Pie.
âOooh, no, maâam. Thank you. Thatâs what got me into this mess.â
âWell, I warned you. You should have stuck to the dancing.â
Her words brought Merle Henry back to why he was home. He opened the book, then started to read and study the pictures. There was no way he was going to learn to dance just by reading. He threw the sheets back and stood on the floor, holding the book straight in front of his eyes. If the book was going to be his dancing partner, heâd have to give her a name.
âHow you doing, Matilda?â he said to the open page. âSome nice words you got there.â
Suddenly he heard someone snicker. He swung around and discovered Aunt Pie in the doorway. Her hand covered her mouth, but Merle Henry could tell she was smiling by the way her eyes had shrunk into tiny slits.
He dropped the book. His ears burned like the day Coach had hold of one of them. His stomach was starting to really ache now.
âOh, Merle Henry, I wasnât making fun of you. I just never heard of a dancing partner named Matilda. Maybe Carol Ann or Suzie or Joyce Lynn.â
Merle Henry turned his head and gazed out the window. He didnât want Aunt Pie to think he was a fool that talked and danced with books.
Aunt Pie walked over to him and picked up the book. She read the title and flipped the book open to the front page. She started to laugh again. âIâm sorry, but, Merle Henry, this book was written in 1914. Thatâs over forty years ago. Why didnât you tell me you wanted to learn to dance? I can teach you.â
Merle Henry didnât say anything. He just stared at the floor.
She had one hand resting on her hip and the other stretched toward him. âWell, are you going to ignore a lady offering to teach you to dance?â
âBut Iâm supposed to be sick.â
âYes, sir, I can see that.â She was smiling at him and now Merle Henry smiled back.
âBut Momma willââ
âOh, sheâll be gone for a while. Besides, weâve got the same genes. Youâre bound to be a fast learner.â
Grabbing his hand, she led him out to the living room where Cooter was laying on the couch, a washcloth over his head. She flipped on the radio. A tune played that he didnât recognize, but the song had a good beat.
âDoes that have to be so loud?â Cooter asked, his hands protecting his ears. He sounded like a whiney little boy to Merle Henry. Aunt Pie sure could pick them!
Aunt Pie sighed. âCooter, do yourself a favor and take a good long swig of that Jack Danielâs. Iâm telling you, I know what Iâm talking about.â
Cooter pulled the washcloth from his forehead and opened his eyes. âYou mean youâve been in this state before?â
âNever. But Iâve known plenty of men who have.â
Pie placed one of Merle Henryâs hands on her waist and the other on her shoulder. âNow, Merle Henry, pretend Iâm your girl. Follow me, and soon Iâll be following you.â
âAre you sure I should do that?â
She threw her head back and laughed. âIâm sure, honey. Youâre the man. Youâre supposed to lead.â
For the first three songs, Merle Henry was her shadow, following her steps and listening to the music and her voice carry him through the song. âOne, two, three,â she said, first loudly, then by the third song the words came out in a whisper. Aunt Pieâs voice was spun sugar on a paper cone. Merle Henry heard it as if it were his own heart beating. And standing this near, he could smell her sweet perfume.
At first his hands felt like putty and his feet were heavy as bricks, but by the fifth song he was leading, spinning her around the room.
âOh no,â Cooter cried, rushing off for the outhouse.
When he returned, they were slowing their pace to a ballad. Cooter braced the doorway. âWhereâs that