Reflection
Chapter One: This Is It
Her reflection in the window, she stared passed it, letting the wintry scenery of upstate New York go by without really seeing it. Her mind was elsewhere, understandably so. The past week had been a roller coaster of emotions: excitement, anticipation, expectation, disappointment, anger, pain, grief, guilt, confusion.
The bus slowed to a final stop before it would forge onward to Port Charles, New York. She sat at the back of the bus, and most of the seats were taken, except for the one next to her. Most people had understood she needed space, seeing the expression on her face: distant and sad.
A woman climbed onto the bus and looked around, taking in her options. A teenage punk, an elderly man yammering away at the person in the seat in front of him, who refused to remove her headphones in an unsuccessful attempt to convey to the gentleman that she was not interested in conversation, as one-way as it was. A couple making out. Damn, get a room already!
With those choices, the back of the bus looked good. Only one girl there, or maybe she should say young woman. She was staring out the window, not talking to anybody, and she looked normal. Platinum blond hair, blue eyes, little makeup, thick sweater and winter coat.
Yep, the woman thought, and made her way to the back of the bus. Just in case, she asked, "This seat taken?"
The girl looked up, somewhat startled, having not realized anyone was there. She shook her head and wordlessly moved her backpack and magazines from the seat next to her.
The woman dropped down with a sigh of relief. It was good to get off her feet. She considered starting a conversation with the girl, but she was looking out that window again. At what, she didn't know. There wasn't anything out there worth looking at.
That's when she noticed the American Ballet magazine on the girl's lap. "I love ballet," she said. "Do you dance?"
The girl spoke very quietly. "I used to."
She stared out the window, all the memories coming back...
***flashback***
She was dancing on the stage, surrounded by other girls in frilly pink tights and tutus. She felt like Cinderella at the ball. She loved the dance, and dance she did, amazingly graceful and poised for her age. She didn't know it, but the audience was all thinking the same thing: that girl is going somewhere.
The music came to a close and the girls ended their performance with one final twirl. The poised little girl grinned for the first time as a man in the front row leapt to his feet, clapping and cheering loudly. "That's my girl!" her dad called, glowing with pride.
Five-year-old Courtney Matthews couldn't have been happier. As the other girls raced off the stage, she bowed to thank the audience for their applause. That's when she knew this was what she wanted to do with her life.
Seven Years Later...
She danced, determined to prove herself to her strict teacher, raising her arms over her head and gracefully leaping on her toes, she made it look easy. She did not feel the jealous gazes of her classmates, only the music and the movement of her body. She glanced to the chairs in the corner of the room and saw her dad watching her. He smiled and waved, silently cheering her on. Courtney twirled across the floor...
The Next Week...
The teacher didn't know what to think. Maybe twelve-year-old Courtney Matthews was sick. She was usually so focused, that little girl with so much maturity, so much potential. But today she was off.
Courtney kept glancing toward the metal chairs in the corner of the studio. She couldn't focus on the dance and she moved without her usual flawless grace. Where was her dad? He'd never missed a weekend class. He'd leave for days at a time without notice or saying goodbye, but she could always count on him to be there for Saturday afternoon ballet.
And for the first time she could remember, he wasn't.
Later That Day...
Courtney dug her key out of her pocket, inserting it into the lock and turning it. She twisted the doorknob and walked into their tiny but comfortable apartment. Courtney had decorated it when she was eight. She wanted to make it into a palace, and in a way she had, changing the curtains, putting flowers on the table, a few of her better drawings on the walls. Little things that made it more welcoming, more cozy.
"Mom, I'm home!" she called, not expecting an answer. Her mom was upstairs, putting her makeup on for her weekend gig at the casino like she did every day of the week except Sunday. Courtney threw her bag on the couch, prepared to move into the kitchen where she would put on some music and make them dinner. It was sort of her job to take care of her mom.
That's when she noticed the boxes. The living room was filled with them. All the books, as few of them as there were, had been taken from the shelves. The room was bare. All those little things she had done to make it feel like a home weren't there anymore.
Frowning, Courtney moved into the kitchen. Much to her surprise, her mom was sitting at the table, not a stick of makeup on her face, not a bit of hairspray locking her hair in place.
