When the Music Stops Read online

  She cut a bouquet of late May blossoms and ivy for the kitchen table, then returned inside to put them in water. What did she want to do next: sew, sleep, bake, listen to music? What she wanted to do she couldn’t. Nothing alleviated her restlessness, so she surrendered and sank down into her dad’s overstuffed rocker.

  ~

  As dusk changed to dark, she put a chicken and new potatoes in the oven to bake, assembled a green salad, and set the kitchen nook table for two. At nine she turned down the oven and returned to the living room to rock.

  When the phone rang she expected to hear her mom’s voice on the other end.

  “Marta! Are you OK? I’ve been frantic waiting for your call.”

  “Steve? Hi. I’m fine. I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier. I got busy and…I’m sorry.”

  “Thank heaven you got home safely.”

  Marta shared her uneventful train trip, then asked about his college project.

  “It’s going well,” he said. “But don’t change the subject. You know how much I miss you, don’t you?”

  “Yes, because I miss you too.” She twisted the phone cord with her fingers as she smiled, picturing his anxious face staring at her.

  “That’s good to know. Did you get my letter?”

  “Yes, and the flowers. I loved both. I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

  “You know, I think of you every hour of the day and night and wish you were here with me.”

  “I love you and miss you too. I’ll be better about calling you from now on.”

  “How about I call you Sunday evenings like I did from San Francisco? That’s when I know I’ll have free time. My weekdays are so crazy, if you call I might miss it, Miss Fluff.”

  After they caught up on his week’s activities, Marta stayed seated in the dark kitchen, feeling warmth like a smile glide through her body. “Miss Fluff” had been their joke ever since Steve called ballet ”fluff news.” After his first night attending the ballet, he quickly changed his tune, but the fluff nickname continued, cementing their connectedness that blossomed into love.

  ~

  Marta’s mom returned at ten, with Robert following close behind.

  Marta raced into her mother’s outstretched arms and enjoyed the snugness of being held tight.

  “Marta, honey. I’m so glad you’re home. I looked in on you when I returned, but I didn’t want to wake you.” She held her at arm’s length. “You look like you’ve lost weight. How do you feel?”

  “I’m fine, considering.”

  She fingered Marta’s short, curly hair. “When did you cut your hair?”

  “While I was still wearing the cast. One less thing to worry about.”

  “Want to talk about your re-audition?”

  Marta shrugged and wiped her eyes. “I danced as well as possible, considering. I didn’t tell them about the new injury. I decided mentioning it sounded like an excuse, and I wanted to act professional. I expected they’d give me the summer to regain my strength, but they said ‘sorry’ and I was expected to say ‘thank you’ and walk away.”

  Marta watched Robert back into the kitchen as the conversation with her mom continued.

  Her mom pulled her close again and kissed her forehead. “You’ll see. You’ll prove them wrong. You’ll get stronger and dance again, right?”

  Marta nodded and stepped free of her mother’s arms and returned to the kitchen to reheat dinner. She reset the table for three, noticing that not only did Robert hang around, he automatically sat in her old place at the table.

  As they ate, the conversation settled on Marta. “So, honey,” her mom said, “how was the trip? Better than last year when you were traveling on the bus to Billings?”

  “Tons better. I enjoyed watching the world roll by my window. Mrs. B. made me a box dinner and snacks. Even though I told Lynne and Steve not to come to the depot, they showed up with a funny sign.” Tears puddled in her eyes. She stifled a sob.

  Mom leaned forward and squeezed Marta’s hands. “I’m sure this is hard for you, but I’m glad you’re home. You’ve got all summer to regain your strength and recover.”

  There it was again. Did her mother think she’d be prepared to dance by the end of summer? Didn’t she realize dancing in pointe shoes might never be possible again? Did her mom expect her to pack up and move on by fall? Marta stared at her mother until she realized Robert was speaking to her.

