Chapter 2
Chapter 2: ONE STEP
Bear had faced things that frightened him before.
He had ridden through mountain rain so heavy he could barely see the taillight in front of him.
He had once pulled a stranger from a wrecked truck moments before smoke swallowed the cab.
He had walked into a hospital room four years earlier knowing the doctor waiting inside did not have good news.
None of those moments had prepared him for ballet.
He crossed the stage.
The children's music continued, though the pianist had slowed slightly after noticing what was happening.
Bear walked directly toward Lily.
The other girls were still moving, but now even they were stealing glances at the giant man approaching in boots and pink tulle.
Lily's basket trembled in her hand.
Bear stopped in front of her.
For an instant, the father and daughter simply stared at each other.
Lily's face was wet now.
“You came up.”
Bear nodded.
“Looks that way.”
People in the audience smiled softly.
Bear lowered himself as much as his stiff knees allowed and extended one enormous hand.
“You don't have to dance alone, baby.”
Lily looked at his hand.
Then at the audience.
Then back at him.
Her voice cracked.
“I forgot.”
Bear leaned closer.
“That makes two of us.”
She sniffed.
“What?”
“I never knew it.”
A tiny laugh slipped from her.
It wasn't much.
But Bear recognized it as the first door opening.
He straightened.
“All right,” he whispered. “Show me.”
Lily hesitated.
Then she placed her hand in his.
Her fingers barely wrapped around two of his.
The pianist found the rhythm again.
Bear raised his free arm.
Wrong arm.
Lily corrected him immediately.
“That one.”
“Right.”
“No, your other right.”
Bear switched arms.
Someone in the audience laughed, but this time the sound was warm rather than mocking.
Lily looked toward it.
Bear squeezed her hand gently.
“Eyes here.”
She looked back at him.
The next step came.
Bear moved too late.
His boot squeaked against the floor.
Lily's mouth twitched.
Another step.
Bear attempted to copy the girls beside him.
His shoulders were too stiff.
His turn came half a beat late.
When he tried to make the graceful flower-basket pose, he realized he didn't have a flower basket.
So he pretended.
That finally did it.
Lily laughed.
A real laugh.
Her shoulders dropped.
Her knees loosened.
Her foot moved.
One tiny step.
Then another.
Bear's heart nearly stopped.
He said nothing.
He kept going.
Badly.
Around them, the other children continued dancing.
One little girl grinned openly at Bear.
Another nearly missed her own step while watching him attempt a turn.
Mara stood near the curtain with one hand pressed over her mouth.
The audience had become completely still.
Bear could feel hundreds of eyes on him, but they no longer mattered.
There was only Lily.
One step.
Another.
Her hand still held his.
Then came the small spin Bear had watched her practice dozens of times.
Lily froze for only a fraction of a second.
Bear lifted his eyebrows.
“You got it.”
She inhaled.
Then turned.
Perfectly.
When she faced him again, something in her expression had changed.
The fear had not disappeared.
But it was no longer in charge.
Bear smiled.
There was his girl.
Lily's fingers loosened.
Bear felt it before he understood it.
She was letting go.
Her hand slipped from his.
Bear stopped moving.
Lily took the next step alone.
Then another.
The music rose gently.
She lifted both arms.
Bear stood beside her, enormous and ridiculous in a pink tutu, watching his daughter reclaim the dance one movement at a time.
By the next turn, she wasn't watching him anymore.
She was following the routine.
By the next step, she was smiling.
A woman in the front row wiped her eyes.
Someone behind Bear whispered, “Oh my God.”
The other girls gathered into the final formation.
Lily found her place.
Bear realized he had no place.
He glanced toward Mara.
She motioned gently toward the wing.
His job was done.
He backed away carefully.
Lily continued dancing.
Good.
That was good.
That was what he wanted.
He moved toward the edge of the stage.
The final section of music began.
Bear reached the curtain.
Then Lily saw him leaving.
Her smile vanished.
She broke formation.
Mara's eyes widened.
The other girls continued moving, unsure what to do.
Lily ran three steps toward her father.
“Daddy!”
Bear stopped.
The pianist nearly stopped too.
Lily stood beneath the spotlight, breathing hard.
Bear turned toward her.
“What is it, bug?”
Lily clutched the flower basket against her chest.
Her next words were quiet.
But the hall was silent enough for everyone to hear them.
“You can't leave yet.”
Bear's brow furrowed.
“Why not?”
Lily looked toward the empty chair in the front row.
The only chair in the entire hall with a small white flower resting on it.
Then she looked back at Bear.
May you like
And said something that made his face go completely still.
“We haven't done Mom's part.”
