Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 8

cackle. Her laugh was a terrible thing, a torture for the audibly sensitive. And yet the sound, which was nothing so much as a cross between the sounds of a hen in the barnyards of yesteryear and the braying of an ornery ass, never failed to entice those around her into laughing as well.
    Hinata was no more immune to the inexplicable charm of her sounds of mirth than anyone else. He laughed along, nearly forgetting to ask what they were laughing about. With Silvia he had found wise policy necessitated inquiring into just what caught her fancy and set her laughing. "Silvia. About what are we laughing?"
    Silvia laughed even harder for a moment, and then she settled herself down by pinching the bridge of her nose. "Oh, Hinata, the idea of you in an office building wearing a suit with a power tie rather than barefoot in a dance studio makes me laugh every time. I. Well, frankly, it's just so ridiculous I can barely make heads or tails of it." She waved her hands about as she spoke.
    Hinata watched her, as intrigued today as he had been the first time he met her. He kept expecting her to take flight. With her fluttering, multicolored garments, she reminded him of an entire swarm of butterflies, poised at the very edge of flight.
    Silvia grinned at him as she finished speaking, and Hinata could not help but smile back at her. Silvia had never met his mother. It stood to reason she would find the idea of him wearing a suit and tie every day for the rest of his life funny. Hinata only wished he found humor in the image. The idea of dressing so austerely and being trapped in such sterile surroundings for the rest of his life sat on his slender shoulders like a massive pair of boulders crushing downward.
    His smile fell away, but Silvia was already chatting about some new topic, and only the utterance of a name he'd given up all hope of hearing in the present tense drew him from the dark path his thoughts began to spiral down.
    "… Peter Jenkins… terribly injured—"
    The rest of what she said faded into white noise in his head as his brain latched onto those four words. Hinata swayed were he stood. Silvia moved quickly around her desk, pushing him down into a seat and then continuing to push until his head rested between his knees. He gulped in shuddering breaths, trying to quiet the roaring in his head. If he could just get enough air, those four words would make sense.
    "Hinata? Hinata, you're scaring me. Do I need to take you to the clinic?"
    Hinata leapt out of his chair. "Yes, yes, I need to go— did they take him to the clinic?"
    Silvia shook her head. "Hinata, who are you talking about?"
    Hinata paused, wild-eyed at the door to Silva's office. "I'm talking about Peter."
    Silvia grabbed his wrist, staying his flight. "Hinata, he's not at the clinic. This all happened yesterday. He went to the hospital, and according to my sources, he's already been discharged home." The thundering in Hinata's head faltered, and then faded abruptly away.
    He allowed Silvia to pull him back into the room, and sat down heavily on the chair he'd vacated so suddenly just moments before. "Oh."
    Silvia sat on the edge of her desk closest to him. "I have the feeling there's a story here. Take your coat off, honey. Get comfortable." She paused, rubbing her hands together enthusiastically. "I have ways of making you spill. Mostly they involve chocolate and access to my dance studio, but then again, I know your weaknesses, so I'll add in a new tube of glitter-gloss."
    Hinata giggled at the lip gloss comment, the taut muscles in his neck easing a fraction. "You know me too well." He settled back against the chair's high back, stretching his legs out in front of himself. "I know Peter— sort of— from high school. He was a year ahead of me."
    Silvia burst in before he could say any more. "Oh, that's right, he's from Fresno too. I thought I remembered that."
    Hinata shot her a quelling look.
    Silvia sniffed at his look. "Spill, dancer boy, and I'll see you a Jazz Master-class and raise you a brand new pair of Mary-Jane shoes with taps."
    Hinata raised his eyebrow at her. Shaking his head, he chortled. "Okay, it's your wallet. Your sad, sad, empty wallet… and teaching a class can in no way constitute a prize. Well, it can't be the majority… okay, darn it, I do love teaching that class. Promise we're talking shiny patent leather Mary Jane type shoes but with a two inch chunky heel, and you and I can do business."
    Silvia crossed her