The Dance Begins Read Online Free PDF Page A

side of the loop road home, he thought. Much flatter.
    “I remember.” The thought of her bike seemed to energize her and she ran out of the springhouse, leaving the door wide open behind her. He heard the snap of twigs and the rustle of brush as she raced down the path.
    He painted the window, ignoring the buzzing in his legs, but by the time he was outside and lowering himself onto the seat of his scooter, he was nearly too exhausted to raise his hands to the handlebars. A nap after lunch, he thought. Definitely.
    He was halfway up the path to the road when he heard Molly scream, the sound sending a wave of terror through him. He pressed his hand hard on the throttle. He shouldn’t have left her out there alone. He hoped she’d simply tumbled off the bike as she turned onto the path. Something minor. A skinned knee. But the scream continued and it sounded too far away to be coming from the path. Too far away and too filled with terror, and he knew there was nothing minor about whatever had happened. God, no. He could picture it. She rode too fast, missed the turn to the springhouse path and couldn’t stop as her bike sailed toward the Hill from Hell.
    He reached the road and turned left toward the hill, terrified now by a sudden leaden silence. All he could hear was the occasional song of a bird somewhere in the woods and the frantic hum of the scooter. “Molly!” he shouted.
    “Daddy!” Her voice echoed through the trees. He rode his scooter down the hill with as much speed as he dared and when he was halfway to the bottom, he could see Molly crumpled on her side in the woods at the base of the hill, half screaming, half whimpering. He welcomed the sound. At least she was alive. He could see exactly what had happened, the scene laid out in front of him like a painting. There was a fallen tree a short distance into the woods. He’d seen that old dead tree a hundred times. Her bike must have hit it and sent her sailing over the handlebars. Please, God, he thought. No broken neck.
    He reached the level part of the road and got off his scooter, grabbing his cane. Molly tried to get up but screamed in pain.
    “Stay there, Moll,” he called to her. Her screams had stopped, but the whimpering continued. She sounded like an injured puppy. “Don’t try to move.” He picked his way toward her through the brush, his legs slow and uncooperative, his feet getting caught in the vines. He saw the bike on its side, nearly bent in two, and felt bile rise in his throat.
    “ Daddy, ” she moaned.
    “I’m almost there, darling,” he said, holding on to every branch he could grab to help him stay upright as he worked his way toward her.
    Reaching her, he managed to half sit, half fall onto the earth next to her, not stopping to wonder how he would ever be able to get to his feet again. “Can you roll onto your back?” he asked.
    She tried, but she yelped when she put a hand out to turn herself over. He saw her misshapen forearm, the sickening bulge close to her wrist.
    “I think you broke your arm,” he said.
    “No!” she wailed. “I don’t want a broken arm!”
    “Let me help you onto your back.” He helped her as best he could, trying to protect her arm in the process. She lay on her back, her braids snaking through the leaves, and he saw the scrapes down her cheek, blood beading up like tiny red pearls. He hoped those scrapes would not leave scars. Her blue eyes were blurry with tears and he realized that her glasses were missing. He glanced around her at the forest floor, but it was hopeless. Those glasses were gone.
    “I need to go home to call an ambulance,” he said.
    “No!” she cried again, a fresh fountain of tears spilling down her cheeks. “Don’t leave me here!”
    “It’ll only take me a few minutes.” They were no more than a hundred yards from the house, yet he wasn’t sure how he’d be able to get to his feet, much less make it back to the road and his scooter.
    “It doesn’t hurt so