Free Dance, The (The Restoration Series Book #1): A Novel by Dan Walsh, Gary Smalley

the waiter returned with their drinks and took their orders. Marilyn ordered a seafood manicotti dish. She was able to talk Michele into the item she had clearly been staring at but avoiding because of the price: beef braciole in a red wine tomato sauce. After the waiter left, Marilyn bent down and put the Odds-n-Ends bag on the table. She had to set it on its side to slide the gift box out.
    “What is it?” Michele asked.
    “Wait till you see.” Marilyn carefully pried open the lid and lifted the shiny wooden box out.
    “Is it a jewelry box?”
    “Just wait.” She opened the lid, revealing a figurine of a beautiful girl in a flowing blue dress. The girl had auburn hair and porcelain smooth skin. She spun slowly in the center of the box, her arms swirling above her head.. Music began to play. But not just any music. “Do you recognize the song?” Marilyn stared at the dancing girl. Michele didn’t answer. Marilyn looked across the table. Tears welled up in Michele’s eyes.
    She did remember.
    “‘Somewhere My Love,’” Marilyn said softly. “Remember? It was ‘Lara’s Theme’ from the movie Dr. Zhivago . I saw it in the store, and the dancer instantly reminded me of you. A customer asked to hear the song, so I turned the key and I couldn’t believe what came out.”
    Michele reached for the linen napkin and dabbed her eyes.
    “Remember how we used to dance together in the living room to this song, when you were taking dancing lessons?” Marilyn said.
    “That was . . . so much fun,” Michele said. “You’d push all the furniture off to the side, roll up the oriental rug, and we’d spin around and around.”
    “Just in our socks on the wood floor,” Marilyn added, then sighed. “I was awful, but you danced beautifully.”
    “What are you talking about, Mom? I was a clumsy twelve-year-old. You were the dancer. I loved watching the way you moved.”
    Marilyn shook her head. “I don’t think we’re having the same memory, darling.” She suddenly realized the music box was a little loud for the space, even though they were outside. Several women at tables nearby were staring. “I better close this.”
    “No, not yet,” said a petite elderly woman at the table to her right. “Please. Not till the song finishes.” She sat next to another woman, about her same age. Both finely dressed. “My late husband, he was such a great singer. He’d sing that song to me. We’d turn the music up loud and swirl across the floor.”
    “You two were like Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers,” her friend said. She looked at Marilyn and Michele. “I’m not exaggerating.”
    “I’d love to be able to dance like that,” Marilyn said, her eyes shifting to the dancer in the music box. “But I never got the—” She was suddenly overcome with emotion. She reached for her napkin. Michele leaned over and patted her hand.
    “It’s never too late to learn,” the elderly woman said.
    Yes it is, Marilyn thought. She was much too old to try something like that. And besides, who would she dance with? Michele? Her daughter wasn’t a little girl anymore; she had Allan now. Marilyn had no one.
    Not now and really . . . not ever.
    Michele seemed to sense what she was feeling. “She’s right, Mom. I remember how we danced. You really are a natural. I’m sure with a few lessons—”
    “I’m not a natural.” She looked across the table. “But thanks for saying it.” The song ended, and she closed the lid. “But I have this music box now. And I can play it whenever I want . . . and remember how much fun you and I had together . . . a long time ago.”
    “Well,” the older woman said. “Thank you for sharing your music box with us. Brought back a lovely memory for me too.”
    “You’re welcome,” Marilyn said. She lifted the music box and set it back in the gift box it came in. She looked up. “I better get this off the table, the waiter’s coming with our salad.” She setthe bag gently on the