Page 9 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys

I also refused to tell my grandparents. They’d both been over-the-moon when I’d made principal. Months after, when I was tapped for first female principal, they bought a cake and had the decorator write ‘Nelly, forever our prima’ in lavender icing. That little party—with the buttercream cake and sparkling cider—was one of the last times we’d all been together in the house they’d raised me in after my parents died when I was only a baby. I lived there by myself now, and the place felt lifeless without my grandparents.

Sometimes, I wanted to rewind time so I could cherish Grandmother and Grandpa better. Maybe I’d choose not to go to California for training. I could have done levels four through eight in Tacoma and then just found a great apprenticeship. There were good schools here in Washington State. But my grandparents had insisted I attend San Francisco Ballet. To pay tuition, Grandpa had sold his prized coin collection and then my grandparents even took a line of credit against their paid-off house, leveraging it to support my dreams. I couldn’t even imagine how much money they’d put into travel expenses, coming down to see me or flying me up on holidays. They’d sentme a spending allowance, coughed up money any time I needed new tights or pointe shoes.

After all they'd done to support my career, I couldn’t tell them how it all exploded.

Sure, they both knew I’d had two ‘minor’ surgeries last year, but I’d managed to keep the gritty details away from them. Geoff had helped with that, fielding calls from them, driving me to appointments, and handling all my home care until I was mobile again. I guess I couldn’t totally hate him, considering he’d stayed by my side through most of the ordeal.No, screw that. I had every right to hate him too. Hate him. Hate Madoff. Hate Lisette.

If I wasn’t careful, I’d be eaten up by hate.

My body moved on auto pilot now; my gaze focused on my bright red Honda in the parking lot. My seventeenth birthday gift, already a decade old. I’ve been driving it for about eight years now. I’d thought about buying a shiny new car the second I’d signed the life-changing contract to be a principal. The career I’d always dreamed about was in sight; I shouldn’t have to worry about money anymore. I’d gotten gun-shy though, deciding to wait a smidge longer before making a huge purchase. Now, I was beyond thankful I’d been frugal back then.

As my long legs carried me quickly away from the nightmare I’d just been through, the sun continued to beat down on me and the severance check burned in my pocket. That little slip of paper, caught in the letter’s folds, was a villain. Or, rather, villain adjacent. It was my dream reduced to a number that Madoff insisted was‘more than reasonable’.

It wasn’t even a year’s contract pay. Seventy-five thousand, when my contract guaranteed one hundred and eighteen yearly for a period of three years before re-negotiation. To explain the lowered severance, they’d cited the loss due to my medical needs, the company’s increased insurance premium, and the factthat I hadn’t been on the active dance roster since the injury. Those things were true, but it was also true that they’d looked me in the face before my second surgery and said not to worry, that I’d always have a dance home with Imperial. They’d assured me if I worked hard and got a clean bill of health, that they’d take me back with open arms.

They’d dangled a carrot and then laughed at me when I’d expected to eat the damn thing.

My eyes grew wet again. I didn’t think I could hold them back this time.

No. Not yet. I couldn’t cry yet.

I was almost to the car.

I could make it.

After I drove away, I’d let the tears do their worst.

2

NELLY

Eleven months ago... Tacoma, Washington

Serenity House lived up to its name, which was one of the reasons Grandpa had decided this was the right place for him and Grandmother. It also helped that the memory care unit was the best in the region.

The automatic doors of Serenity House glided open with a gentle whoosh, chilly air instantly kissing my skin and making goosebumps sprout. My nose wrinkled of its own volition—astringent, medicinal antiseptic warred with gourmand-scented plug-ins dotting nearly every outlet. The Serenity staff tried, to their credit, to make it smell more like a spa here rather than a medical facility. Nothing hid Serenity’s real purpose though. For a split second, I wanted to turn around. I’d been so depressed lately, nothing working out the way I needed it to. Stepping into this building weighed me down further.

I pushed through the emotional muck, stepping further into the reception area. Pistachio walls were lined with brown, ergonomic chairs. Above tobacco-stained end-tables weremounted magazine holders boasting nearly recent offerings from Omega Housekeeping, Alpha Health Monthly, Pack Digest, and an endless number of medical journals. I settled my purse more securely on my shoulder and forced a pleasant expression as I approached the reception desk where Marissa sat, typing away at her computer. The cheerful woman glanced up, her round face brightening with recognition. She pushed thick-rimmed glasses into place as her faded olive eyes locked onto my face.

"Nelly! Twice in one week! Your grandparents will be thrilled." The receptionist beamed at me. She was the kind of person who could be infectious. Sincere joy, no hidden agenda. I think she really loved her job, too. I couldn’t do what she did—be the face of a place which only offered two options, either a short or long goodbye to loved ones.

"I hope so," I said, signing the visitor log with practiced ease. “I told them I’d try to visit more often. I’ve got too much free time lately.” My signature was quick, utilitarian strokes. I once tried to learn cursive. My grandmother had the most elegant, swooping handwriting when I was younger. I thought it was beautiful and fascinating, then quickly discovered that I didn’t have the talent or patience for it. These days, Grandmother had trouble focusing long enough to write anything, let alone something that swooped beautifully across paper.

Marissa didn’t say anything, her head back down as she finished her earlier computer task. A vacuum whirred softly in the distance, and the soft hum of Marissa’s desktop soda fridge filled the quiet between us. I swallowed nervously; it wasn’t enough noise. My head would start buzzing soon with horrible, depressing thoughts.

It wasn’t just this place. The negative thinking was always waiting in the wings, hoping for silence, and an opportunity to assault. My life was hushed now, so the mental beatingshappened often. I found myself always wanting to fill gaps in conversation. Everything used to be sogo, go, go. Every minute was accompanied by music and movement.

Quiet.

Calm.

Stillness.

The soundtrack of my life had broken. There was no continuous beat beneath my feet.

So, I’d been keeping the T.V. on at home constantly, right up until every channel I flipped to magically was showing something dance related and I shut it off in anger.

Omega Dance Moms. Knot Another Dance Movie. Dancing with the Knottywood Stars.The Bachelor Alphacontestant this season was even a former Artist-in-Residence with Boston Ballet. To add insult to injury, the Imperial had an advertisement running about becoming patrons of the company, complete with benefits like season tickets and prime box seating. Every other commercial seemed to be that one, and it showed a clip of Geoff lifting Lisette.