Pretending to Dance by Diane Chamberlain Page B

up,” he said, “and your appearance seemed like a miracle. It made sense for us to make you ours, and Amalia was—although she loved you very much—relieved, and she entrusted you to us. But the three of us wanted you to be able to have a relationship with her, so that’s why she lives at Morrison Ridge. We thought it would be best for her to be close to you, and of course that’s what she wanted, so—”
    â€œBut no one really wants her here, do they?” I couldn’t forget a conversation I once overheard between my two uncles about the appropriateness of Amalia living in the slave quarters, since she was their housekeeper. “Cinderella,” they’d called her. “They don’t like her.”
    â€œOh, they’ve come to like her well enough,” Daddy said. “Your grandmother has never approved of her being here, but she’ll get over it one of these days.”
    â€œIt’s been fourteen years,” I pointed out. “If she’s not over it by now, I don’t think she ever will be.”
    â€œDoesn’t really matter, does it? You have Amalia close by and that’s what counts.”
    â€œRight.” I thought of my mother—Nora—and tried to imagine how I would feel, having my husband’s old girlfriend living so close by. “Has it been weird for Mom?” I asked. “Having Amalia here?”
    Daddy sighed. “Well, I’d be lying if I said her relationship with Amalia hasn’t had its share of tension,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve picked up on some of it from time to time. But you’re the most important thing in the world to Nora, so she and Amalia tolerate each other for your sake.”
    I looked down at my hands. I thought about how many sentences he’d used to tell me about falling in love with Amalia. How few sentences he’d allotted to my mother.
    â€œWhat’s running through your head, Moll?” he asked.
    I looked up at him. “Are you still … are you in love with her?” I asked. “Amalia?”
    He smiled. “I love her and always will, but ‘in love’?” He shook his head. “No. ‘In love’ belongs to your mother, who’s pretty extraordinary, wouldn’t you say?”
    â€œYes.” I wished I felt totally relieved by his answer, but I still couldn’t get the image of Amalia’s head on his shoulder out of my mind. “Daddy,” I said, my eyes locked onto his, “I saw you and Amalia on the bench last night. You were both asleep. She was holding your hand.”
    He lost his smile. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Was that upsetting?”
    â€œConfusing.”
    â€œAre you wondering if Mom knows Amalia was there with me?”
    I nodded.
    â€œShe knows. We have no secrets.”
    â€œDoesn’t she get jealous?”
    â€œI guess you’d have to ask her how she feels, darling. I can’t speak for her.”
    I gave a small nod. I could never talk to my mother like this. She was an awesome mother in about a million ways, but she was not the sort of person you could easily bare your soul to.
    â€œNow,” he said, “there’s one more thing we have to talk about, and that’s a family meeting coming up Wednesday night.”
    I frowned. “Family meeting?” I vaguely remembered a family meeting from about three years ago. It had to do with our trash pickup and mail delivery. I distinctly remembered falling asleep with my head on Daddy’s lap.
    â€œYou don’t have to be there,” he said, as if reading my mind. “Nanny’s not coming, either, so she suggested you go over to her house and the two of you can watch a movie. How’s that sound?”
    â€œIs this about Uncle Trevor’s idea for the land?” I asked.
    â€œYes, darling, as well as a few other issues,” he said. “It’ll be boring, that