Page 4 of Blackwood

“Razorback Stadium is the best place,” I chime in, hugging Mr. Piggles tight. “Except here. I like the lake the most. Butgames are a little more fun ’cause of the fireworks and pom-poms and yelling.”

Daddy chuckles. “You’ve perfected calling the hogs, Sugar Bear.”

“Good lungs,” Mama says with a smile. “She gets that from you.”

He winks. “And she gets the sparkle from you, babe.”

Aunt Claire’s eyes flick toward Mama, just for a second. Daddy sees it too. He reaches over and gently squeezes Mama’s knee. His thumb moving in slow circles, pulling her back from whatever shadow she was drifting toward.

“Aunt Claire, wanna see Mr. Piggles do his big finale bow?” I ask, scooting toward the fireplace.

She smiles and nods. “Hey babe,” she says to Uncle Jack. “Why don’t you take Bella and Mr. Piggles over by the tree and let her show you the whole routine.”

I grab Mr. Piggles and skip across the room. The Christmas lights blinking behind me as I find my spot for my big finish. But just as I twirl into my starting pose I catch the low whisper of voices behind me.

“I keep feeling like someone’s watching us,” Mama says.

“We did everything right,” Aunt Claire says softly. “Jack called in favors at the precinct. I handled the medical records. There’s nothing left, Elise. No trail.”

Daddy’s voice drops to something hard and low. “We’ve kept her safe for five years, changed her name and her records. Her whole damn life. But if he ever finds out, if he even starts looking again, none of it will matter. You know what kind of power he has, Claire. If he wants her, no forged paper is going to stop him.”

I freeze mid-spin. The sugar on my lips suddenly feeling sour.

Uncle Jack kneels beside me. He makes Mr. Piggles do a grand, wobbly bow, and says in a dramatic voice, “Your Highness, might I request a performance from the Star of the Tutu Kingdom?”

I squeal. The tightness eases.

He scoops me up, kisses my cheek, and twirls me in front of the fireplace like a ballerina superhero. His whiskers scratch my skin, but I giggle so hard I hiccup, and when we dips low into the firelight the magic comes back.

Chapter 2

BELLA – Age 8

Fayetteville, Arkansas

The dance studio smells like hairspray and floor polish. I love it. Mirrors line the walls, the wood floor squeaks under our shoes, and the bass thumps softly from another classroom. I burst through the door, hair in a tight ponytail, my glitter backpack bouncing behind me.

“Sorry we’re late!” Mama calls, handing my dance bag to Miss Allie.

Miss Allie is the coolest. The kind of dancer you could only dream of becoming. Long brown hair that fades into a violet ombré, edgy outfits—joggers, cropped tanks, and Nikes that squeak when she hits her turns just right. Mama says she’s like fire and poetry. I just think she’s magic.

“She’s right on time,” Miss Allie says with a wink.

I plop onto the bench to change shoes, already chatting with the older girls about school, dance, and Mr. Piggles. We laugh so hard my stomach hurts.

When the music starts, everything else falls away.

My body moves like it remembers something older, like rhythm had lived in my bones before I ever learned to walk. I don’t just dance. I tell stories. I cast spells. I become light andfire and feeling. Every flick of my wrist, every breath, every turn is a part of something bigger.

Through the observation window I catch a glimpse of Mama. One hand on her chest, the other curled in her lap. Her eyes are glassy but she smiles.

♥♥♥

Dinner is pizza tonight. Two boxes on the counter, still warm when Daddy opens them. Mama didn’t have the energy to cook tonight, and nobody asked her to. We don’t care. Pizza and paper plates on the couch is sometimes even better.

She’s curled up in the corner of the couch, wrapped in her favorite quilt, half-eaten slice on her plate. She smiles as I recite the routine move by move, but her eyes aren’t shiny anymore. They look like the Christmas lights at the square after you unplug them, still there, but dark.

I notice that. I always notice.