Page 36 of Licks

Her next glance at August was less cougar and more repelled. I bit my tongue to keep from cackling. He cradled his stomach and winced, playing along, but there was no missing how his lips compressed and the veins in his neck strained against his skin. He didn’t like his given role. It made me enjoy it even more.

She huffed out a breath. “Follow me, then. Whoever built this space didn’t have a clue how often kids need bathroom breaks.”

She strutted ahead, feet slightly turned out, her perfect posture envy inducing. August shot me dirty looks, hand still pressed to his stomach. I winked and mouthed, Suck it up, then hurried to keep up with the ballerina.

“Do you have ledgers here?” I asked, trying to match her elegant stride. “Lists of who took classes back then?”

A prim huff escaped her. “That would imply a level of organization.”

Disappointment deflated my posture, but I didn’t let up. “There’s a photo in the glass case, near the entrance—one of three girls doing a jazz slide or something. Do you know which one I mean?”

She took a sharp right down another hall, arms swinging, shoulders back. “Those would be the Sunshine Girls.”

“Sunshine Girls?”

She stopped abruptly and pointed to two doors in an alcove. “Bathroom is there.”

August, never breaking character, offered a pained smile. I muffled my laugh with a cough.

The ballerina cocked her head at him, another long perusal taking him in from head to toe. “You’re August Cruz.”

He froze mid-step toward the bathroom. I tried to keep my eyeballs from popping out of my head.

Still hamming up his upset-stomach performance, he winced but nodded. “I am.”

She planted her hands on her slim hips and shook her head. “Well, I never… I’m a fan, of your early work in particular. ‘Girl with the Black Heart’ played on repeat in my home during an unpleasant divorce.”

Of course August met a music fan while pretending to have the shits. Of course she mentioned the song that immortalized my WTF.

But the fan part was the bigger deal, his successful life coming into focus. He’d always be the boy who’d pluck on his guitar strings, his tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration, but this interaction was a reminder how far he’d come.

He was an immense talent, revered around the globe. Not a limelight-bathed superstar chased by paparazzi. More like an undercover celebrity only recognized by true fans. A musician who lived out of a suitcase while touring. I wasn’t sure where’d I’d fit into that life with him. If I’d fit in.

The ballerina glanced at the bathroom door, and her wrinkled cheeks colored. “Look at me, keeping you from relieving yourself. Go on, then.”

He shot me another glare. Hopefully she read the aggravated scowl as pained. “If you stay here a minute,” he said through gritted teeth, “I can autograph something for you when I’m out.”

Embarrassed or not, he was thinking ahead, giving me more time with our mark.

She tipped her head. “Consider it done.”

He escaped into the bathroom.

She turned to me. “The Sunshine Girls were three girls who danced here a few times a week, often on their own. Two sisters and one friend. They would light up a room, hence the name. Real free spirits. They always drew a crowd.”

Those visuals rocked me as much as August being recognized, but the confirmation of my aunt’s identity had me frowning. I’d assumed my mother and her sister’s relationship had always been tumultuous, one easy to toss away. If they’d been close enough to dance and rehearse together, how had they wound up so estranged my mother had cut her sister off? She’d even refused to contact Aunt Sarah when she’d gotten sick, and I couldn’t find a number to let my aunt know her sister had passed.

If I had to guess, it was likely my mother’s “sunny” personality that had led to their falling out, whatever the reason. Not that it mattered now. All that mattered was finding my father. “Mary Hamilton was the middle girl in the photo,” I told the ballerina. “She was also my mother.”

She clasped her hands in front of her waist. “Was?” I nodded, and she clucked her tongue. “I’m sorry, dear. I remember her being quite the clown, always laughing with her friends. She brought a lot of life to this place.”

Forget being rocked. That information was like being shoved, elbowed, and kicked in the gut. My mother’s dislike for me hadn’t been a secret. She’d barely glance at my school work, regardless of my prodding. She’d eat her dinner early some nights and leave me at the table alone. She’d never once called me after I’d moved out. The only reason we’d ever seen each other was because I’d initiated contact.

Her lack of affection and sharp words hadn’t needed deciphering. Her disdain for me and her life had been crystal clear. But if she’d been such a clown, a bright light in this place, it meant I really had been the thing that drained the music from her world. The big change in her life.

Questions flooded my mind. “What do you mean by clown, exactly? Like what did she—” Abruptly, I censored my tongue. Asking about the Mary before would only result in another harsh blow. Nothing learned now would undo her harsh parenting. Best to stick to my interrogation. “Sorry. What I’m actually after is information about a boy who watched her dance.”

“Many boys watched those girls. Drew them like bees to honey.”