No More to the Dance

Illustration by Darryl Elliott

Lilly Cordova caused quite a stir when she first joined our ballet class. It was no fault of her own, even though she arrived late and we were already warming up with plies; she slipped in silently, dropped an apologetic curtsey to the teacher, and found a place at the barre. But when our pianist looked up and saw her, his jaw dropped and he played a full eight counts in the wrong key. If he’d been playing something less cumbersome than a piano, he would certainly have dropped it on his foot. My brother Johnny’s a musical wonder, to be sure, but he’s far too easily distracted by a pretty face.

And Lilly was a beauty, no doubt about it. Glossy black hair tied back in a short ponytail, liquid dark brown eyes with great long lashes, a perfect dancer’s body—slender and delicate in leotard and tights. Johnny recovered fairly quickly, considering, and had only a few more musical lapses during the rest of the class. Most of the girls found his mistakes entertaining (although Marianne, the teacher, did not). I tried to pretend that I didn’t hear the mistakes, that I wasn’t Johnny’s sister, and that I hadn’t recommended him for this job. I don’t suppose I was markedly successful.

No matter what Johnny played or what he flubbed, Lilly danced flawlessly. She never seemed to notice his mistakes. After I had watched her at the barre for ten minutes, I was already wondering what she was doing in this class. It was the studio’s advanced class, and all of us had been dancing on pointe for some time, but there were no future ballerinas among us. This was a quiet little class, catering mainly to students from the nearby university, along with a few kids and a few working women like me. Most of us just danced for fun and exercise, and none of us were particularly skilled. But Lilly was. Every move, every step at the barre was performed with incredible precision. On the floor her skill was just as great. As I watched her I began to realize that she reminded me of someone, perhaps of one of the great ballerinas of the past. There was something in her look, in the way she moved. But I could not place the resemblance.

In the dressing room after class Lilly accepted the other girls’ admiring comments with polite courtesy, but with no enthusiasm. She didn’t laugh or smile. It didn’t occur to me to wonder about that. After all, she was new here, and perhaps she was shy. And I was in a terrible hurry to get changed into street clothes; I wanted to hustle Johnny out of the studio before Marianne decided to fire him.

Johnny was waiting for me outside the dressing room door, still looking rather starry-eyed. I took him by the arm and drew him outside into the parking lot. “I can’t believe I talked Marianne into hiring you,” I said. “She’s going to kill me.”

“Mmm,” Johnny said. “OK.”

“What do you mean, OK? After she kills me she’ll fire you, and then how will you pay your share of the rent?”

“She won’t fire me, Heather,” Johnny said confidently. “I’m the best pianist she’s got.”

I gave him a look.

“Usually,” Johnny amended. He climbed into the passenger seat of my battered old Rabbit, and I gave a sigh and got in behind the wheel. I had just put the car into reverse when Johnny grabbed my arm.

“Wait,” he said. “It’s Lilly.”

“Oh, Johnny.”

“I just want to see what kind of car she drives. Wait just a minute.”

Johnny watched breathlessly as Lilly unlocked the door of a white Oldsmobile and slipped inside. As she backed out of her space, Lilly’s headlights illuminated the interior of the Rabbit. Then they swept past and all we could see of her car was a pair of red taillights. Johnny sighed and said, “I wonder where she lives.”

“We’re not following her home.”

“Why not? I’m in love.”

“You’re not in love. You’re in lust.”

“OK, so I’m in lust. She’s beautiful.”

“She is, isn’t she?” I pulled out of the parking lot, noticing with some chagrin that we were, at this moment, following Lilly’s car. Oh well, surely she would make a turnoff soon. “You know, Johnny, she reminds me of someone. A dancer I’ve seen on video. But I can’t think who it is. Does she seem familiar to you?”

“Mmm. I feel like I’ve known her all my life.”

“I mean, does she remind you of someone.”

“Remind me of who?”

“Oh, never mind. Maybe it’s just because she’s such a good dancer. I can’t imagine why she isn’t with a company. She must be nineteen or twenty; it seems like she should be out making a name for herself. I would, if I had that kind of talent.”

Which I didn’t, to be sure. I grew up loving music and dance, but having precious little talent for either. Apparently Johnny got all the family’s genes for music, for when he’s not distracted by a pretty girl he’s a musical genius. Last time I counted he had mastered seven different instruments, and he composes as well. For myself, I can’t play a note on any instrument known to man, and though I love ballet I’m hopelessly clumsy at it.

In front of us, Lilly’s car slowed and signaled a right turn. “Where’s she going?” Johnny asked in surprise. “That’s a dead end, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I think it is.” I slowed down as I approached the turnoff, wondering if Lilly was lost. After all, she was new in town. But she wasn’t driving hesitantly, like a lost person would. Instead she was building up speed. But there was no road where she was going, nothing but a dark empty lot full of trees.

A splintering crash split the night, and Johnny cried out. For an instant I froze at the wheel, in shock, then my foot found the gas pedal and I drove as fast as I dared to the road’s end.

“There she is,” Johnny whispered. “Christ! At least it doesn’t look as bad as it sounded.” He jumped out of the Rabbit, and I threw it into park and followed.

Lilly was already out of her car, standing in front of it in the headlight beams to examine the damage. Dust drifted around her, settling slowly toward the ground. The front bumper was bent askew, and the hood was thoroughly dented, but I didn’t see any further damage. The tree she had hit was still standing. Lilly was running her hands along the bumper when we came panting up.

“Lilly! Are you OK?” Johnny asked anxiously.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I thought I’d feel something more.” She touched the dent in the hood, shrugged, and got in behind the wheel. Johnny caught the driver’s door before she could close it, and I knelt in the dirt and touched her shoulder.

“Lilly, are you sure you’re all right?”

“Of course.” She looked at me in some confusion. “Who are you?”

“I’m Heather Munro. We were just in class together. This is my brother Johnny.”

