of player.” He gave her a self-mocking smile. “And the truth is, I have been. But I . . . I’d really like to earn your trust.”
Clara’s shoulders lowered. “God, Marco, a darkened hallway isn’t the best place to do that.”
He looked briefly confused. “What? You know me. I didn’t think I’d scare you.” He leaned one hip against the wall. “Every time I try to talk to you, you run off before I can get three words out.”
Clara studied him, seeing the vulnerability in his expression. He’d tried for teasing, and it had come off as false because it was. He was truly hurt by the way she’d treated him.
Clara took a deep breath, relaxing, a small buzz of guilt vibrating within her. He was right. She’d known he’d wanted to talk to her and she’d all but ducked behind furniture to avoid him when she’d seen him coming. Not cool. Marco might be a lot of things, but he’d never been unkind to her. She owed him the truth.
“Sorry, Marco. You’re right. See, the thing is . . .” Clara glanced away. God, how did she explain this? “A friendship has unexpectedly turned into more and, well, I’m—”
“No longer single?”
Clara frowned. Jonah had made no promises to her on that front. Her heart was hanging on a maybe that he’d ever even reveal his face to her. “It’s complicated. But I’m no longer interested in dating anyone else.”
Marco stuck his hands deeper into his pockets, nodding, the expression on his face full of disappointment. “He’s a lucky guy. Does he know it?”
Clara doubted Jonah would describe himself as lucky, but she hoped beyond hope that he felt the same joy she felt in their relationship, however that might be defined.
Rather than getting into things she hadn’t even worked through in her mind, she nodded. “Thank you, Marco.”
He sighed, pushing off the wall. “All right, well now that you broke my heart, the least you can do is let me drive you home.” He walked to her, offering her his arm.
Clara smiled. Marco might be disappointed that she wouldn’t date him, but she highly doubted his heart was anywhere near broken. “You sure?”
“Very. Come on.”
Clara and Marco chatted about the upcoming performance as he drove her home, their rapport suddenly effortless. He was a nice guy, and she felt guilty for judging him more harshly than she should have. He might be a player, but he had a sensitive side too, and someday he’d find that woman who made him want to commit to only her if that’s what he ultimately wanted.
In any case, his romantic life wasn’t her business. She didn’t feel even an eighth of the magnetism toward him that she’d felt for Jonah even through a layer of rock.
But the situation with Marco also made her consider the ways in which she might have written off the other dancers in the ballet as she’d done with him.
She had been quick to judge others because she'd often felt judged in the past. And yes, girls could be gossipy, but perhaps it was she who'd been remiss in making more of an effort at friendship, she who'd always left quickly, who avoided the social activities she'd overheard being planned.
Maybe she could apply some of the fault to herself. Perhaps she could benefit from a little self-reflection when it came to the friendships she might have enjoyed if only she'd put herself out there a little bit more. And she vowed to do better in that regard.
When Marco dropped her at her apartment, she thanked him again and then waved, watching as he drove away.
How could she have thought—even momentarily—that the fortune teller was referencing Marco? If there was even any credibility to Madame Catoire’s words, the only man who held the power to truly and irrevocably hurt her was Jonah. A small tremble moved down her spine. Oh no, she thought dejectedly, please let me be wrong about that.
Her cell phone began ringing and Clara pulled it from her pocket, the number on the screen making her heart skip a nervous beat. “Hello?”
“Clara, dear, it’s Jan Lovett.”
“Hi, Mrs. Lovett. Is everything okay?” Clara had spoken to her father briefly a few days before but he hadn’t known her name. That was always so hard, to have the joy of his voice in her ear, but the heartache of explaining who she was again and again.
“Yes, dear, it’s great. Your father is here and he’d like to speak to you.”
Clara had let herself into her apartment as she spoke and now she stopped on the other side of the doorway, her heart soaring. “Really?”
Mrs. Lovett laughed. “Really.”
She heard some soft scuffling and then her father’s voice in the background. “I told you I could make a call on my own. I’m not helpless.”
“Oh, stop being a pain. Your daughter’s waiting on the line.”
“Clara?”