Courtney knew right away something was wrong. "Mom, what is it?" she asked, horrified. She already knew before Janine said anything. Her entire face crumpled as the realization came to her. "It's Daddy, isn't it? Something happened to Daddy."
Janine nodded mutely. "I'm so sorry, baby. He's gone."
No. It couldn't be. It was impossible. This was something that happened to other people. On the news, in the papers, in the movies, to your friends but not to you. Parents didn't actually die in your real life. They were always there. They had to be there. To look out for you, to take care of you. They couldn't die. It was absurd. Impossible!
"He's not dead!" Courtney screamed, tears overfilling her eyes and then spilling down her cheeks. "You're lying! Stop lying!"
"Oh, baby—" Janine reached out to her.
"Don't touch me!" Courtney screamed, jerking away from her mother's touch. "You're lying! Daddy's not dead! He's going to be here! He's going to come through that door any second now and say he's sorry he didn't make it to my ballet class! Watch! You'll see!"
Janine shook her head, her eyes filled with pity and sadness, and something Courtney didn't see—guilt.
"He is!" Courtney continued to scream, unable to stop herself. Maybe if she screamed long and loud enough this would go away. It was a nightmare. Somehow she'd wake herself up.
It didn't go away. It never would. Her daddy was dead and death wasn't something you could come back from. It was permanent.
Janine broke the news that her dad had gambled away the last of their savings and there was not enough money to pay the rent next. They had to move to cheaper housing, and they had to be out by tonight...
***End Flashback***
Courtney swiped at a tear as she stared out the window. The lady next to her was reading her magazine, flipping through the pages...
***Flashback***
Courtney flexed her feet, crossed at the ankles, rising up and down on her pink-satin-clad toes. The hardwood floor was solid beneath her feet and she finished the routine with one last twirl, coming out of it with a frown.
"What's the matter? It was good," Janine said, smiling as she always did when her baby girl, now a young woman at age twenty, danced.
Courtney gazed into the mirror, checking her stance. She sighed. "Everybody's going to be good, Mom. I have to be better."
"Oh, baby, you did just fine."
Courtney drew in a deep breath. "I need to be special to get in."
"You'll get in, because you are special. You're my baby. You're special, and those judges at Julliard are gonna see you're special!" Janine opened her arms and gave her child a hug. She was just perfect, and she was going to wow those judges big time, freeing them both from their life of poverty in this place in the middle of nowhere called Atlantic City.
The Next Day...
It was the morning of the audition. Janine had a few loose ends to tie up at work because she'd promised her boss she would as long as he let her have the rest of the day off. That way she'd get to see her baby dance like an angel for those judges.
"I wish you didn't have to drop me off at the bus station, that we could just keep going to Philadelphia," Courtney said dreamily. She knew it wasn't going to happen, but she still wished for it.
"I'll get there as soon as I can, baby," Janine promised. She saw the look on Courtney's face and it made her feel guilty. She'd attended all her daughter's performances and auditions to make up for the lie she'd told her, but somehow she'd missed seeing her grow up. Ballet class was the only time she saw her, between school, Courtney's job as a waitress, and the late hours she had to work. Courtney had pretty much raised herself. Just this once, she wished she could be there all the way for Courtney.
But she couldn't. She couldn't lose her job, not now. Courtney had put off this audition two years because they didn't have the money to pay for Julliard thanks to Mike gambling away all her savings. Janine bit back her resentment. They had the money now.
She stopped the car and Courtney grabbed her bag out of the backseat. She was mad. As much as she liked to think she was a big, tough twenty-year-old who could look out for herself, she knew she was just a little girl who needed her mommy inside. It made her mad at herself.
So she took it out on her mom. "This is the biggest, most important day of my life, and you'll be there as soon as you can. Thanks, Mom."
"I won't miss your audition, baby," Janine promised. "I'll be there."
Courtney had heard those words before. From her dad. Then one day when she was twelve he'd gone and died on her.
"I need you there, Mom," Courtney said, fighting back tears and pulling her mom into a tight hug.
A few hours later...
Courtney stretched, getting ready for her routine. It was only a matter of time now. She looked toward the double glass doors but her mom was nowhere in sight. She shouldn't be disappointed. Work had always come first for her mom.
A woman with a clipboard walked over to her. "Excuse me. Are you Courtney Matthews?"
