If he never spoke to his mother again, it would be too soon.

John Winslow shot another anxious look at Dorrie buckled into the seat next to him, her new pink tutu bunched around her narrow hips like a frothy cloud. On her way to her first ballet class, his five-year old daughter glowed with excitement. Her eyes were bright as new snow glistening in the moonlight and her gap-toothed smile hadn't dimmed a single watt all day. He wanted to turn the car around and hurry back to the safety of home.

What had his mother been thinking? He loved her and was deeply indebted for all the care she had showered on both of them since Maria's death three years ago. But she was way out of line on this one. She had absolutely no right to sign Dorrie up for dance lessons without talking to him first.

He glared out the window, remembering their conversation of the day before. "Dance lessons will be good for her, honey. You'll see," his mother had said calmly after springing the news on him.

"Good for her? How can they be good for her? She's deaf! How is she supposed to hear the music?"

"Hope says she has taught several children with hearing impairments before and they all love it. They can feel the vibrations of the music. You know how Dorrie loves to move around when we turn the stereo up."

"This is different. How will this Hope person tell her what to do? Does she sign?"

"She knows some basic American Sign Language from working with hearing-impaired children at the school where she teaches second grade. When I talked to her, she said she'll practice before class."

What about the other children? He wanted to ask. What if they laugh at Dorrie's hearing aids or make fun of her for not following the same steps? For not being able to hear the same music? His mother sighed when he just glared at her. "Don't worry, honey. Hope is a sweet girl. Her mother and I are in the Ladies Club together. I promise, she'll take care of Dorrie."

How could he break his little girl's heart by telling her she couldn't take lessons after her grandmother had already promised and bought her fancy new dance clothes? He couldn't, he knew it, so here they were. Maybe his mother was right. Maybe he coddled Dorrie too much, tried to protect her from too many things. If Maria had been able to survive the cancer that ravaged her body so quickly, maybe he wouldn't be so overprotective of their daughter. Dorrie faced so many challenges in life. Was it wrong of him to try to smooth the way for her as much as he could?

He hadn't come up with an answer by the time they arrived at the community center. Dorrie skipped along holding his hand as they followed the signs to a classroom on the second floor dominated by a wide mirror with one of those wooden handrails running along it. Several other little girls had already arrived. They stood in a cluster near the bar, giggling at their reflections in the mirror.

Dorrie grabbed his leg, suddenly shy. He tilted her chin. "Do you want to go home?" he signed. After a moment, she shook her head just as a slender woman in a burgundy body suit and dance skirt walked to them. This could only be the ballet teacher. She looked like every picture of a ballerina he had ever seen, graceful and poised, with big green eyes and glossy brown hair pulled into a knot at the back of her head.

She smiled at them both. "Hi. You must be John and Dorrie. I'm Hope." He was pleased to see the dance teacher sign the words as she spoke.

Dorrie nodded.

"I'm happy to have you in class," Hope signed. "Are you ready to dance?"

Dorrie shyly offered a smile in return then took the teacher's hand and the two of them walked to the mirror where the other girls posed and pirouetted. John picked a chair from among a row against the opposite wall and sat down, feeling out of place among the mothers talking about their husbands and their jobs and their favorite crockpot recipes. He would have given just about anything to escape but he knew he couldn't leave. He needed to stay and watch over his little girl.

Dorrie quickly lost her initial shyness, he was relieved to see. She moved awkwardly at first as Hope taught the tutu-clad little girls a few basic ballet positions without music. but no more awkwardly than the other girls. Soon they were all leaping and twirling eagerly.

The teacher was good, he had to admit. Kind and patient, but firm when her fledgling troupe became distracted. She gave extra attention to Dorrie, he saw, staying in her line of vision, signing all her instructions and clapping out the rhythm of the simple little routine she taught them with such broad movements that Dorrie couldn't fail to catch the beat. His daughter would probably never be a primo ballerina, he thought as he watched her. But it was obvious by that glow in her eyes and her constant delighted smile that she was having the time of her life.

"Okay, class. Now we're going to put what we learned to music," Hope said when the hour was almost up. "Are you ready?"

The girls cheered and John felt his heart plummet to his knees. Oh please don't let the other girls laugh he thought. He wanted to snatch Dorrie up and and haul her to the sanctuary of the car but he forced himself to sit quietly. She surprised him, as she had been doing all her life, by keeping up with the other girls and following the routine just as well as they did.

"Wonderful!" Hope exclaimed when the music ended. "Practice those moves and I'll see you next week."

The other girls rushed to their mothers, chattering excitedly about the class. Dorrie still whirled around the room, though, moving to music only she could hear. He couldn't quite bring himself to stop her. Not yet. Soon they were the only ones remaining in the room with the dance teacher.

She joined him at the chairs to watch Dorrie's joyful performance. "Thank you for bringing your daughter to class," she said after a moment. "Your mother told me you weren't exactly thrilled at the idea."

He looked away from that soft smile, from the long-forgotten feelings suddenly surfacing inside him. "My mother thinks I'm too protective of her."

"It's normal to want to protect our little ones." She touched his arm. "But if we always keep them wrapped up in a safe, warm cocoon they never have the chance to learn how bright and beautiful their wings can be."

He watched Dorrie twirl, struck by Hope's words. She was absolutely right. For three long years he had kept them both in as safe a cocoon as he could create, never taking any risks for fear of more of the same raw pain Maria's death left behind in their lives. He hadn't been fair to either one of them, he realized.

Dorrie stumbled a little but came up laughing, blissfully dancing with no music. He needed to do the same -- take a few stumbling steps of his own. He looked back at the dance teacher and found her watching him, a warm light in her green eyes, and John suddenly saw something he hadn't even realized had been missing from his life for so very long.

He saw Hope.