Free The Dance Begins by Diane Chamberlain

Morrison Ridge, North Carolina
    1982
    In the dream, he danced with his six-year-old daughter. Her small bare feet were on his shoes, the toes curled as she gripped him like a little monkey, and he held her hands. Her dark hair was loose, free of its braids, and she looked up at him with clear blue eyes. No glasses. She giggled as he swept her around the living room to Stevie Nicks singing “Stop Draggin’ my Heart Around.” Even with her feet on his, he moved fluidly, easily. He was very nearly flying around the room. It astonished him how easily he moved. It was a relief. But then he woke up.
    Nora sat on her side of the bed, running her fingers through her sleep-tousled pale blond hair. The weather report was on the radio. Summer had finally arrived in the North Carolina mountains, the broadcaster said. Nora switched off the radio, then turned to look at Graham. She smiled at him, brushing her hand over his thick dark hair, which was probably jutting up in a hundred different directions. Her hand came to rest on his arm through his pajama top.
    “Going to be a beautiful day,” she said.
    “I had a dream.” He knew she’d tired long ago of listening to his dreams, but she never tuned him out. As a psychologist, he put more weight in his dreams than the average person. He loved to hear about Nora’s dreams, too, and he always wanted every little detail. Nora was not an open book. Her dreams gave him more of a sense of who she really was. “I was dancing with Molly,” he said. “She had her feet on mine.… You know what I mean? You know how you see dads dancing with their little girls, with their feet on—”
    “Uh-huh.” She nodded patiently. He felt her hand tighten on his arm, almost imperceptibly. He felt both comfort and concern in the touch. She knew how much he wished he could still dance.
    “We were dancing to ‘Stop Draggin’ My Heart Around.’ “
    Nora smiled. “Perfect,” she said.
    “And I danced the way I used to, you know? It was so easy. Even with Molly on my feet, my legs felt like nothing. Like they were filled with air.”
    He couldn’t read her expression. It wasn’t pity. Never pity from Nora. It wasn’t worry, either. He read into it, I wish I could make things better for you, Graham. She did, though. Every day she made his life as good, as easy, as she possibly could. He couldn’t imagine his world without her in it.
    “Better get up,” she said, leaning over to kiss him on the lips. The kiss erased the dream and brought him into the moment and he slipped one hand into her hair to keep her with him. He wanted to make the kiss go on and on, but she drew away a few inches.
    “I’m the only pharmacist today,” she said. “Can’t be late.”
    He lowered his hand to her rib cage, his fingers resting on the side of her breast through her nightgown. He had no patients today and wished she didn’t need to work. He glanced at the clock radio on the night table. “You have time.” He moved his hand until his thumb grazed her nipple through the fabric and she shut her eyes and sucked in her breath.
    “Let me just lock the door,” she said, lifting his hand to her lips, and he knew they would make love and it would be good. Almost as good as dancing with his daughter.
    *   *   *
    “I am going to be so late,” Nora said afterward, but she was smiling as she wriggled her way into her panty hose. She looked down at him. He was still in bed and feeling quite content with the way the morning had gone so far. He stretched his arms over his head and she leaned over to give his hip a playful swat. “Come on, Graham,” she said. “Get up or you’ll be making your own breakfast.”
    “Wouldn’t want that,” he said, pushing himself into a sitting position. He rested his elbows on his knees and ran his fingers through his hair.
    “What are your plans for the day?” she asked as she helped him lower his legs over the side of the bed.
    “I want to lend a hand in the