  “I’m certain you’ll overcome that setback,” Robert said. “Elle’s been busy restoring your room when she’s not at the dance studio all day and night.”

  Marta blinked as she struggled to focus on their conversation. She couldn’t shake the strong evidence of changes in her mom, mostly because of Robert’s presence in her family home. She sat taller and folded her hands to appear to be listening.

  “Well, yes,” her mom said. “But you know how I get my sewing all over the place. Two clients needed Masonic gowns in a hurry last week. After the recital’s over I’ll get in and clean out more things.”

  Marta pushed around her potatoes and swallowed a bite of chicken. “It’s okay, Mom. I’ve got plenty of room. I’ve already unpacked, so don’t worry about making changes.”

  After dinner her mom and Robert continued sitting in the kitchen nook. Her mom shuffled the deck of cards left on the window ledge. “I hope you don’t mind. Robert and I usually play a few hands of gin rummy after dinner to unwind. I’m on a winning streak. You could join us if you’d like.”

  “No, but thanks,” she said. “Just forget I’m here.” As they started their game, she returned to the living room to sit in her dad’s chair in the darkness, feeling her pout resurfacing. It would have been nice to sit and talk with her mom on their first night together. Marta closed her eyes and rocked.

  When Marta heard Robert say good night near midnight, she stepped into the kitchen for a glass of water. She startled at the outline of her mom and Robert standing on the back porch wrapped in an embrace, their bodies melded into a single shape. She listened to her mom’s laughter, followed by a long period of quiet. It appeared Robert wasn’t going away any time soon.

  Marta watched the silhouette break apart. “Okay,” her mom said. “Call me tomorrow. Thanks for meeting Marta yesterday. Me too. Night.”

  Marta stepped back into the living room as her mother returned inside, yawning.

  “I’m so tired after the costume delivery foul up. I wish I could sleep a week. But, there’s too much to be done for Miss Holland. After tomorrow’s recital I’ll relax. Are you coming to watch?”

  Marta shrugged. “If you need help.”

  “I really don’t. Miss Holland has a great team of parents. But I thought you might like to watch the students you knew and danced with last year. You decide. Right now I’m off to bed. I’m so glad you’re here, honey. We’ll have a long talk after I get through the recital.”

  Her mom pulled Marta into a tight hug like the ones Marta remembered during her recovery last January. Suddenly her sobs exploded.

  “Honey? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” Marta pulled away and wiped her face. “I’m, I’m so glad to see you. I…You should go to bed. You’ll need every ounce of energy you can scrape up for tomorrow.”

  Her mom reached out and grasped Marta’s hands. “Are you sure? I can stay up if you want to talk.”

  “No. I’m fine. Sweet dreams.”

  Within minutes, the kitchen clock marking off every second remained the only sound in the house. Tick, tick, tick, tick. Marta sat in the kitchen nook in her old spot. The last city bus of the evening stopped at the corner, then disappeared along the arterial. She turned on the overhead nook light and reached for the cards on the window ledge. Maybe a game of solitaire would invite sleep.

  Tick, tick, tick, tick. Marta played solitaire until the first signs of dawn appeared behind the nei
ghbor’s house across the street. She put the cards back on the ledge and went to bed.

  ~

  When Marta brought in the mail the next afternoon, she found two letters addressed to her: one from Steve, one from the Intermountain Ballet Company. She tossed the one from the ballet company on the dining table. The news it held could wait almost forever. Steve’s letter, however, promised to lift her spirits.

  Dear Marta,

  Missing you. Wishing you were here to help me finish my project or at least here to share a few kisses along The Rims or our river walk.

  Please write. I want to hear all about how you miss me and how you can’t live without me. I promise to visit as soon as the term ends.

  I love you now and forever,

  Steve

  She crushed the letter to her chest and closed her eyes, letting her thoughts wander back to their time together in Billings. Numbness spread through her as though she lay buried in wet sand. Maybe she should have stayed in Billings. No, coming home remained her only realistic choice. She placed the letter with the earlier one from Steve in her bedside table, closed her eyes, and waited for sleep to wash away her wakefulness.

