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  "I do. But Lee, there's more." She averted her eyes again.

  "Isn't there always?" Lee sighed and gestured for her to continue.

  "Yesterday Ivan announced his choice to fill Mallory's spot. He made a big deal out of it in front of everyone."

  "Let me guess." Lee narrowed his eyes and pretended to think. "His choice was… Georgia Enright."

  "How did you know that?"

  "Ivan is a petty, wicked little man and is as transparent as a beam of light. Somehow he must have found out that you had visited Mallory in the hospital. Ivan being Ivan, he will want to punish Mallory for disrupting his routine. How best to punish her? By replacing her with the only person who has shown her any kindness."

  "I didn't realize that you knew him that well," she said softly.

  "I have known Ivan for more years than I like to recall. We were in the same company in Boston, and then again in Houston. It was only coincidence that we both ended up in Baltimore together. Oh, yes, we go back a very long way. But that's old news." He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. "Did he give the other dancers the opportunity to challenge you for the role?"

  "You do know him well, don't you?" She nodded glumly.

  "He's done this before—set several dancers against each other. Offer one a part, then ask if any of the others would like a chance to win the role away. Divide and conquer, so to speak. It's a means of maintaining control, you know. And it never fails to create a little drama, a little tension. Ivan, as we know, thrives on both."

  "Well, so far, only one dancer has asked to audition. Sharyn Heffern. She was new last year. She's a wonderful dancer, Lee. She deserves the role much more than I do."

  "What is the role, by the way?" he asked.

  "Giselle."

  Lee rolled his eyes to the heavens. "A very important ballet. A challenging one. And definitely not a role for novices. What in glory's name could the man be thinking? Giselle is demanding, it's difficult. It's dramatic ballet at its best, and it's—" He paused. "Did you accept Ivan's offer?"

  "I didn't accept or not accept. I was stunned. I couldn't respond. And he did his usual, you know, drop the bombshell, then turn heel and leave the room."

  "Well, how do you feel about it?"

  "I feel like… like I'm being used. It's just like you said. Like he's trying to hurt Mallory. And at the same time, he's humiliating me. He knows I don't deserve the position, he knows I'm not good enough. Sharyn can dance circles around me."

  "I wouldn't be surprised if he had suggested to Sharyn that she audition—it would be just his style. So, what are you going to do?"

  "I don't know." Her voice dropped to a whisper and she looked into her friend's eyes, hoping for guidance. Georgia knew no one who could better understand her predicament. "On the one hand, it's the chance I always dreamed of. On the other, I know I will make a complete fool out of myself because I know that I don't deserve the role."

  "And of course, to decline, you would have to publicly admit that you don't feel you're good enough, which will give Ivan sufficient cause never to offer you another shot at moving out of the corps."

  "Which I probably would not ever get anyway." Georgia's shoulders sank a little farther. "If I accept, my limitations will be glaringly evident. It's a lose-lose situation for me. He's set me up, Lee. He knows that there's no way I could ever best Sharyn. She's young—eighteen—but she is exceptional. She's the one who deserves the big break."

  She frowned, then added, "And there's one other thing that's bothering me on a somewhat different level."

  He gestured for her to go on.

  "If I accept this offer, I will knowingly be assisting him in hurting Mallory."

  "Of course. That would be Ivan's intent." Lee rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Quite a dilemma for you, Georgey-girl."

  "What would you do if you were in this situation, Lee?'

  "Me?" He nodded thoughtfully, tapping his fingers lightly on the polished wood tabletop. "Well, actually, I was in a similar situation once."

  "And?" She waited for him to continue.

  "And I think that whatever I say will influence your choice, and I do not want that responsibility, Georgia. Whatever you decide to do, this is your call, cara." He paused and watched her face, suspecting that, for Georgia, this was both a moral as well as a career decision. "Maybe it would help if you took a look at your goals at this stage of your career."

