But apparently her hesitation gave the wrong impression. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “I mean, I shouldn’t … I know you’re not supposed to compare—”
Miriam, charmed, took him by the hand. “Relax,” she said. “You’re destroying your whole suave act.”
Hadley’s eyes widened; then he chuckled. “All right,” he said. “Do-si-do.”
By nine, the building was full. She’d never dreamed square dancing could be so much fun. Probably didn’t hurt to have a couple margaritas in her. Hadley brought her onstage to join them for a honky-tonk set.
At the end of the set, the woman on the fiddle leaned down to murmur something in the caller’s ear. “Virginia Reel!” he said. Hadley set his guitar down and held a hand out to Miriam. “Care to dance?”
If she’d met this man two weeks ago, she would have worn her widowhood like a shroud. Or maybe a martyr’s crown. Either way, she would have refused.
But not tonight. Tonight, she was alive.
The dancers formed parallel lines; Miriam and Hadley took their place in the middle of the pack, and by the time they made their way up to the head position, Miriam had the knack of it: swinging partners and do-si-dos and all. Arms spread wide and hands enclosed in Hadley’s, she slid down the center and back, giggling from the sheer joy of it all—music and bodies moving in concert, the warmth of a man’s skin. That last part was at least as intoxicating as the alcohol.
“That’s it for us, folks!” called the fiddler when the dance ended. A roar of applause, and the crowd began to wander toward purses and jackets.
The night air held a chill. As the musicians’ van rumbled away, Miriam felt strangely let down. She hadn’t had this much fun in years, but now what? Who could she share this moment with? The alcohol suppressed her defenses; grief surged forward, with the longing to see Talia skip down that reel, to watch Blaise watch people and analyze the music.
And Teo? What about Teo?
She cupped her palms over opposite elbows, trying to hold back the grief, and looked up into the clear sky, the stars mostly washed out by the downtown lights.
“What are you thinking about?” Hadley leaned on the wall with one boot propped on the brick.
“My family,” Miriam said, too engulfed in an alcohol haze to dissemble. “It feels wrong to enjoy this so much, when …”
“They’re the reason you’re here, and they’re gone,” he finished.
She nodded.
“How did it happen?”
She rested her head against the brick. “Just a drunk driver. The oldest story in the world.” She passed a hand over her eyes. “They were on the way to a beach. They’d taken a selfie in the car and sent it to me. That was the last communication I had from them.” She shook her head, feeling the bricks pull strands of her hair. “It all happened so fast. So many things I never got to say.”
Hadley must be wishing he’d never let Becky and John bully him into tracking her down. Another few seconds and he’d have a crying drunk on his hands, but she couldn’t stop talking.
“I’m a church musician,” she said. “Life, death, resurrection—my whole professional life is built on those things. But since it happened, I keep thinking, what’s the point? You can spend your whole life working toward something, and in one second, it can all be gone. Am I going to spend the rest of my life waiting to be hit by a comet, wondering if I really believe everything I sing about on Sunday mornings? Wondering if they thought of me when … when it happened?” Her voice broke.
A car full of whooping college students passed by, followed at a more sedate pace by a sedan. In the distance, a police siren double-blipped a warning.
Hadley pushed off the wall and put an arm on her shoulder. “You know, I remember hearing something on a field trip once. A lot of Native Americans—not all, but many of them—figured it was a waste of time to think too much about death. They kind of thought there was something after death, but since they weren’t gonna know exactly what until they got there, why waste time worrying?”
Miriam clenched her jaw, folding her arms to lock him out. “Easy for you to say.”
“I lost my brother last year.”
Miriam stared at him, her sluggish brain struggling to catch up. If he’d lost a brother, that meant John, her choir member, had lost a brother too. How had she not known? “When?” she asked.
“June.”
Last June, she’d still been almost completely nonfunctional. John must have kept his grief to himself, trying to make her life easier. How horrible.
“I think about it all the time,” Hadley said. “It’s hard not to question, you know? People are always saying it’s for the best, God has his plans.”
“You have your own angel in heaven. Theological bullshit. People don’t become angels. They become saints. Angels are different.”
“Um, okay.” Hadley’s mouth quirked. “I’ll take your word on all that.”
“Oh, and ‘At least you had them for a long time before they died’!”
His eyes widened. “No way. Did someone really say that to you?”
“They sure did.”
He shook his head. “People get so creeped out. You know they’re all just praying the shit storm that hit you doesn’t hit them next. And they feel guilty as hell about it, but that’s the facts, ma’am.”
She nodded emphatically.
He stepped forward, putting both hands on her cheeks. “We can’t live in the past, Miriam. We have to live for today. For this moment, and this moment alone.”
Barely a foot separated them now. Hazel eyes dizzied her, too close to focus on. She closed her eyes and raised herself on tiptoe, arcing into his body. She didn’t