“Oh yes. The pianist.”

There was a vague, unfocused look about Lilly, and I wondered if she had struck her head without realizing it. Or perhaps she was in some sort of shock. “We can take you to the hospital,” I said. “Maybe you should get checked.”

“No, thank you. I’m fine; I’ll just go home.”

“Let us at least give you a ride. You shouldn’t drive any more tonight.”

“I don’t want to leave the car here.”

“Johnny can drive it for you. Come on. Please.”

Lilly argued but I was adamant; there was no way I was going to let her drive. In the end she got into the Rabbit with me while Johnny checked her car, pronounced it reasonably safe to drive, and maneuvered it back to the main road. He pulled out behind me, and Lilly twisted in her seat to look at her car. Then she settled into the passenger seat and gave me directions to the Broadmoor Motel.

I knew the way to the motel quite well; it was across from the hospital, where I worked. “Have you been in town long?” I asked.

“No. I just got here.”

“Are you visiting someone?”

“Not really. I’m here with my mother. She’s consulting with some of the doctors at the University Hospital.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I hope it’s not serious.”

She shrugged. “It’s been going on a long time. There’s a research program here for multiple sclerosis, an experimental treatment. That’s what she’s here for.”

I nodded; I knew about it. In particular I knew one of the research assistants, a young doctor named Tyler Mackenzie, whom I had admired from afar for months.

“So what happened with the car?” I asked. “Did you lose control?”

Lilly shook her head.

“Then what happened?”

“I wanted to feel it,” she explained, “but there wasn’t anything to it, really. I thought it would be more exciting.”

“Exciting?” I said blankly.

She shrugged.

“Lilly, are you sure you’re OK?”

“Oh yes,” she said, a little sadly. “I’m fine. Really.”

When we got to the Broadmoor Johnny and I walked Lilly to her motel room; I was still worried that she might have some kind of head injury, and I wanted to make sure that someone was there to look after her. Lilly found her key, opened the door, and awkwardly invited us to come in.

In the room a woman was sitting at the table with a book in front of her; she looked up when we entered, and seemed startled to see us. But she could not have been half as surprised as I was.

And I knew why Lilly had reminded me of one of the great ballerinas. The woman at the table was wearing a red blouse and a black skirt, and for an instant I pictured her on stage, in a red costume with black sequins sparkling in the lights, a brilliant smile on her face as she danced. I blinked, and the image was gone, but I knew who she was: Vanessa Ahrensen, one of the most brilliant dancers to ever grace the stage.

I realized that I was staring at her almost as blatantly as Johnny had gazed at Lilly during class; quickly I looked away.

Lilly said, “Mother, this is Heather. And Johnny. They gave me a ride home from class.”

“A ride? Lilly, is something wrong with your car?”

“Not really. Just a few dents.”

“She, ah, hit a tree,” I put in. “Her car seems OK except for the body work, but we didn’t think she ought to drive home.”

Vanessa winced, but said no more about the car. She thanked us for helping her daughter. I suggested that she keep a close eye on Lilly tonight, and we said good-bye. In a daze I followed Johnny out into the parking lot.

“Do you think she’ll be all right?” Johnny asked.

“What?”

“Lilly. Will she be OK?”

“Oh, yes. I think she’ll be fine. Johnny, can you believe it? Her mother is Vanessa Ahrensen.”

“What about it?”

“You play piano for the ballet and you don’t know her name? Hurry up; I’ll show you when we get home.”

Back at our apartment I dug out one of my videos of Vanessa Ahrensen and popped it in the VCR. “Look at her,” I whispered to Johnny, and turned up the sound. Vanessa appeared on stage, in a flowing white dance dress, with flowers in her hair. She seemed to float across the stage, to fly into the air. Johnny watched intently, taking in her charisma and magnetism, her style and verve.

“She’s extraordinary,” Johnny murmured.

“Yes. She is.”

We watched her dance through half the tape, then Johnny sat down on the couch beside me, picked up the remote, and pushed the mute button. On the screen, Vanessa went on dancing, in silence.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Look.”

I looked. Vanessa spun in a pirouette, leaped in grand jeté, held a long beautiful pose in arabesque. I shook my head, not understanding what Johnny wanted me to see.

“When you watch her dance,” Johnny said, “you can see the music. She’s part of it.”

He turned the sound back on, then off again, and suddenly I understood what he meant. The music was still there, in every move and pose. Music in motion.

“Does she still dance?” Johnny asked.

“No. She hasn’t for years. She’s got multiple sclerosis; she can’t even walk any more.”

Johnny was silent for a long time. Then he said, “I can’t imagine what that would be like. Suppose I could never play an instrument again? I think I’d go mad.”

“I know.”

We stayed up together and watched the video to the end, and then we played all the other videos I had of Vanessa’s dancing, and when I finally got to sleep that night, the dance went on in my dreams.

The next morning at work I felt like the walking dead. I don’t function at all well on two hours of sleep. I stumbled through my rounds, drawing blood samples from one patient after another, thankful that I was skilled enough to hit veins even when half asleep. I’ve been drawing blood for two years now and I’m good at it; I usually find the vein first try even on the most difficult patients. But it’s rather a thankless job. People seem to find phlebotomists even more terrifying than dentists.

Finally I came to the last patient on the morning list. I checked my list against the card on the door, noted the match, and only then recognized the name. Inside the room, Vanessa Ahrensen was waiting for me.

She sat by the window in a sporty motorized wheelchair, looking out at the lawns and parking lots below. When she heard me knock she turned and smiled.

“Why, hello,” she said. “Heather, isn’t it? Don’t tell me you’re one of the vampires.”

I set down my tray of collection tubes on the bedside table. “I’m afraid so. Sorry.”

“I’m grateful for what you did for Lilly last night.”

“Is she all right?”

“Yes, she’s fine. A few bruises, that’s all. I’m glad you were there to help her.”

I said, “I’m glad we happened to be there. It was such a freak accident.”

