Dance, The (The Restoration Series Book #1): A Novel by Dan Walsh, Gary Smalley Page B

lessons, at least not at first.”
    “I’m sure they teach all kinds of dance styles down there.Swing, ballroom, country western . . . probably even the polka. Give them a call. Can’t hurt.”
    She was right. It couldn’t hurt to call. Charlotte walked out again. Marilyn got her phone out of her purse and dialed the number. It rang two times, and she hung up.
    I can’t do this, she thought. Who am I kidding?

 18 
    T he following day, a Wednesday, Marilyn worked the daytime shift again at Odds-n-Ends. She was beginning to feel more comfortable in her new role there and was actually able to answer about half of the customers’ questions without seeking Harriet’s help. And she’d become a whiz on the cash register.
    In idle moments throughout the morning, she’d been mulling over her conversation with Charlotte about taking dance lessons. The desire to “give it a try” had formed into a decision to do so when a woman about ten years older came into the store and fell in love with the same music box.
    The woman set it down on the counter and lifted the lid. “Isn’t this just the most beautiful thing?” she said. “And I just love that song.”
    Marilyn rang it up on the cash register. “I bought this same music box just the other night.”
    “My oldest granddaughter is eight,” the woman said, “and she just started taking dance lessons. I’m going to get this for her.”
    “She’s going to love it,” Marilyn said.
    “By the way,” said the woman, “was I wrong to bring this one up? Isn’t it a floor model?”
    “No, we keep all our stock on the shelves.”
    The woman leaned forward, as if telling a secret. “This was the last one.”
    “That’s okay,” Marilyn said. “You can buy it. I ordered two more, they should be in this afternoon.”
    “Oh good,” the woman said. “I didn’t want to have to come back. I live over an hour away.”
    Marilyn wrapped it carefully for the woman and set it in the bag. After the woman left, Marilyn heard the back door open and close and turned to find Emma coming in from the hallway. She glanced at her watch. “Oh good, Emma, you’re just in time to relieve me for lunch.”
    Emma set her purse behind the counter. “I just finished eating mine on the way in. It was delicious, a chicken salad wrap. I almost died when a big splotch of honey mustard fell out of it. Fortunately, it dropped on the steering wheel, not on my blouse. Going anywhere special?”
    Marilyn smiled. “Kind of,” she said. “But not to eat.” She picked up her purse and started walking from behind the counter.
    “Well, are you going to tell me?” Emma said.
    She almost didn’t want to say. “I’m going over to a dance studio to see about signing up for some lessons.”
    “Really?”
    Really, Marilyn repeated in her mind. Was she really going to do this? “I think so. If it’s not too expensive.”
    “I’d love to do something like that.”
    “Why don’t you?”
    “I can’t. Between school . . . and work . . . and homework.”
    “What kind of lessons would you take if you could?”
    “Probably swing. But I also like the Latin ones. You know, the rumba, the cha-cha, the mambo.” Marilyn had heard of them but couldn’t tell one from the other. “What are you hoping to learn?” Emma said.
    “I have no idea,” Marilyn said. “But I better go. Gotta be back in thirty minutes.”

    Marilyn had looked up the Windsor Dance Studio’s website last night and was surprised to find it was only two blocks away from the store. It was a nice day, so she decided to walk. It occupied two large storefront suites on Oakland Avenue. She walked past the big glass windows, happy to see the view inside was mostly blocked by curtains, except for the area by the front door. She didn’t cherish the idea of all those people on the street looking in at her like she was some fish in an aquarium as she hobbled her way through dance lessons.
    She stood at the door, took a deep