Tears welled in her eyes. “Hi, Dad.”
“Hey there, Tiny Dancer. How’s my girl?”
So much emotion flooded Clara’s chest and so suddenly, that she let out a tiny hiccup. “I’m good, Dad. It’s so wonderful to hear your voice.” She made her best effort to pull herself together. The last thing she wanted to do was make her Dad sad on this rare occasion that his mind was lucid. But, to hear him say her name. To have him know her was a gift beyond measure. “I have so much to tell you.”
Her dad chuckled. “Start with the important part. You know I like to get right to the good stuff first.”
Clara let out a soggy-sounding laugh. “Okay then.” Clara pulled in a lungful of air and let it out slowly. “I’m in love.”
There was a very short pause and then her dad asked, “Is he a good man?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “He’s a very good man, Dad. Like you. He’s kind and he’s valiant and he cares about others.” Clara paused for a moment, wanting to sum up the situation with Jonah for her dad in a way that cut straight to the chase without going through every detail of their story.
Clara was very conscious of time when it came to conversations with her dad. He had told the truth when he said he’d always liked to get right to the heart of a matter, but now, it was a necessity. Their time was limited and she was mindful of every second.
“But he doesn’t believe in himself as strongly as I do, Dad, and I worry that, in the end, he won’t let me love him the way he deserves to be loved.” In the light. Out in the open. In front of the world. Free from guilt.
She made her way down the darkened hall, a small smile teasing at her lips. The darkness suddenly had a whole new appeal to her.
The darkness was where he lived.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
Clara spun around, letting out a gasp of surprise, but then bringing her hand to her chest as she saw that it was Marco. “God, you scared me.”
He didn’t smile as he approached her, and a small jolt of unease ran down Clara’s spine. “This whole hard-to-get thing is getting old.”
He moved closer, stopping several feet from her.
Clara shifted, watching him, this strange standoff making her suddenly uncomfortable, his words causing the hair on the back of her neck to stand up. She couldn’t read his expression in this dimly lit hallway. But his voice contained annoyance . . . and something else she couldn’t identify, something that didn’t sound like the Marco she knew. And now she was alone with him.
Be wary of the man with two faces. He’ll hurt you if you let him.
Was he angry? Why was he confronting her like this? Alone in a building where it was only the two of them? She backed away. He advanced.
“Don’t run from me, Clara. You’re always running from me.”
“Marco, listen—” She put her hand against the wall, feeling for the switch she thought for sure was there. She found it with a gust of relief, flipping it as light flooded the hallway. Marco flinched away, putting his hands in his pockets as he looked back at her. Clara stared. He looked . . . sad.
“I know you’re hesitant to give me a chance because you think I’m some sort of player.” He gave her a self-mocking smile. “And the truth is, I have been. But I . . . I’d really like to earn your trust.”
Clara’s shoulders lowered. “God, Marco, a darkened hallway isn’t the best place to do that.”
He looked briefly confused. “What? You know me. I didn’t think I’d scare you.” He leaned one hip against the wall. “Every time I try to talk to you, you run off before I can get three words out.”
Clara studied him, seeing the vulnerability in his expression. He’d tried for teasing, and it had come off as false because it was. He was truly hurt by the way she’d treated him.
Clara took a deep breath, relaxing, a small buzz of guilt vibrating within her. He was right. She’d known he’d wanted to talk to her and she’d all but ducked behind furniture to avoid him when she’d seen him coming. Not cool. Marco might be a lot of things, but he’d never been unkind to her. She owed him the truth.
“Sorry, Marco. You’re right. See, the thing is . . .” Clara glanced away. God, how did she explain this? “A friendship has unexpectedly turned into more and, well, I’m—”
“No longer single?”
Clara frowned. Jonah had made no promises to her on that front. Her heart was hanging on a maybe that he’d ever even reveal his face to her. “It’s complicated. But I’m no longer interested in dating anyone else.”
Marco stuck his hands deeper into his pockets, nodding, the expression on his face full of disappointment. “He’s a lucky guy. Does he know it?”