  With a slightly rounded fingernail, she traced the delicate embossed motif on the white paper napkin that lay on the table. "You know that all I ever wanted to do was to dance. From the time I was a little girl, I never dreamed of doing anything else."

  Her eyes drifted toward the front window and the clouds that were gathering in a lazy gray sky.

  "It never mattered to me that I had to work hard at it. I even loved that part. Working toward the goal was very important to me. I was very proud of myself when I met that goal, Lee. But I always knew that I would have to work harder than some of the other girls, and my dream of becoming a prima ballerina died when I was twenty-three. It took me a long time to accept that some dancers are just gifted—that if you don't have that gift, you will be limited in how far you can rise as a dancer." She smiled a lopsided smile. "I have known for several years that I did not have the gift, Lee."

  "You are a lovely dancer, Georgia," he told her honestly, wishing that he could, in all good conscience, assure her that she could one day be a star. But caring much too much for her to lie about something so important, he simply took her hands between his and gave them a squeeze.

  "But I will never rise to that next level, and we both know it."

  "So, then. This is leading somewhere…"

  "I think I need to decide where I want to go from here. If I want to stay in dance, or move on."

  "That's pretty drastic, Georgia."

  "I'm twenty-six years old, Lee. I have no education to speak of. I started dancing professionally when I was sixteen. I had a tutor for my junior and senior years in high school and have a GED. I never gave a second's thought to college. I have never known anything but dancing. I never wanted to."

  "And now?"

  "Now I'm wondering if there isn't something more for me somewhere."

  "All this because of Ivan?"

  "Yes. And no." She shook her head. "Let's just say he's given me cause to evaluate my situation."

  "And what have you found?"

  "That I am a good dancer in a world of very good dancers. That I am as good as anyone else in the corps. But I will never be great and I will never go beyond where I am. And I will never be Giselle, Lee. As much as I wish I could be, I can't lie to myself."

  Her green eyes began to glisten with tears. "At best, I have maybe five or six more years when I can realistically expect to make my living as a dancer. And the question I have to ask myself is, What then? Where do I go from there? And will it be easier to get there if I start now, instead of when I'm in my thirties?"

  "I don't know what to say to you, cara." Lee reached across the table and wiped her tears away with his thumb. "Did you ever see one of those movies where the earnest young understudy finally gets her chance to prove her stuff when the star breaks a leg or gets pneumonia or something equally dramatic?"

  "Yes, but in the movies the understudy always knocks 'em dead. I'm afraid that won't happen in my case, Lee, but it will for Sharyn." Georgia sniffed and forced a smile. "Ironic, isn't it? Giselle is my favorite ballet—the role I waited a lifetime to perform."

  "Perhaps if I worked with you at night…"

  "You are a sweetheart and my best friend, Lee, but no amount of rehearsal will give me what I don't have."

  "Another dance troupe, then," he suggested. "I know several directors who would surely be pleased to give you an audition."

  "I don't know that things would be different anywhere else."

  "You wouldn't have Ivan to contend with."

  "True, but Ivan isn't really the issue.
I'll never be better than I am—regardless of where I go—and I'll always have the same questions in my mind." She spun her spoon around on the table in slow circles. "Maybe it's just time for me to move on, Lee."

  "Move on to what, cara?"

  "I have no idea. Do you realize that, outside of my family, I hardly even know anyone that I haven't met through dance? I exercise. I cook. I read. I dance. I lead a mostly solitary life, Lee." She shook her head. "Scary, isn't it? That I've lived for twenty-six years and I've never seen much of anything beyond the edge of the stage. Even my first love was a dancer."

  "Mine, too," he deadpanned, and she laughed in spite of herself.

  "I think you should perhaps discuss this with your family. Your mother. Your sister," Lee said. "This is a very big decision, Georgia, one you should not make in haste."

  "Actually, I've been thinking about it for a long time now."

  "What's a long time?"

  "Since last summer."

