Since You've Been Gone

11 DANCE UNTIL DAWN

In my cupholder, my phone buzzed and I pulled it out. “The man with the umbrella does not see the sunset,” I said, keeping my voice low.

On the other end, I could hear Dawn doing the same. “In Rome, the fountains all face north.” When we’d decided to do this, Frank had given us a crash course in spy codes, but I’d already forgotten what most of them meant, and had the distinct feeling Dawn had as well, and that we were both still using them because it was fun.

“Jenga,” I whispered as I looked around, slouching low in my seat. I still couldn’t quite believe I was about to do this. There was silence on Dawn’s end, and I added, “I mean, I just parked.”

I’d gotten ready up in my room, putting on the dress I’d worn to last year’s prom. It was pale gold, strapless, and tea-length, fitted at the waist with just a slight flare in the skirt. As I got ready, I had my fingers crossed that this wedding wasn’t themed, and that I wasn’t going to show up wearing the completely wrong thing. I’d curled my hair so the layers framed my face and put on much more makeup than usual, and by the time I’d finished my best attempt at a smoky eye, Dawn had texted.

Dancing getting started! See you soon?

I texted back, and then grabbed the tiny beaded clutch I’d borrowed from my mother without asking. I wasn’t sure how late the wedding was going to go, and after my mother’s lecture on the porch, I didn’t want to push my luck, so I’d asked if I could sleep over at Dawn’s house. My mom had agreed—she remembered Dawn from when she’d met her briefly at Living Room Theater. And even if I didn’t end up sleeping over, I knew this would let me come home late without anyone waiting up for me. But even so, as I crossed to the door, I was glad that it was late enough at night that my parents were locked in their study. I think even in their close-to-the-end brain fog, they might have had some questions about why I was attending a sleepover in formal wear.

I still had last summer’s employee parking sticker on my car, and I hoped nobody would be looking at it too closely tonight. But as I pulled into the parking lot, I didn’t feel as nervous as I’d expected to. I was even hoping it might be fun. I felt myself smile as I walked, thinking about how nervous I’d been just to go into Paradise and talk to Mona—and what a difference a summer could make. Dawn had texted me the location, and I hurried around from the employee parking lot to the main grounds, slowing down once I saw other wedding guests, just trying to look like I was out for a stroll.

“Open sesame,” I said into my phone. “I’m on my way.”

“Copy that,” Dawn said, “over and out.”

She hung up and I crossed toward the reception, which was set up under a big tent on the lawn. I could hear music coming from it as I got closer. I took a big breath and stepped under the tent. It looked like everyone had abandoned the tables, because the dance floor was packed. There was a live band playing, not a DJ, and even though I didn’t have much experience with wedding bands, I could tell they were good, the lead singer belting out a song that had been overplayed on the radio all summer, but somehow making it soulful and her own.

I edged along the side of the tent, where the food stations were set up, and tried to keep from laughing as Dawn approached me, a platter in her hand. “Can I get you anything?” she asked with a grin. “Bruschetta, perhaps?”

“No, I’m okay,” I said, pressing my lips together to keep from smiling.

“Then go dance,” Dawn said, bumping me with her hip in the direction of the dance floor. “That’s why you’re here, right?”

It was. I took a step toward the dance floor, just as the band launched into their rendition of “Cupid Shuffle.” Sloane, on principle, hated songs where everyone danced together. It was the source of one of our biggest disagreements, about movie musicals—I loved them; she wasn’t a fan. But I really liked when there was a pattern to follow, and you weren’t just dancing on your own, trying to hope you didn’t look like an idiot. So it was with some relief that I could start Cupid Shuffling along with all these people I didn’t know, as we slowly turned in a circle as the song directed us to.

When they segued into “Footloose,” I felt myself start to move to the beat without even thinking about it. I looked around, waiting for one of these strangers to point at me, to start whispering that nobody had seen me before, that someone should throw me out. But by the time the song was into the second chorus, it became clear to me that everyone there was much more interested in having a good time than in cataloging wedding guests. It was a fun group, too, people cheering or booing when they didn’t like the song choice, everyone dancing enthusiastically if not with a great deal of skill. And even though I was on my own, even though I didn’t have anyone to jump up and down and yell with when a favorite song came on, I felt myself getting into the music, finding freedom in the fact that these people didn’t know me, nobody did, and so it didn’t matter if I looked like an idiot.

Two songs later, I was hot and sweaty and having fun. The music was loud, and I had my eyes closed as I swung my hips from side to side, letting my hair whip around my face. I hadn’t been dancing since the prom, and I’d forgotten just how much I loved it. And when there was nobody to try and impress, no moves you have to edit for the sake of trying to look cool, it was that much more freeing. I tipped my head back and sang along when I knew the words, and when I didn’t, I just danced, my hands up and swaying in the warm night air, not caring if anyone was watching or what they thought of me. My feet were hurting in my heels, and I had a feeling I had mascara all over my face, but I didn’t care. I was having a good time. “You Shook Me All Night Long” came to a dramatic end, and I played air drums along with the drummer, feeling like if I couldn’t dance until dawn, I could at least dance until the band called it a night, and Sloane would just have to be okay with that.

The band launched into their rendition of  “Jack and Diane,” and I brushed my sweaty hair out of my face. I looked around to see if I could see Dawn, and maybe get a water from her. I was scanning the crowd for her when I realized I recognized someone in it—it was Frank, and he was looking right at me.