"Yes," she replied, standing up.
"This way. They're ready for you."
Courtney picked up her water bottle and bag, throwing once last glance behind her as she followed the woman into the auditorium.
On the road...
Janine looked down at the speedometer. Seventy miles an hour, and it still felt like she was creeping along.
In the auditorium...
"Is there anything you would like to say about your contemporary piece, Ms Matthews?" the judge on the far left asked.
"No, I think it's pretty self-explanatory," she said with a nervous laugh. The music started and she began the piece she had spent the entire summer choreographing.
On the road...
The snow came down, whacking the windshield as the windshield wipers frantically tried to push it away.
"Come on, come on," Janine said, applying more pressure to the gas pedal as she rounded the corner.
She saw the brake lights up ahead. It was too late to stop. Not having time to scream, she slammed on the brakes and the car skidded off the road, smashing through the cement-post-and-wire guardrail and down the embankment.
In the auditorium...
Courtney stepped back, preparing for the leap...
And she fell. The music kept playing but she knew it was all over. She had failed; she was never getting into Julliard now.
She had no idea it was only beginning.
At home...
Courtney frowned. There were two police officers standing outside her home. Had yet another get-rich-fast scheme blown up in her mom's face? Was that why she hadn't been there for her audition?
"Can I help you, officers?" she asked warily. You could never be too careful in this neighborhood.
"Are you Ms Courtney Matthews?" one asked.
"Yes..." she said carefully.
"Any relation to Janine Matthews?"
She tilted her head back. "Yeah, she's my mom."
That's when they broke the news to her. Her mother had been killed in a car accident racing to get to her audition. The world fell out from under her, or maybe she fell from the world. She collapsed in the snow and started crying, right there in front of them.
And it still wasn't over.
***End Flashback***
Finally in Port Charles, the bus rolled to a stop. Courtney gathered up her things and said a polite goodbye to the woman who had been her companion throughout the trip. She stepped off the bus and pulled the picture out of her pocket...
***Flashback***
She was going through her mother's things, packing them away. She was going to have to move. Where she would go, she didn't know. Her mom hadn't bothered with a will because she had felt that was only for rich people and they weren't rich enough for that sort of thing. The police were sure that once things got sorted out, every monetary asset of her mom's would go to her. Until then, she had to find a place to live. On her measly earnings as a waitress, she could not afford to live here. She had to find someplace cheap to stay. Maybe she'd sleep in her car.
She went into her mother's nightstand, somewhere she had never been allowed and had never even on her most rebellious days tried to enter. It had a lock, after all, and Courtney had never had the key. That was on a chain her mom wore around her neck. Now Courtney owned that key.
She inserted it into the lock and turned it, pulling the drawer open. It felt like an invasion of her mother's spirit's privacy, going through her things like this, but they had to be packed away and put in storage. She couldn't fit everything in her car.
The drawer was filled with papers. Hesitantly, she picked them up, determined to throw them in the box and get it over with. That's when a photograph fluttered from between the pages. Courtney tucked her hair behind her ear with one hand and picked the picture up.
It was a photo of her dad, but not her dad as she remembered him. His hair was gray, and he looked older, though not much older.
Suddenly she had to gasp for breath and still couldn't breathe.
She desperately began tearing through the papers. Mike Corbin. The name popped out at her. She started reading, settling down with her back against her mom's bed.
That's when she learned the truth. Her father was still very much alive, living in Port Charles, seen running with various mobsters who probably provided money for his gambling. And that wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was that this information had been provided by a private investigator. A private investigator her mom had hired.
"She lied to me," Courtney whispered. "She's been lying to me all these years."
There were two phone numbers listed in the paperwork, one a cell, one a home. She tried the home number but got no answer, not even a machine. She hung up and tried the next.
And her father answered. She would know his voice anywhere.
She felt like she was choking. She couldn't say anything. When he asked who it was, she hung up as fast as she could.
The next morning she quit her job and sold her car. She had enough money to put all of her mother's possessions and those she had left over in storage.
There was just enough left over for a one-way bus ticket to Port Charles.
***End Flashback***
Courtney drew in a deep, wavering breath. So this was it. The city of Port Charles. She hiked her backpack up on her shoulder and, photograph and paperwork in hand, set out to find the only family she had left.
~*~