“It would have to highlight how much I’ve given over the last few years and how grateful the company is for my continued good works.”
“Of course,” Emma says. “We’ll state that we are very grateful to you.”
I purse my lips. “I think that someone in my office will gladly put together a thoughtful reflection on my career and more importantly, on my charitable nature.”
There is silence just then as Emma and Chase look at each other. It goes on for a little too long.
I drum my fingers on the table, trying not to be offended. “I need you two to agree that I’m known for my good works above all else.”
“Of course,” Emma says, eager to please me.
I stare her down until she flushes a little.
“Well?” Chase prompts. “Will you do it?”
My mouth flattens. I raise a finger. “I’ll think about it,” I allow. “And I do mean think. I have a lot to consider.”
Emma looks vaguely pleased. “We would so appreciate it, Calum.”
“We’ll see,” I say, leaning back and shrugging a shoulder. “But regardless of whether or not I take the job, I need something from you.”
Chase rubs his hands together, smiling. “What’s that?”
“Let go of all your dancers that are not ready to move up and take the spotlight.” I stand, casting a serious gaze at them both. “Anybody that isn’t hungry for it? Demote them to the corps or fire them. Clear the way for thirty or forty brand new dancers to step forward.”
“Oh, Calum.” Emma says. “I don’t know…”
“It’s not a request. I’ll make the money you receive from my charity contingent upon that condition.”
I suck in a breath, looking at my watch. When I look back up, they both have sour expressions on their faces. “If that’s all, I have a thousand things to do.”
Emma stands up, graceful as ever. “I’ll walk you out, Calum.”
“No need. You two should be figuring out how to tell those dancers that they are fired.”
With that pronouncement, I head out of the office, closing the button on my jacket as I go.
My emotions swirl in the air around me, concussing me. But I can see one thing very clearly.
Me taking a bow as the audience raves, the applause so thunderous that I can’t hear a single voice in the back of my head.
My lips curve as I head out the front door of the building.
7
Kaia
I stand in my attic apartment in Jamaica, Queens, trying to find the will to leave. My black kitty Exupéry meows and rubs against my leg. He is completely blind but usually seems to be in good spirits. No one else would take him in at the animal shelter so I did.
Kaia, keeper of broken things.
My face would go great one one of those Catholic saint candles that I so love to collect. I turn my head and look at my collection of candles, each looking stoic on its cylindrical glass form.
What can I say, they are cheap at the bodega on the corner. Plus, when I light them, it gives my apartment instant ambiance.
I scratch Exupéry behind his ears and sigh. Taking a deep breath, I stop double checking the contents of my backpack. Exupéry butts me with his head.
“I see you,” I tell Exupéry. Kneeling, I scratch him under his chin.
Purrs burst from Exupéry’s chest. My lips curve upward in a smile. He always seems enthused about everything I do, especially if it directly involves me petting him. He’s been like that ever since he strolled up the attic stairs when I left the door open last summer. He doesn’t mind how tiny my studio is in the least or how secondhand chic my attempts to decorate it are.
He doesn’t even seem to notice the fact that he’s blind, other than the occasional fall down the stairs.
I make eye contact with him as I gently scratch behind his ears. “I wish you could come to Hartford with me. My family would hate you, but at least I’d have a buddy.” I scrunch my face up. “You’d be a welcome distraction, honestly.”
Exupéry’s tail twitches; he loves being talked to and petted at the same time. I pet him for another twenty seconds and then I sigh.
“Okay. Wish me luck.”
Grabbing my backpack, I shoulder the straps as I start down the stairs. It’s only a few blocks to the bus I need to catch that will take me out of New York City and all the way to Hartford. It’s cold and overcast as I climb on the bus and find a window seat.
I text my father to let him know I’m on my way. Then I stare out the window, trying not to bite my nails as the bus pulls out.
The question of why my father summoned me home is heavy on my mind. Did I just wait too long between visits? Or is there a more sinister reason?
The scenery changes, though I’m barely aware of it. The gritty concrete texture of New York soon gives way to the strangely empty echo of the highway that winds itself near the suburbs. At one point, there are no exits for miles, just dead grass and barren trees.
Then we’re in Connecticut; only an hour and half from New York City, Hartford likes to play the charming country cousin to it’s older, more glamorous sister city.
Outside, the suburbs of Hartford are entirely different than that of New York. The streets here are clean as a pin, the yards expansive and green, the houses are huge three story affairs made of brick. It’s kind of amazing how much each house looks to the next.
I suck in a deep breath and get off at my stop, my heart hammering the entire three blocks to my parent’s house.
I trot the last forty feet up the yard, ringing the doorbell on the off-white brick house. Out of the corner of my eye, I see ivy starting to climb a corner of the house.
My father hates ivy. One corner of my mouth lifts in the ghost of a smile as I wait for someone to open the broad oak door.
But as soon as it opens, my smile vanishes. My sister stands there in her dark blue Catholic schoolgirl outfit, her blonde hair pulled halfway up with a long dark blue ribbon. Her lips twist with humor as she eyes me, wearing jeans and a black sweater.
“God, you look wretched,” she says. “As always.”
I repress a sigh. “Hello, Hazel.”
She rolls her eyes and leaves the door open, heading down the long hallway into the kitchen. Pressing my lips into a thin line, I step in and close the door behind myself. Although I’ve just come from the blustery day outside, it feels colder inside. As I head in my sister’s wake, I guess that Dad has been on a money saving kick again.
The heating is usually the first to go when he rages about how everything costs him too damn much.
It’s a frequent complaint because the costs of heating a house of this size here in Hartford are significant.
I walk into the kitchen, bracing myself. But my father is nowhere to be seen. Instead, my sister sits at the kitchen counter, absorbed in her phone.
My mother turns from the stove, her eyes hazel lighting up. She brushes off her aprons and hurries toward me.
“There you are, Chickadee,” she greets me warmly. She hugs me hard, kissing my cheek. When she pulls back, there are tears in her eyes. “It’s been too long since I’ve last laid eyes on you.”
I pat her cheek. “You look good, Mom.” My gaze slides around the kitchen and dining room. “Shouldn’t the cook be doing your job?”