I felt my jaw fall open, and then closed it quickly. He walked across the dance floor to me, hands in the pockets of his suit, taking his time, like he was enjoying the fact that he’d just thrown me for a loop. “What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice low, once he reached me.

“I think I could ask you the same question,” he said. “I mean, you didn’t think I was going to let you do this without me, did you?” He nodded toward the center table, where the happy couple was feeding each other cake. “The bride’s my cousin.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” I asked.

“And miss the look on your face?” Frank asked, shaking his head. “Never.”  The band started playing their version of “I Gotta Feeling” and I found myself moving without even thinking about it, the pounding beat making it easier to forget that Frank was now watching me, that I didn’t have quite the same freedom as before.

And five songs later, I’d totally forgotten it. Frank had taken off his jacket, and we were dancing up a storm, so much so that people were starting to give us a wide berth. He would twirl me in, then send me spinning, and I’d almost bonked my head twice on a centerpiece when he’d dipped me and I’d lost my balance. He wasn’t the best dancer, but neither was I, and after a song or two we had found our groove and were dancing together as easily as we ran together. The band had just played a cover of “Sweet Caroline” that had everyone on their feet, and Frank and I had been yelling the bum-bum-bums at each other. When the song ended, everyone clapped, and I felt myself laughing, not for any specific reason, just that I was flushed and tired and happy.

The bandleader announced that they were slowing it down, and they started playing “You Send Me,” a song I’d always loved. I looked around, still trying to see if I could find a water, about to suggest to Frank we sit this one out, when I saw that he had extended his hand to me.

I was on the verge of starting to make a joke, but whatever I’d been about to say left me as I saw Frank’s serious expression. I met his eyes and reached out my hand to his. His fingers clasped around mine, and he pulled me close to him, gently, like he was making sure it was okay. I slid one of my arms around his neck, and he had one hand on my waist. Somehow, we were still holding hands, his fingers lightly wrapped around mine as we moved slowly to the music together.

He laughed softly and shook his head, and I leaned back to be able to look at his face, which was close to mine, closer than it had ever been. “What?”

“Just . . . you,” he said after a moment, with a faint smile. “Crashing a wedding.”

“Your idea.”

“I know,” Frank said. “But I was just thinking about that first night at the Orchard.”

“What about it?” I asked. I was trying to focus on having a conversation with Frank, and trying not to think about how close together we were, that he was touching my waist, that he was holding my hand.

“You just seemed so . . . diminished,” he said after a moment. “Like you were hoping nobody would see you.”

I kept my eyes on his, not letting myself look away. “And now?”

He looked right back at me as he gave me a half smile. “You’re the brightest thing in the room,” he said. He lifted his hand from my waist, and slowly, carefully brushed a stray lock of hair from my cheek. “You shine.”

My breath caught in my throat. People said those kinds of things about Sloane—not about me.

“What?” Frank asked, his eyes on mine.

“Just . . .” I took a shaky breath. “Nobody’s ever said something like that to me.”

“Then they don’t see what I see,” he said. I looked into Frank’s eyes and knew, without a doubt, that he meant every word. I started to say something when the chorus kicked in and Frank moved closer to me.

He was tall enough, even in my heels, that I could have rested my head on his shoulder. I swallowed hard, feeling the need to try and freeze the moment and sort through everything that was happening, and figure out just what I was feeling. Our faces were close enough that I could see the constellation of his freckles, his dark eyelashes, and smell that he was wearing some kind of cologne for the occasion—it smelled like cedar, like early mornings, and it made me want to step even closer and breathe him in.

Frank’s hand tightened on my waist, just a little bit, and it could have been just him moving with the music. But even though we weren’t looking at each other—even though we both seemed to be working very hard not to look at each other—I had a feeling he’d done it on purpose, and a moment later, he unclasped his hand from around mine and threaded my fingers through his.

I felt my heart pounding as I concentrated on staying upright and moving to the music, on the song that I knew was ending, any minute now, and I couldn’t tell if I wanted it to end right then, or keep playing on for days. I looked up at him, realizing again just how close we were, when the song ended and “Pour Some Sugar on Me” started. He dropped my hand and took a step away, and I looked away, pretending to straighten my dress, not exactly sure what had just happened.

“Hey!” Dawn was approaching us, a half empty water bottle in her hand, smiling at Frank. “When did you get here?” She looked around hopefully. “Is Matthew here too?”

“No,” Frank said, pointing at me. “I figured that one wedding crasher was enough.”

I nodded at Dawn’s water bottle. “Is there any way I could have some of that?”

“Sure,” she said, handing it over. “All yours.” She yawned and stretched her arms over her head. “I swear, I am never doing one of these again. It’s much better to be on the road and actually getting tips. Thank god this is finally over.”

“You’re done?” I asked as I lowered her bottle, realizing I’d just drunk all of it. Dawn nodded.

“You guys want to come to my place and hang out?” Frank asked, as he pulled out his phone. “I’m not sure if Collins had plans, but I can text him . . .”

“Cool,” Dawn said. “Sounds good.”

“Em?” Frank asked, looking over at me as he texted.

“Actually,” I said. I took a breath before speaking again, not quite able to believe I was about to suggest this. But I couldn’t think of a better time, or one when I’d be so willing to take a risk. “I had an idea . . .”