Vanessa frowned slightly, and held out her arm for me. I was suddenly nervous—I had never before drawn blood from someone I idolized—and I sighed with relief when I saw her veins, lying along her arm in a beautifully visible pattern. The tourniquet lifted the vein I wanted nicely, and I slipped the needle in with ease in spite of the attack of nerves. The first Vacutainer tube began to fill with blood.

“Lilly seems to think of you as a friend.” Vanessa said suddenly.

“Well, yes. I suppose so.” I switched tubes and started filling the second one.

“I think I should tell you something about her, then.”

“Tell me what?”

“To start with, what happened last night wasn’t an accident. She did it deliberately.”

I glanced up at Vanessa’s face, thoroughly confused. I said, “Surely you don’t mean she ran into a tree on purpose.”

Vanessa shrugged. “She’s done such things before.”

“But why—” I broke off, remembering the odd look on Lilly’s lace, and her words, I thought it would be more exciting.

“If you watch her dance for long enough,” Vanessa said, “you’ll see it. What she lacks.”

The second tube was full of blood. I switched to the third one, thinking of what I’d seen of Lilly’s dancing. The uncanny precision, the way she danced through Johnny ’s musical mistakes without even noticing.

“You mean musicality,” I said hesitantly.

“More than that. Passion, joy, excitement… these are things she doesn’t feel. She doesn’t understand music. All her dance is done to a count inside her head. When she was little her doctors thought she had autism. Then they watched her move and dance, and they said well, perhaps not autism, but something like it. They criticized me, you know, for pushing her into dance, but I did not push. She asked for classes when she was five.” Vanessa paused, looking down at her arm as I switched to the fourth tube. “Good heavens, how much blood are you going to take?”

“One more tube, I’m afraid. They’ve ordered quite a lot of tests.”

“I must tell Dr. Peterson that his cure will do me no good if I die of anemia. He keeps telling me that he must monitor my blood for evidence of side effects from the treatment. I should think he would also be concerned about the side effects of all this blood loss.”

I managed an awkward smile, and filled the last tube in troubled silence.

“Lilly has never found it easy to have friends, you know,” Vanessa said, flexing her arm as I racked the tubes. “I tell you all this so you will understand if she seems distant, or remote. Or if she does strange things, in her struggle to feel what others do.” She touched the arm of her wheelchair, moved to the window, and glanced back at me.

“Thank you for telling me,” I said quietly.

She nodded stiffly, and turned away.

When I finished my shift that evening I went nervously looking for Tyler Mackenzie. I’d never gone looking for him before; we’d only talked on the occasions that we had passed in the hall. I found him alone in the M.S. lab, intent on a computer screen. I stood in the doorway for a moment, hesitant. I didn’t want to interrupt him in the middle of something important. I was about to slip away quietly when he pushed his chair back from the screen, noticed me, and smiled.

“Hi, Heather.”

“Hi. How’s it going?”

“Oh, pretty well. What’s up with you?”

“I just wanted to ask you something. About the M.S. treatment.”

He looked surprised. “What about it?”

I knew a fair bit about it already; I had studied up on it when I’d noticed that Tyler was on the project. It was gene therapy, complicated by the fact that M.S. was caused by a combination of factors; there were two abnormal genes involved, plus a retrovirus, all working together to trick the body into attacking its own myelin sheaths. The goal of the current treatment was to stop the disease in its tracks, to prevent symptoms from growing worse with time. Not a cure, as such, but a great improvement over chronic progression.

“How effective is the treatment?” I asked.

Tyler hesitated. “It’s been difficult to prove,” he said. “M.S. treatments have always been hard to evaluate because the symptoms fluctuate so much in the normal course of the disease. Symptoms appear and disappear all the time. But the double-blind tests were promising. Extremely promising, in fact. That’s how we got the approval for this project.”

“What about the patients you’re treating now?”

“It’s too early to tell; we’ve only just started the treatments. But we’re very excited. It’s quite possible we may be able to stop the progress of the disease entirely.”

“What about reversing it? Will you be able to actually cure it some day?”

“Well, not yet. We’ve got some good theories on inducing remyelination but so far they’re not working out in practice. But someday…” He grinned. “Maybe I’ll get the Nobel prize for that. Someday.”

That grin transformed his face, making him look suddenly young and happy and carefree, and for a dazzled moment I completely forgot what we were talking about. But then I remembered to ask about Lilly; I wanted to know if she was at risk for M.S.

“She’s more at risk than the general public,” Tyler said. “The disease does run in families, of course. And it doesn’t usually manifest itself until people are young adults.”

“Could it ever cause something like autism?”

Tyler frowned. “I don’t think so. Of course, we don’t know what causes autism, but I’ve never heard of any kind of connection with multiple sclerosis. M.S. can affect the brain, the optic nerve and the speech centers, and occasionally it affects the emotions, but in the opposite way; emotions become much more labile and intense.” He stared at me suddenly. “Why in the world are you asking?”

“I know Lilly. She’s, well, a friend. And there’s something odd about her. About her emotions.”

“How old did you say she is? Nineteen?”

“Yes.”

“You think she’s autistic?”

“No. But something’s wrong with her, and Vanessa said Lilly’s doctors have never been able to figure out what.”

“Maybe I could meet her sometime,” Tyler said. “I doubt I’d figure anything out, but who knows?”

I felt a shiver of excitement; this was the perfect opportunity to ask Tyler out, with the convenient excuse of having him meet Lilly. I groped for words, but nothing would come. When the silence between us became awkward, I said lamely, “Well. Thanks for the info. Bye.”

“Bye,” Tyler said absently, and went back to his work.

I walked out of the lab and into the bustling hall, feeling frustrated, and stupid, and very much alone.

I got home late that evening, cranky and tired, and found Johnny in front of the mirror, checking his reflection from every angle.

“What do you think?” he asked me. “Do I look OK?”