  ~

  Marta wandered through the unplanted vegetable garden and under the grape arbor. She stopped at the playhouse. When she bent to enter, she inhaled the musty smell of the peeling wallpaper. She stared down at her tiny wooden table and chairs, remembering her years making grass tea, coloring pictures, and reading the picture books she’d kept on the tiny shelf in the wall.

  Her favorite remembrances always gravitated toward playing with ballet paper dolls and hosting a tea party for her cousin. They’d laughed and made up different dances along the sidewalk next to the playhouse. Sometimes their moms became their audience and sat on the back steps and clapped. That decade also marked the beginning of life without her dad. Losing him created an emptiness she’d yet to fill.

  Marta closed the playhouse door and continued her tour of the yard. Purple primroses lined the sidewalk, separating the lawn from the cement. That’s when she saw a small sign attached to the front gate. The back side was blank, so she opened the gate to read the writing on the front side:

  BREMCO

  Bremerton Real Estate & Management Company

  House For Sale

  2

  The ground beneath Marta’s feet fell away, or was it her knees bending, refusing to keep her upright? She stared at the sign. Her mom had never given any indication she planned to sell their family home. And why now? Hadn’t there been enough changes recently without pulling away this last bit of security she’d come home to embrace?

  Marta paced, circling the yard, the house, and the yard again. When it grew dark she rocked in her dad's chair. What if the house sold this week? Would her mom's plans include a place for her? If not, how could she find a job and earn enough money to move out? What a mess.

  Her mom returned home near midnight, alone. She collapsed onto the couch. "What a long day. I didn't expect you to be up this late."

  "How did it go?"

  "The recital went smoothly, but I'm exhausted. As usual, the little kids stole the show when they turned the wrong way and made up their own dances. The audience gave Rosalia Marcus a standing ovation for her ballet solo. Reminds me of your performances last year. Looks like Miss Holland has another professional dancer in the making."

  "She must be new."

  "Her family is Navy. They arrived last September. She's almost as talented as you. I think she wants to follow your lead."

  "I wish her luck. It's harder than she'll ever imagine."

  "You'd have enjoyed watching her, but I imagine you were too tired to come to the recital."

  "No. Not tired." Marta pulled in her lips as she stood and crossed her arms. “Disappointed is more like it.”

  “What's wrong?”

  Marta looked away as tears filled her eyes. “I don’t know where to start.” She jammed her balled up fists into her robe pockets to give herself time to regain a civil voice. "How could you put the house up for sale and not bother to mention it to me?”

  “What are you talking about? I’ve thought about it, but only when Robert's and my relationship becomes more serious. What brought this up?”

  "Really? Then how do you explain the sign on the front gate?”

  Her mom shot up from the couch, turned on the front porch light, and hurried out the front door. She returned, shredding the sign into small bits.

  “Damn that woman! That’s Connie Norton’s doing. She’s a friend of Robert’s. I mentioned I’d give her the first chance to post the house when the time came. She’ll hear from me first thing in the morning.”

  Her mom threw the sign into the waste bin, then returned and pulled Marta into a hug. “I’d never sell the house without talking with you, honey. You should know that.”

  Marta collapsed against her mother. "It's…the sign…. It shocked me." Marta sighed, then straightened. "So, you and Robert haven't made any marriage plans?”

  Her mom looked quizzically at Marta’s face. "Would it upset you if we did?”

  Marta had thought about that a lot during her pacing sessions. “No. It’s time, I guess.”

  “He’s a good man, honey, and I enjoy his company. He makes me laugh, plus he's interested in my well being."

  “Sounds like a good match, Mom. Really. Seeing that sign shocked me. So much has changed in my life so quickly.”

