I moved to the crowd of dancers, and a laughing Frenchman pulled me in. I moved in time with his arm at my waist, then took his friend’s arm for the next song. I didn’t listen to any of their whispered French gallantries, just closed my eyes and moved my feet and tried to . . . Well, not forget my hovering cloud of grief, but at least dance under it. My feet might be heavy now, but maybe someday I could dance my way out from under the cloud.