Clara doubted Jonah would describe himself as lucky, but she hoped beyond hope that he felt the same joy she felt in their relationship, however that might be defined.
Rather than getting into things she hadn’t even worked through in her mind, she nodded. “Thank you, Marco.”
He sighed, pushing off the wall. “All right, well now that you broke my heart, the least you can do is let me drive you home.” He walked to her, offering her his arm.
Clara smiled. Marco might be disappointed that she wouldn’t date him, but she highly doubted his heart was anywhere near broken. “You sure?”
“Very. Come on.”
Clara and Marco chatted about the upcoming performance as he drove her home, their rapport suddenly effortless. He was a nice guy, and she felt guilty for judging him more harshly than she should have. He might be a player, but he had a sensitive side too, and someday he’d find that woman who made him want to commit to only her if that’s what he ultimately wanted.
In any case, his romantic life wasn’t her business. She didn’t feel even an eighth of the magnetism toward him that she’d felt for Jonah even through a layer of rock.
But the situation with Marco also made her consider the ways in which she might have written off the other dancers in the ballet as she’d done with him.
She had been quick to judge others because she'd often felt judged in the past. And yes, girls could be gossipy, but perhaps it was she who'd been remiss in making more of an effort at friendship, she who'd always left quickly, who avoided the social activities she'd overheard being planned.
Maybe she could apply some of the fault to herself. Perhaps she could benefit from a little self-reflection when it came to the friendships she might have enjoyed if only she'd put herself out there a little bit more. And she vowed to do better in that regard.
When Marco dropped her at her apartment, she thanked him again and then waved, watching as he drove away.
How could she have thought—even momentarily—that the fortune teller was referencing Marco? If there was even any credibility to Madame Catoire’s words, the only man who held the power to truly and irrevocably hurt her was Jonah. A small tremble moved down her spine. Oh no, she thought dejectedly, please let me be wrong about that.
Her cell phone began ringing and Clara pulled it from her pocket, the number on the screen making her heart skip a nervous beat. “Hello?”
“Clara, dear, it’s Jan Lovett.”
“Hi, Mrs. Lovett. Is everything okay?” Clara had spoken to her father briefly a few days before but he hadn’t known her name. That was always so hard, to have the joy of his voice in her ear, but the heartache of explaining who she was again and again.
“Yes, dear, it’s great. Your father is here and he’d like to speak to you.”
Clara had let herself into her apartment as she spoke and now she stopped on the other side of the doorway, her heart soaring. “Really?”
Mrs. Lovett laughed. “Really.”
She heard some soft scuffling and then her father’s voice in the background. “I told you I could make a call on my own. I’m not helpless.”
“Oh, stop being a pain. Your daughter’s waiting on the line.”
“Clara?”
Tears welled in her eyes. “Hi, Dad.”
“Hey there, Tiny Dancer. How’s my girl?”
So much emotion flooded Clara’s chest and so suddenly, that she let out a tiny hiccup. “I’m good, Dad. It’s so wonderful to hear your voice.” She made her best effort to pull herself together. The last thing she wanted to do was make her Dad sad on this rare occasion that his mind was lucid. But, to hear him say her name. To have him know her was a gift beyond measure. “I have so much to tell you.”
Her dad chuckled. “Start with the important part. You know I like to get right to the good stuff first.”
Clara let out a soggy-sounding laugh. “Okay then.” Clara pulled in a lungful of air and let it out slowly. “I’m in love.”
There was a very short pause and then her dad asked, “Is he a good man?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “He’s a very good man, Dad. Like you. He’s kind and he’s valiant and he cares about others.” Clara paused for a moment, wanting to sum up the situation with Jonah for her dad in a way that cut straight to the chase without going through every detail of their story.
Clara was very conscious of time when it came to conversations with her dad. He had told the truth when he said he’d always liked to get right to the heart of a matter, but now, it was a necessity. Their time was limited and she was mindful of every second.
“But he doesn’t believe in himself as strongly as I do, Dad, and I worry that, in the end, he won’t let me love him the way he deserves to be loved.” In the light. Out in the open. In front of the world. Free from guilt.