  “I know. Be assured that Connie will not get first dibs on selling this house. I'm angry that I ever met that woman."

  Marta didn’t reply.

  Her mom shook her head. "I'm sorry you've been stewing about this all day. Try to get rested, honey. As soon as I put the last of the recital materials away, we’ll get back to our old selves and take the time to sit and talk. Okay?"

  Marta nodded and playfully pushed her mother toward her bedroom. “Off to bed, now. You deserve a good, long sleep."

  Her mom kissed her then walked, yawning, into her bedroom.

  When the tightness in Marta’s chest eased, she picked up yesterday’s letter from the Intermountain Ballet Company and stared at the return addresses, dreading the contents. She entered her own bedroom, closed the door and opened the envelope.

  To Miss Marta Selbryth,

  This letter is sent to inform you that your contract with the Intermountain Ballet Company is hereby terminated effective May 30, 1958. No reply is required.

  Anna Cosper

  Damien Black

  Marta squeezed her eyes closed as pain zigzagged through all the cells in her body. Breathing became difficult. Such a harsh send-off. Careers weren’t supposed to end this way or this soon. She returned the letter to its envelope and buried her face in her pillow to muffle her sobs.

  She crumpled the letter in her hand as she lay sprawled across the comforter, letting the tears flow until dry heaves and then sleep took over. When she awoke, the bedside lamp blinded her but also pushed back the darkness festering inside her. The deep ache changed to a hollowness, an ever-expanding hole she anticipated might engulf her at any moment.

  Marta realized she’d not brought in today’s mail, so she opened the front door, turned on the porch light, and checked their mailbox that hung on the side of the house. Three pieces of mail. Back inside she set the two bills aside and smiled. Steve had sent another letter. After she climbed beneath the covers, she plumped up her pillows, leaned back, and ran her finger beneath the flap of the envelope.

  Dear Marta,

  Thought of you today as I drove to class. I miss our drive-ins together and your sweet kisses.

  Finished my ed-op project. Just the newspaper mock-up left to be done. 6 months and 11 days until I’m set free from school. Know that I never want to be set free from you. I miss you.

  Love,


  Steve

  Marta kissed the letter and cried. Would her reserve of tears ever end? She slid the letter into the drawer of her bedside table and lay back. So much time stretched ahead in her life. How could she start over? Where to begin?

  h

  After breakfast, Marta sat in the nook and listened as her mom spoke with Connie Norton, sharing her frustration over the For Sale sign. After she hung up, Marta gave her a thumbs up. “Great job, Mom. You didn’t give her much of a chance to reply.”

  “Why should I? She knew she’d overstepped her limits the moment she placed that sign on the gate. She’ll probably play dumb and try to wheedle Robert about it, but she’s done as far as I’m concerned.”

  Marta closed the heavy wooden garage door as her mom left for the dance studio. She looked around the garage. She’d spent many hours practicing in this space in the past. Was she ready to begin again? If she could dance it needed to start here and the sooner the better. Why did she hesitate about this and about seeing Miss Holland? Lynne would tell her to get a grip and start; she had nothing to lose.

  She swept up the dirt and grit from the car tires, sprinkled sand on the grease spots, and rubbed it in with the toe of her sandal. Then she swept that up as well. Each motion became a hesitation, a way to lengthen the time before she’d begin exercising once again. She only planned to do warm ups, so why dilly dally?

  She carried her ballet slippers to the garage and sat on the wooden bench inside the door. The soft-soled ballet slippers felt snug, but she forced her feet into them and stepped up to the make-shift barre her dad had installed over a decade ago. Deep breath in and out. She squared her shoulders, pulled her derriere snug, and began.

  Slow demi-pliés, bending her knees, not lifting her heels, followed by forward, side, and back stretches while shaping her free arm into a gentle curve. Cautious relevés, lifting her heels, feeling her arches cramp and then release, allowing her to stretch skyward for a moment. Repeat on the left side.