  Lee took one of her hands in his and rubbed the top of her wrist thoughtfully. He had suspected that something had been bothering her for the past few months, but hadn't realized it had been anything this serious. "Tell me."

  "I feel restless. Besides the fact that I feel more and more that it's time to move on, I also know I'm missing so much in life. It didn't used to bother me. Now it does." She swallowed hard. "My brother Nicky got married last summer."

  "I remember. He got married at a lighthouse."

  "Yes. Devlin's Light. His wife's family owns it. After the wedding, I walked up to the top of the lighthouse. You can see all the way across the bay from New Jersey to Delaware from the top of Devlin's Light, and way out toward the ocean. It made me realize just how narrow my own boundaries are— how limited my own little world is. It's bothered me ever since, Lee. That's when I began thinking that maybe it's time to push the boundaries back a bit."

  "And how might you go about doing that?"

  "I'm not sure, but I'm thinking a good place to start might be to take some time off to think things over."

  "An excellent idea. When was the last time you had a vacation?"

  "I haven't had one since I started dancing professionally. Not a real one, anyway."

  "Then I would say you're long overdue." He clapped his palms together. "Didn't you tell me that your 'new' sister owns an inn near the beach somewhere?"

  Georgia smiled at his use of the word "new" to differentiate between Laura Bishop, the half sister whom Georgia had met for the first time only the previous year—the child Georgia's mother had been forced to give up for adoption many years before— and Zoey Enright, the sister with whom Georgia had grown up.

  "Yes. Laura owns the Bishop's Inn."

  "This might be the perfect time to pay her a visit. Take a few weeks off. Talk to her. See what she thinks. Walk on the beach—it's wonderful this time of year. It'll help clear your head. Things always look so much clearer when you take a step back."

  "Ivan isn't likely to give me any time off." She frowned.

  "Just how unhappy are you, cara?"

  She looked up at him and allowed her normally cheery facade to fall away. Lee saw a beautiful young woman with hollow cheeks and circles under her eyes.

  "Then take an indefinite leave," he said softly. "No one, especially Ivan, is worth your health or your happiness." Lee watched her face as his words sank in, and waited for her reaction.

  "These other directors that you talked about…" She drew the words out slowly, as if weighing each one of them. "Where might their dance companies be?"

  "I have friends in Boston, Princeton, Savannah, and New Haven."

  "Supposing I asked for time off and Ivan refused and I left the company… Supposing that after some time off—a few weeks or months or whatever—I decided that what I really wanted was to stay in dance for however many more years. Is there any reason to think that any of these other directors might be willing to give me an audition after—"

  "After having walked out on Ivan?" He dismissed her fears with a wave of his hand. "I am certain that I can arrange that for you. Ivan is brilliant, but he is known to be difficult. He has the well-earned reputation of being a son of a bitch. You would not be the only dancer to have left a troupe because of him." Then he winked, adding, "And besides, the director of the Princeton company is an old and dear friend of mine. No, cara, you need not fear that leaving Ivan the Terrible behind will close the door on your career—should you decide you still want one. If you need the security of knowing that you can go back, I give my word that a door will be open for you."

  Georgia played with her flatware, stacking spoon onto fork onto knife, contemplating Lee's words. It had not occurred to her that there might be other real choices, not just abstract possibilities. The thought that there might be many other options both warmed and confused her.

  "You know, I'll think about it. I will." She leaned across the table and kissed Lee on the cheek. "Maybe I'll give Laura a call later and see if she has time for me to visit."

  "It may turn out to be the best thing you've ever done for yourself." Lee's chair scraped against the wooden floor as he pushed it back from the table and stood up. "Give me a hug, Georgey-girl."

  Georgia hugged Lee and thanked him for breakfast, then zipped up the front of her sweatshirt, promising to let him know what she decided to do as she left the friendly warmth of Tuscany for the crisp cold streets of Baltimore.