“Of course,” I told him, surprised; Johnny is not usually one to stare into mirrors. Anyway he always looks good, even at his scruffiest, and tonight he was dressed in a good shirt and new jeans, his long hair neatly tied back in a tail. “Why?” I asked him. “Do you have a date?”

He smiled happily. “You bet. I asked Lilly to come down to the cafe tonight to listen to us play.”

“You asked Lilly out?”

“Sure did.”

“And she’s coming?” I said doubtfully.

“Well, yes, of course. Say, you’re coming to see us tonight too, aren’t you?”

“Oh, Johnny. I was going to, but I’m just so tired.”

“Tyler’s coming,” Johnny said.

“Tyler?”

“Well, I know you like him. And I bumped into him last week while I was waiting for you to get off work, so I asked him to drop by the cafe tonight to hear our music.”

I stared at Johnny.

“So you’re coming?” he asked.

I nodded silently. Then I gave Johnny a push out of the way, and claimed the mirror for myself.

Sad to say, the mirror didn’t help much. Johnny has all the good looks in the family, too, and it didn’t help that I ended up sitting at the cafe table next to the stunning Lilly. But Tyler was kind; though he did a double take when he saw Lilly, he sat down next to me. I introduced them, they said hello, and we turned our attention to the corner where Johnny and his band were setting up. It was almost eight o’clock.

Johnny joined us at our table, bright and happy, and sat beside Lilly and talked softly to her for a moment; I couldn’t hear what was said, and was a bit embarrassed when I realized that I was straining to eavesdrop. I was feeling some turmoil; should I tell Johnny what Vanessa had told me? Or should I stay quiet, and let things happen as they would? Troubled, I watched as Johnny slipped away from the table and returned to his group. Tyler leaned close to me and said, “Hey, Heather, what kind of band is this?”

He was gesturing at the band’s more unusual instruments. Johnny had his hammered dulcimer out, and Richard and Mary had a mandolin and a twelve-string guitar, while Gillian had the weird percussion and Jody her fiddle. I named off the instruments to Tyler.

He said, “What’s that thing that looks like a mixing bowl?”

“Ah, well. It’s a mixing bowl. Part full of water. It has some interesting tonal qualities.” I decided not to get into Gillian’s various strings of keys, all of which chimed with different tones; Johnny’s percussionist is talented but admittedly bizarre.

“This is Johnny’s weirdest group, but it’s his favorite,” I told Tyler and Lilly. “His rock and jazz groups just play covers at clubs, but Johnny writes a lot of the music for this bunch. It’s my favorite too.”

“Huh,” Tyler said. “I’m a rock and roll man myself. So, Lilly, what kind of music do you like best?”

Lilly hesitated. Then she put on a smile, and said, “Oh, I’m interested in most all types of music.”

Then the lights went down.

There were not many people in the cafe, but when the music started everyone looked up from their steaming mugs and plates of food, and listened. Some, caught by surprise, were spellbound. Others turned back to their food or their conversations, but glanced toward the musicians occasionally, and took some time to listen. I was as rapt as anyone, caught up in the spell of the music. The candles on the tables flickered, the strings of keys chimed, the fiddle and dulcimer sang together. My favorite song was one of Johnny’s compositions, a duet sung by Johnny and Mary, accompanied only by Gillian’s whispery chiming percussion. I glanced at my companions in the middle of the song. Tyler was mesmerized. And Lilly was bewildered.

In the glow of candlelight I could see the concentration on Lilly’s face as she struggled to comprehend. I saw her darting little glances at the other audience members, noting their reactions. She glanced at me, and I hastily looked back at the band. When the number was over she smiled and applauded, but her expression and movements looked forced, as if she were following a script. Johnny caught her eye, flashed a smile at her, and started the next song. And Lilly gazed at him as he played, in a kind of puzzled wonder.

When the concert was over I let Johnny have the car, to drive Lilly home, and walked outside with Tyler. The parking lot was dark, and deserted except for the cafe’s patrons, all of whom were now leaving. A cold wind blew past, fluttering the LIVE MUSIC banner on the cafe’s window. My Rabbit rattled out of the lot and onto the street, carrying Johnny and Lilly and an assortment of instruments.

“She looks like her mother,” Tyler said out of nowhere.

“You mean Lilly.”

“Yes, of course. And I do see something odd about her, though she hides it well. I doubt most people would notice.”

“But you did.”

He shrugged. “My sister’s autistic. There’s something about Lilly that reminds me of her, but it’s very subtle.”

“Her mother told me that Lilly was diagnosed as autistic when she was little, but the doctors kept changing their minds.”

“There’re a lot of different degrees of autism. Some people are completely lost in their own worlds. But others function perfectly well in society. Like Diana, my sister. She gets along pretty well.”

“Lilly dances. Ballet. Beautifully.”

“Well, that wouldn’t fit with autism. But something similar, perhaps. Hmmm.”

“Do you think I should tell Johnny?”

“Lord, Heather, I don’t know. He’s your brother, you should know best about that. Anyway, what makes you think he doesn’t know already?”

I stared at him; I had not even considered that possibility. But Johnny was more observant than I was. He probably did know.

“Your brother’s quite a musician,” Tyler said. “Is he older or younger?”

“Younger. My parents’ problem child. You should have seen the look on my mother’s face when she visited us last year and found that his hair was longer than mine.”

Tyler laughed. “I can imagine.”

“My parents were so glad when he came to town and moved in with me. They were sure I’d be a good influence, and I’d convince him to change his ways. I’ve never had the heart to tell them that it’s not going to happen. I do envy Johnny sometimes, you know. I wish I could have some of his musical ability, some of his carefree attitude.”

“I don’t know,” Tyler said. “I think you do all right with what you have.”

“Thanks.” I knew I was blushing, but it was probably too dark for him to tell. “How old is your sister?”

