Page 85 of No Hope of Rescue

“Well yeah. You just get to come with two dates.”

“I don’t dance anyway,” Riley says. “I’m just here for the company.”

Echo Falls tries to outdo itself with Spring Carnival. Pink and yellow party lights are strung across the inside of the two massive tents, and the band is at one end—not locals—a small three-piece group from Denver. Food and drink tables line up on the far side of the tent. Propane heaters are placed and lit at strategic spots to assure no one freezes. Plus, there are two large outdoor firepits for those who want to roast hot dogs or make s’mores.

We find a table with three seats, and Riley eases into a chair.

“Time to dance, Codie.” I stand and extend my right arm. My sister takes my hand, and I place my other arm at her waist. Three songs later, she and I try to convince Riley to join me on the dance floor.

“Are you kidding?” she says, continuing to shake her head.

Codie plops herself in a chair and wipes her brow. “Your turn. Get out of that chair.”

Various people—neighbors, shop owners, and other first responders—we know try to chime in:

“Give him a break, Riley.”

“Let’s see what you’ve got, Riley.”

And “Riley, you clean up good” do nothing to help move her.

Finally, as the baseline grows deep, the music slows, and the house lights dim, I loosen my tie, extend an arm, drop my gaze to the ground, and hold out my hand to her.

Riley can’t leave things hanging, I know this.

In a moment, she slips her hand in mine, and then I pull her gently to her feet and swing her into position, facing me.

Her arm, long and brown against my suit jacket, is exquisite. The lights above leave Riley’s skin glowing. Her shoulders are bare, spaghetti straps slicing with precision over the tops of her shoulders. Those shoulders are covered in goosebumps. I make sure we stay near one of the propane heaters.

The music finds a melody, and she moves against me. I lead, she follows, and our bodies seem to find symmetry. We move together and with the music. Closing my eyes, I smell her skin: lilac and milk and then that hint of stone. Small, delicate curls corkscrew behind her ears. When the light is right, I can see how the vertebrae from the nape of her neck knits evenly down her back, diving into her dress. When I press my lips to her, right at the base of her neck behind her ear, she shivers and pulls away. We wrap arms around each other and rock together.

My head spins. I don’t want to wait for what I need to do.

Lights come up and then the music finds a strong, faster beat.

Though we’ve been together three months, we’ve really been together three years. But at moments, when she’s speaking with someone, sharing a joke with ancient Errol Winn, or helping little three-year old Mabel with her shoe, there are new ways to love her. Everyday this happens. Every day I fall more deeply in love.

Tonight, she takes my breath away. Her joy at moving, of swinging her body, of touching me and feeling electrified with the music, is intoxicating. After the third dance, we both join Codie at the beverage table.

The music is too loud, the punch too weak, and the decorations too gaudy, but Codie is enjoying herself. The theme of the evening is “Climb Every Mountain,” which I note is a bit misplaced. When I point out to Riley that a song title attributed to a nun isn’t my idea of a romance-themed evening, she claps a hand over her mouth and laughs.

It’s at that moment Riley pulls me to her and slips a hand in mine. “I didn’t know you were such a good dancer.”

“My dad taught me three things about dance,” I say. “He always said ‘Lead with confidence. Listen to the music.’ But the last tip is the best.”

She cocks her head at me.

“He said, ‘She may follow your lead, but you need to follow her heart.’”

She looks at me with such tenderness, I have to look away.

“Hey,” I say and clear my throat. “There’s Jace and Ross.” Of my brothers, only Jace showed up, in black jeans and a dark red turtleneck, looking sappy for love. I also asked him to come so he could take Codie home. I have other duties tonight. But that boy is so ready for the right girl to walk into his life.

When Lisa Comstock takes his hand, and ten minutes later the music follows a baseline again and dials everything down, I tell myself to remind him: it has to be the right girl.

Ross finally crosses the dance floor and asks Codie to dance. I start to object, when Riley puts her finger to my lips and shakes her head almost imperceptibly. She slips an arm around my waist.

Codie, beaming, stands up and starts to trip, but Ross has her arm. The corsage I bought her keeps catching her long hair, and she quickly unpins it and sets it on the table. She smiles at me only because I happen to be in her line of sight.