Chapter 9 - The Next One
At seventy-nine, Henry had wanted one last dance.
At eighty-three, he wanted another.
He stood in the studio in a black suit.
Clare held his hand.
Ethan watched.
Henry smiled.
“You're staring.”
“I’m making sure you don't fall.”
“You sound like yourself.”
Ethan laughed.
Clare started the music.
Henry moved.
Slow.
Careful.
Strong.
The song ended.
Henry turned toward Ethan.
“Your turn.”
“With me?”
“Yes.”
Ethan stepped forward.
He danced with his father.
Clare watched.
She had taught Henry.
Henry had taught Ethan.
And Ethan had learned to teach himself.
When the song ended, Henry embraced his son.
“I'm proud of you.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
“I love you, Dad.”
“I know.”
Henry looked at Clare.
“You did good.”
She smiled.
“We both did.”
That night, Henry went home tired but happy.
He died peacefully two months later in his sleep.
The funeral was small.
Clare stood beside Ethan.
Their children held his hands.
Margaret's photograph sat near the flowers.
The old dance card rested beside it.
Ethan cried openly.
For once, he did not hide.
At the graveside, he said,
“I spent years trying not to lose anyone else.”
He looked at Clare.
“Then I almost lost myself.”
She took his hand.
“But you came back.”
“Yes.”
“Because of one dance?”
May you like
He smiled through tears.
“Because someone asked for the next one.”