“Fifteen. She’s still in high school. She lives with my folks back in Colorado. I don’t see them much. Actually I haven’t seen much of anyone since I started work with Dr. Peterson. The work takes so much time, and you always feel like you should be working faster, harder. Especially when you start meeting patients, like Vanessa.”

“I see what you mean. But surely it’s good to get out of the lab once in a while. A change of pace, a fresh start.”

“Maybe so.” Tyler shivered and stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “So, can I drive you home, since your brother’s run off with your car?”

“You sure can,” I said happily, and he opened the door of his car for me.

I was still awake when Johnny got in that night. I had no business being awake, since I’d been up almost the whole night before, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Tyler. Anyway, I had tomorrow off, and could sleep all day if need be.

I heard Johnny come in, heard various bangings and bumpings as he got his instruments through the door and into his room. Then I heard the rustling of papers for a time. Perhaps Johnny was looking for a particular piece of music, or perhaps he was changing the pictures on his work wall. Yesterday all the pictures had been waterfalls. Johnny uses pictures to compose his music. Don’t ask me how. He says he reads them like a music score, and plays what he sees, but it’s never been something I’ve understood.

After a time I heard the soft notes of a flute. The music was simple and spare, in a minor key. Each phrase of the song seemed to reach for something, sad and longing, never finding what it sought. Usually music can put me to sleep, which is a useful thing when you live with a nocturnal musician. But this music was disturbing, and though the flute was soft and low the music was no lullaby. I got up and went to Johnny’s room.

He didn’t know I was there at first. He was sitting cross-legged on the foot of his bed, flute in hand, a rumpled notation book in his lap. Every so often he paused in his playing to scribble on the book in his lap. Each phrase he played was different, but it was all part of the same song. I stood in the doorway for a long time, watching and listening, and Johnny played the last phrase, made his last notation, and put down pencil and flute. He was deep in thought, as quiet and pensive as I had ever seen him. He looked up then, and saw me.

“Heather, what’re you doing up? I thought you always slept through this stuff.”

“I do. Just not tonight. I haven’t gone to sleep yet. And that music… what are you playing?”

I looked at his wall. The waterfalls were still in the places where they had been earlier, but this music had not sounded in the least like a waterfall.

“It’s not on the wall,” Johnny said. “Just a picture in my mind. Lilly.”

“Oh.” And I understood why the music was so sad, so full of longing; why it seemed to be missing something. And I knew that Tyler was right; Johnny already knew everything we knew about Lilly.

“She can’t feel things, Heather. She wants to; she sees others doing it, but she can t.”

“I know.”

“But maybe I can help her.”

“Johnny, she’s been searching all her life, and a lot of people have tried to help.”

“Yeah. But I’m the one falling in love.”

“In love? But Lilly can’t feel love, can she?”

“Most people can, but they don’t. Lilly can’t, but she tries. She looks for it, even if she’ll never find it: That makes her special. Don’t you see?”

It was Johnny’s typical convoluted logic, but I did see what he meant. Somehow Lilly had touched him, deeper, I thought, than any girl ever had before. But this relationship was hopeless from the start, and it made me sad, and tired. I gave Johnny a hug, and went to bed.

During the next week I didn’t see much of Tyler, but I dropped by the lab occasionally, and once he came and said hello while 1 was on duty, and he always seemed glad to see me. So I was happy enough. And Johnny saw Lilly almost every day. He took her to the mountains and to the zoo, to rock concerts and to symphony orchestras. He took her to music stores where she could sample a hundred different types of music; he took her to movies and candlelit dinners, and when she asked him to, he took her to bed.

The next morning, when I was getting ready for work, I saw Johnny sitting disconsolately on our little sofa, staring into space. I rubbed my eyes and looked again; he was still there, and he was awake. Johnny is never awake in the morning.

“Johnny? You OK?”

He glanced up, and shook his head. I sat down beside him and said, “It’s Lilly, isn’t it.”

“Yeah.” He looked down at the sofa and tore a piece of worn thread out of the fabric. “We slept together last night. She asked me to. She’d seen it on movies and TV, listened to people talk; she thought it would make the difference. And so did I, you know?”

“And it didn’t make a difference?”

“No. ’Course not. I took her home just before dawn, and I started crying on the way, and she touched my face and looked at me, and she didn’t know why I was sad. Nothing’s changed for her. Maybe it can’t change.”

“I don’t think it can, Johnny.”

“Doesn’t matter, though. I still love her.”

“I know.”

I sighed and got up from the sofa; I was going to be late for work. “Come on, Johnny, go to bed. You have to play for ballet class tonight, remember?”

“Oh, Heather. I don’t want to.”

“Well, you have to. You’re behind on your share of the rent. Way behind, I might add.”

“All right,” he said listlessly. “I’ll go.”

It wasn’t easy, but I got Johnny out of the house and into the ballet studio that night. He sat at the piano, uncommonly morose, as the girls entered the studio and started to warm up. When Lilly came in, he caught her eye and his face lit up with happiness. She looked back at him, gave him an acknowledging, automatic smile, and went to the barre. Poor Johnny. It was going to be hard for him.

The class began, and though Johnny’s playing lacked his usual energy and vigor, he made no mistakes that I could hear. We warmed up with barre exercises and then moved out to the floor.

We started out diagonally across the floor, one by one, chames turns on pointe. Lilly was first in line. She sprang up onto pointe and started across the floor in precise half circles, legs and back perfectly straight, arms graceful and controlled. I watched her enviously; I was terrible at chames turns. I saw Johnny glance up at her, over the piano, and his music suddenly became stronger, more compelling. The tempo changed subtly, and Lilly hesitated fractionally, almost visibly adjusting the count in her head, and then danced on. Johnny was trying to touch her through the music, but it wasn’t going to work. It hurt to watch, but I couldn’t stop looking. And then Lilly faltered.

