Counterpointe by Ann Warner Page A

rubbed her shoulder. “Denise was worried. She asked me to check on you.”
     
    She pushed free of him. “I’m fine. I don’t need to be coddled.”
     
    He stood, struggling not to feel hurt at her tone. She swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her right leg was held straight by a brace. It looked fine. It obviously wasn’t, though.
     
    “I brought something to eat. I’ll let you get dressed.”
     
    He reheated the food, then returned to the bedroom to get her. She was back in bed, turned toward the wall, asleep, or pretending to be. He sat on the edge of the bed and rested his hand on her shoulder. Mona whined. He picked up the small animal, which maneuvered around Clare’s feet to snuggle near her face.
     
    “I’m so sorry you’re hurt. I know it’s terrible for you, but please don’t shut me out. Let me help.” He felt her body shaking before he heard the nearly silent sobs. He lay next to her and pulled her spoon-fashion against him.
     
    “I d-don’t know what I’m going to do, Rob.”
     
    “We’ll figure it out.”
     
    He held her, murmuring it was going to be all right even though he had no idea if it would be until her sobs eased.
     
    “I have one small suggestion. Come have something to eat.”
     
    “I’m sick to my stomach.”
     
    “Probably because you haven’t eaten. How about tea and toast?”
     
    After a moment, she nodded. He moved out of her way so she could scoot over and ease her leg onto the floor. He handed her the walker and she stumped down the hall. In the kitchen he rummaged until he found tea bags and a loaf of bread.
     
    Clare sat on a chair with her leg propped on a low stool, sipping the tea and nibbling a piece of toast.
     
    “You’re looking better,” he said.
     
    She lifted the cup and hid behind it. “I still feel lousy.”
     
    “I am sorry about this.”
     
    “I know.”
     
    “What happens now?”
     
    “Rest and elevate. Ice. Surgery.”
     
    He shook his head.
     
    “I don’t know. Is that what you want me to say? I don’t know. And can we please not talk about it?”
     
    “That’s not what I meant.” He captured her restless hands and held on. “Come stay with me, Clare. Let me take care of you.”
     
    “My mom is coming and Denise said I can stay here as long as I need to.”
     
    He let it go, for the moment, and for the rest of the visit coaxed her into a gentle back and forth on unimportant subjects. It was the only thing he could think to do.
     

    Rob read the details about Clare’s injury in an article in the Boston Globe that labeled it career-ending.
     
    “Is the reporter right, Clare?”
     
    “The surgeon is pleased with my progress.”
     
    Not an answer to his question but he took the hint and backed off. Since meeting Clare, he’d read everything he could about the ballet, so he knew that although Clare was at the height of her powers as a dancer, she was also nearing the end of her career, even if she’d not been injured.
     
    In the days that followed, watching Clare’s faltering progress with the walker, her elegance and lightness extinguished, Rob felt helpless. This woman who had danced with the fluid grace of a flame, reduced to moving ponderously. It broke his heart. Clare’s heart was obviously broken as well.
     

    Her mother stayed the first week after the surgery, sleeping on Denise’s couch, but now she’d gone back to Salina. It meant Clare was on her own until Denise came home from rehearsals, which she never talked about.
     
    “You can tell me how your day went, you know,” Clare finally said. “Has Justin named my replacement yet?”
     
    Denise walked over and picked up the cat. So she could avoid Clare’s eyes? Then she   turned, and Clare knew.
     
    “Would you believe? He promoted me. And, I’m dancing with Stephan. Lisa and Ramon will be first cast, of course, but still.”
     
    Clare had to swallow the bitterness of her own loss before she was able to speak normally. “I’m