  She walked, rather than ran, back toward her condo, hesitating as she passed the walkway leading to the aquarium. On an impulse, she took the path to her left and made her way down to the harbor. Maybe Lee was right. Maybe a leave of absence was just what she needed. Time to think and time to search her heart. Time to step back and take a good look at the big picture—something she had never done— and put things into perspective.

  Georgia stood at the far end of the pier, huddled inside her sweatshirt, and watched a yacht as it began to make its way through the passage that led to the Patapsco River and the wide Chesapeake beyond. The blue-gray water was dense and choppy, and swirled with small glossy rainbows left behind by drops of fuel from the last boat to cruise across the harbor. A stern wind snapped at the small yellow flags atop the mast of the yacht, sending them flapping like the busy mouths of gossiping crones.

  Even from this distance she could see the colors moving about in a rapid, erratic motion. Fat drops of water began to fall from a gunmetal sky, and soon cold, sharp spears of freezing rain began to strike her cheeks. A little colder and there might be snow. Georgia pulled her hood up and turned her back on the harbor and the great bay beyond. She picked her way around a small gathering of hardy tourists who had ventured out of the aquarium, and headed back toward Pratt Street.

  She tried to imagine what it would be like to go a whole week without dancing. Two weeks—three. Unprecedented. What on earth would she do with her time?

  Georgia passed through the lobby of her building mechanically, her mind clearly someplace else. She twirled her door key around on its chain in a wide arc somewhat absently as she climbed the six flights to her floor, then unlocked the door and entered into j her own white world.

  The carpets, the furniture, the walls of Georgia's apartment—all were white and cool and soothing. She sat on a large square ottoman in the living room and took off her running shoes, then her socks, still replaying her conversation with Lee. She tried to envision herself going through a day that did not find her at the barre with the other dancers. Oh, she had had a few of those—holidays and such—but not so very many since she had committed herself to dance. Even summer vacations were spent attending special workshops. The hours at the studio not spent in rehearsal were spent in class. Her whole fife had revolved around dance for so long that she wasn't sure she could fill even a week's worth of time if she was not dancing.

  And yet, the last time she had visited Laura, there had been a pull toward the beach, where she had sat in the sun and just watched the rhythmic roll of ocean onto sa
nd. Later there had been pleasant hours spent curled up in one of the little sitting rooms, where she had read a book, cover to cover. It had been a delightful day. Laura, an avid reader, always had lots of books available for her guests. Georgia pictured herself lounging in one of those oversized chairs pulled up close to the fireplace… or maybe snuggled amid the plump cushions on the window seat that overlooked Laura's gardens. Not that she would expect there to be anything in bloom this time of year, but it would still be a pretty view. Laura had bird feeders outside just about every window of the inn, and there would be nuthatches and titmice at the feeders, cardinals and blue jays on the ground below, pecking at the spillage.

  Georgia glanced at her watch. Her mother would be working in her spacious office on the first floor of the carriage house on her "gentleman's farm" tucked amidst the hills of Chester County, Pennsylvania. A mystery writer, Delia Enright kept a meticulous schedule, particularly when she was just starting a new book. Georgia recalled that her mother's latest project was now a healthy three weeks old, and she would be allowing herself a leisurely lunch hour around one, the best time of day to reach Delia by phone. Georgia knew that Delia would support all her children in absolutely any endeavor that made them happy. If Georgia felt she needed a break from dance, Delia would encourage her to take one. If dance was no longer fulfilling, Delia would be the first to urge her to move her life along. Georgia needed to hear her mother tell her exactly that before she spoke with Ivan.

  Georgia knew, of course, exactly how Ivan would react. He would get that malicious little gleam in his eye, and it would all go downhill from there. Very publicly—and very loudly.

  First he would compliment her on her public acknowledgment that Sharyn was, of course, the better dancer, and one so much more deserving of the coveted role. How mature of you, Madame Enright, he would coo as he walked around her slowly. How very gracious.

  Then he would begin to belittle her for running from the challenge, then segue into all the reasons why she would not have been selected for the role.