She lost her balance, wobbled a bit trying to regain it, and fell off pointe halfway across the floor. There was an audible gasp from the other girls. This happened to everyone else, especially me, but not to Lilly. Never Lilly. She never stumbled or fell. But there she was, in the middle of the floor, gathering herself to start the turns again. She made it almost to the opposite corner before losing her balance again and coming to a stop. The music stumbled with her, and Johnny called out anxiously, “Lilly, are you OK?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “My legs are just tired.” She curtseyed apologetically to Marianne and crossed to the opposite corner for the next set of turns. Nonplussed, Johnny returned to the piano, and class went on. Lilly’s turns on the opposite diagonal were as flawless as usual, and so was her dancing for the rest of the class, but when we walked out of the studio she looked tired, which wasn’t at all usual for her.

“Do you feel OK?” I asked her. The cool night air of the parking lot felt wonderful on my face, but Lilly still looked strained.

“I don’t know,” she said. “My legs do seem tired.”

“There’s the flu going around,” Johnny said. “Maybe you’re coming down with something.”

“I don’t know,” Lilly said again, looking puzzled, and abruptly she fell to her knees in the gravel. Startled, Johnny caught her arm and helped her to her feet, and she stood for a moment brushing dirt and bits of rock off her legs. I touched her face; there was no fever that I could detect, but without doubt something was quite wrong with her. We refused to let her drive. Johnny took her home in the Rabbit, and I followed, driving Lilly’s Oldsmobile.

Lilly’s car smelled new. I touched the passenger seat as I drove; it was spotless. There was no trash on the floor, no papers strewn on the back seat, nothing hanging from the mirror or stuffed in the glove box. It occurred to me, as I drove, that the car was as perfect, and as sterile, as Lilly’s dancing. As Lilly was herself.

Lilly felt fine the next day, but the day after her symptoms returned, and Vanessa brought her to the hospital. I drew blood for a multitude of tests, but the bloodwork revealed no abnormalities. The MRI and the genetic tests held the answer; Lilly carried both of the defective genes for M.S., and her MRI showed distinct plaques of demyelination in the spinal cord and brain stem.

When my shift was over I went to visit her. I found her sitting in a chair by the bed, leafing idly through a magazine.

“Hi, Lilly,” I said. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine, thank you. My legs just get tired now and then. I suppose after a while I’ll have to stop dancing.”

I looked down at the floor. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. I don’t really get anything out of dance, even after all this time.”

“Why do you dance, then?”

“Because of Mother.”

“Because she wanted you to dance?”

“No, no. Because of what dancing gave her. What it still gives her. There’s this look she gets on her face when she just thinks about dancing; it’s joy, I guess. I wanted to know what that felt like. I thought if I practiced hard enough, or for a long enough time, I’d find out. You know.”

“Yes. But it didn’t happen?”

“Oh no. But I got used to dancing. It’s comfortable, I suppose. A routine.”

I didn’t know what to say. Lilly turned her head slightly, to glance out the window, and I was struck by her expression; her face was serene, untroubled. The prospect of giving up dance, of living with a potentially crippling disease… it didn’t trouble her at all. I wondered if that was something to be grateful for.

On my way out through the halls that night I ran into Tyler. Literally. I was walking along staring at the floor and wondering how I might react to such a diagnosis (not well, I was sure) when Tyler came around a corner with an armload of papers. We collided, but fortunately he was able to hold on to the papers.

“Sorry,” I said. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Me either. Well, no harm done. Are you off for the night?”

“Yes.”

“Good, good. I’m headed home myself. It’s been quite a day.”

“Yes, it has. Well… good night.”

“Good night, Heather. See you later.”

He was off then, down the hall to the doctors’ parking lot, and I was left alone with all the things I could have said. Such as Would you like to come over? I’ll make dinner or Johnny’s playing at the cafe on Friday; want to come? or Can I interest you in a movie? But, I told myself, the time wasn’t right. He had all those papers with him; he would probably be up half the night working on them. Another time would, no doubt, be better.

I was almost to the parking-lot door when it opened and Johnny came in with a blast of cold air. He was windblown and out of breath. “Heather!” he said. “Glad I caught you. Can you give me a lift home after I’ve seen Lilly?”

“Sure,” I said, “but visiting hours are over.”

“I know. I couldn’t get a lift from Charlie’s; I had to walk. It’s freezing out there.”

“Charlie’s? You came all the way from Charlie’s?” It was five miles, at least.

“Yeah. Come with me, OK? You can show me the best way to sneak in.”

“Johnny—”

“Please?”

I groaned, and gave in.

When we slipped into Lilly’s room she was sitting up in bed with her magazine. Johnny crossed the room, sat on the edge of her bed, and took her hands.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m OK.”

“Good.”

He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a single yellow rose. “For you,” he said, handing it to her. She took it hesitantly, looking at it as if she had never seen a rose before. “I’ve got to go now,” Johnny said, “before Heather drags me out. It’s past visiting hours and you need your rest. But I want you to know I’m thinking about you. I’ll see you tomorrow, OK?”

She nodded. He kissed her gently and turned to go. As we slipped out the door I glanced back at her. She held the rose in one hand, gazing at it, and lifted her other hand to her face, lightly pressing her fingers to her lips. Then the door fell closed behind us, and I followed Johnny out into the hall.

“That was a very pretty rose,” I told Johnny. “Ah, where exactly did you get it, between here and Charlie’s?”

“It was a big bush,” Johnny said. “There’s lots more roses on it.”

“As I thought.”

“It’s just not fair.”

“What’s not fair? Privately owned rosebushes?”

“Lilly. I mean, her dancing ability is really all she had. Now she doesn’t even have that any more.”

“I know. I was just thinking, at least none of this upsets her. She doesn’t really care. But there’s something awful about that, too.”

He nodded sadly, and I put an arm around his shoulders, and walked him out to the car.

Over the next few weeks Vanessa continued her treatments, and began a campaign to get Lilly admitted to the experimental program. The red tape was phenomenal, but Vanessa was wealthy and influential, and she had funded a great deal of the research herself. Even so, Tyler thought her chances of getting Lilly admitted were poor. “It was hard enough for us to get Vanessa in,” he said, “and Lilly’s much younger and much less ill. She won’t be considered a good candidate for something experimental.”

I thought that seemed strange, since they were trying to stop the course of the disease, not cure it. Surely the ideal time to do the treatment would be early on, when the symptoms were still mild. Tyler shrugged and agreed, but said that red tape was red tape.

Time passed, and Lilly returned to her routine. She went to class as usual, but her dancing had lost its perfection. Often she grew tired, or stumbled, or lost her balance, and after a few falls she stopped wearing her pointe shoes. Soft shoes were safer. Of course none of this seemed to bother her, but it was distressing to me. And to Johnny.

When I left dance class with Johnny and Lilly on the night before Thanksgiving, it was snowing. There was no wind to speak of, and the snowflakes drifted slowly down to land on our hair and coats.

“Oh great!” Johnny said happily. “Snow. I love snow.”

“That’s because you don’t have a car,” I said, looking at the Rabbit to see how much snow I was going to have to scrape off.

“Oh, come on, Heather, it’s barely even freezing. The roads are clear; there’s no ice. It’s beautiful.”

“Hmph. If you like it so much, you scrape the snow off the car.”

“It is beautiful,” Lilly said.

I looked at her in surprise; she sounded as if she meant it. She gazed up for a moment, watching the snowflakes spin down out of the clouds. Then she said, “I’m going to start the treatments. Mother got me into the program.”

“Oh, Lilly! That’s wonderful,” I said. “When do you start?”

“Next week. After the holiday.”

“That’s good.” Johnny took her hand. “Really good.”

I said, “I wonder how she swung that! I never thought she’d get through all that red tape so fast. Your mother’s really something, Lilly. Is she going to come for Thanksgiving dinner?”

“Yes. We’ll be there at six. Thank you for asking us.”

“Don’t thank me; Johnny’s doing the cooking.”

“And it will be excellent,” Johnny said. “Lilly, where’s your snow scraper?”

I ended up scraping the snow off the Rabbit after all, while Johnny attended solicitously to Lilly’s car. We were both wet and shivering as we drove out of the parking lot. Johnny brushed snow out of his hair and rubbed his hands in front of the Rabbit’s heater. The heat didn’t seem to be working very well.

“So what are we having for Thanksgiving?” I asked.

Johnny shrugged. “Don’t know. Let’s stop by the store on the way home.”

“OK. It’s nice that Vanessa’s coming, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is. And Lilly. Listen, Heather, why don’t you invite Tyler?”

My heart jumped a little; I had thought of it as soon as I’d found out Tyler was staying in town for the holiday. “I don’t know,” I said. “I’m not sure he’d want to come.”

“Then ask him, and find out if he wants to come.”

“I just don’t know if he’s really interested in me. He hasn’t called or anything in a long time.”

“You haven’t called him either, and I know you’re interested,” Johnny said reasonably. “Come on, be spontaneous. Invite him. Meet him at the door in a glamorous dress, with a flower in your hair.”

For a moment I fantasized doing just that. In the back of my closet was an elegant violet silk dress that my mother had given me. I could wear that, and when Tyler came I could—

I returned to reality in a rush, and navigated an icy patch of road. “I couldn’t do that,” I said.

“Why not?” Johnny asked.

“I just couldn’t. He couldn’t possibly be interested in me, anyway. He’d probably think I was crazy if I threw myself at him like that.”

“Oh, Heather. I think maybe he’d like it.”

“I think maybe he wouldn’t. I can’t, Johnny. I just can’t.”

Johnny sighed, and remained thoughtfully silent for the rest of the drive to the store.

Thanksgiving dinner was interesting. Johnny had gone for the semi-traditional effect, which this year meant that there were bits of smoked turkey in the cheese-and-mushroom omelets. Vanessa raised her eyebrows when her dinner was set before her, and Lilly looked surprised, but they both appreciatively cleared their plates. After the omelets Johnny served hot tea and cookies. I was warming my hands on my teacup, wondering where Tyler was right now and what he was doing, when Vanessa asked Johnny to play for her.

“Sure,” Johnny said. “What do you want to hear?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Something you love to play. Anything.”

Johnny disappeared into his room for a moment, and emerged with a guitar in one hand and a flute in the other. He played a few pieces on the guitar at first, then switched to the flute. Vanessa listened with rapture.

Johnny launched into a set of dance tunes, and after a moment Vanessa closed her eyes and began to sway to the music. It hurt to watch her, sitting there in her chair, when she so obviously longed to be dancing. I tried to imagine how Vanessa would dance to this music if she could, what steps she might use, how she would look dancing here in my very own apartment. I could almost see her.

I could see her.

I blinked and turned to face her. She was still sitting in her chair, but she was motionless now, her hand pressed tightly to her mouth. She was staring not at Johnny, but at Lilly, who was no longer at the table.

Lilly was dancing.

And I had never seen her dance like this before. For a stunned, confused moment, I could not figure out what was different. Then I saw it. Lilly’s face was alive with expression. Her body moved with the music, from her toes to her fingertips, as if she were a part of it. I stole a glance at Johnny; he was trembling and he looked like he was about to drop the flute, but he somehow managed to play on without missing a note. Lilly lifted her arms, looking up exultantly, and spun across the tiny floor.

In the middle of a turn, Lilly’s legs buckled and she fell. The music halted just as abruptly; Johnny had dropped the flute. It hit the floor with a silvery metallic clank, then bounced twice and rolled into a corner. Johnny knelt on the floor in front of Lilly, and helped her up.

“Oh, Johnny, I felt that,” she said in amazement. “I really felt it; I understood it. I really did! Oh—” She fell against him, tumbling to her knees before Johnny caught her and lifted her back up. “My legs have gone very strange.”

“Can you stand?” Johnny asked anxiously.

“No, I don’t think so.”

Johnny helped her to a chair and she sank into it gratefully. Vanessa wheeled quickly to her side, her look of wonder changing instantly to alarm.

“Lilly, your legs. How do they feel?”

“It’s strange. Weak, and kind of numb. I suppose it’s just the M.S. getting worse.” Suddenly she looked frightened. “It is getting worse, isn’t it? It’s happening so fast. I didn’t think it would happen so fast.”

Vanessa took her hands. “It does seem fast, I know. But you’ll start treatments next week, and they’ll help, I just know they will. They have for me; I’ve had no progression at all since starting them. And they should work even better for you.”

“I’m frightened.”

Vanessa sat for a moment, mouth open, as if she had no idea what to do. And how would she know? Had her child ever been frightened before? Finally, hesitantly, she reached out and took Lilly in her arms.

On the Saturday after Thanksgiving, Tyler was at work in the M.S. lab, setting everything up for Lilly’s first treatment on Monday. I peeked in through the doorway; no one else was there. I took a deep breath and went in.

“Heather,” Tyler said. He looked surprised to see me.

“Hi. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure.”

“It’s about Lilly. She’s had some really dramatic changes.”

He frowned. “The symptoms are that much worse? What’s happened?”

“The symptoms are worse, I suppose, but that’s not what I meant. She’s started feeling things. On Thanksgiving she was listening to Johnny play his flute, and all of a sudden she could feel the music. She understood it. And she was frightened about having M.S. She wasn’t frightened before, you know.”

“I know,” he said softly. “Is this still going on?”

“Yes. Sometimes it’s more intense than others, but ever since then, yes.”

“And the M.S. symptoms?”

“Her legs seem worse. But that kind of comes and goes, too.”

“And she’s never had feelings like this before.”

“No. Never.”

Tyler sat silently for a time, staring blankly at his computer screen. Then he shook his head slowly. “It’s one hell of a coincidence, isn’t it.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He said, “Lord knows it probably is a coincidence. They do happen. All the time. But I wonder… you know, she does have brain stem lesions.”

I looked at him in confusion. He caught my look and explained, “A few patients with brain stem attacks have emotional lability. The slightest thing can make them laugh or cry; the feelings are so strong that they’re literally overwhelming. I’ve got one patient who has to take tranquilizers and antidepressants just to function.”

“Then the M.S. might be what’s giving Lilly these feelings.”

“It’s possible.” He stared at me for a moment, then shook his head. “But there’s no way to know for sure.”

“Oh.”

“But whatever the cause, it s such a marvelous thing for her, to be able to feel, after all this time!”

“Yes. You should have seen her listening to Johnny’s music.”

“Must have been great.”

“Yes.”

The door flew open abruptly and Dr. Peterson hurried in with an armload of folders. He nodded to Tyler, dumped his folders on another desk, and sat down with a sigh.

“Excuse me a minute,” Tyler said. “I’ve got to ask Dr. Peterson something, and it’s best to catch him before he gets buried in his papers.”

“Sure,” I said. He crossed to Dr. Peterson’s desk and I bit my lip; as soon as he got back I could say We re taking Lilly to the cafe tonight, and Johnny’s playing. Why don’t you come? But then I remembered how he’d looked at me when I’d come in. Surprised to see me. Startled, really. Perhaps it would be better to leave well enough alone. After all, here I was, poorly educated, no artistic talent, plodding along in a dead-end job with no ambitions for anything else. What research physician in his right mind would be interested?

So when Tyler returned, I thanked him politely for the information, and walked away.

At the cafe that night I sat with Lilly in the candlelight, listening to Johnny and his band. They played exceptionally well that night, inspired, no doubt, by Lilly. She sat perched on the edge of her chair, her face rapt, leaning forward as if to capture every nuance of the music. Johnny never took his eyes off her, and I knew he played and sang for her alone.

At the end of the first set the band took a break, drifting out into the audience for drinks and conversation, and Johnny went straight to Lilly.

“Will you show me the instruments?” Lilly asked, and Johnny took her by the hand, leading her from fiddle to dulcimer to percussion. She touched Gillian’s keys experimentally, setting off a rippling chime, and peered curiously at the mixing bowl. She played a few notes on the dulcimer, and laughed in delight. Johnny smiled at her in a way that I had never seen before, a dizzying, breathtaking smile, and took her in his arms. She held on to him tightly, holding on, I knew, to someone she suddenly and unexpectedly loved. It was a beautiful sight, really. But painful for me. If only someone would smile at me like that. If only someone would hold me like that.

On Monday morning Lilly went to the hospital, leaning on a cane, and politely refused treatment. Vanessa and Dr. Peterson were utterly shocked; Tyler was not. I wasn’t surprised either, though neither Tyler nor I had talked to her about our speculations. She had obviously speculated a bit herself.

After a brief and emotional argument, Vanessa wheeled off in tears, and Dr. Peterson shrugged and philosophically returned to his office. Lilly turned to Tyler, looking troubled. “You understand, don’t you?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“I didn’t decide this lightly. I’m frightened of the disease, of how fast it’s progressing. But I just can’t take any chance of losing this, this… feeling.”

“You must understand that you may lose it anyway. There’s no way of knowing for sure it’s the M.S. that’s causing it, or if it will last.”

“I know. I’ve thought about all that. It’s frightening.” She shivered, then shook it off, and smiled. “But I’ll take every minute of it that I can get. I feel alive now, like I never did before.”

“I know.” Tyler smiled back. “I can see it.”

I could see it too, ever so clearly. She can’t feel love, Johnny had said, but she tries. And now that she could feel, she was alive with feeling, glowing with it. Unlike so many others. Most people can feel it, Johnny had continued, but they don’t.

They just don’t.

Tyler and Lilly were talking animatedly. I slipped out of the room and walked away, alone in the crowded corridors of the hospital.