January, 2001
Linda had nail-bited her way through the last couple of months of her pregnancy with Matthew. She worried that her impromptu dance lesson may have caused permanent damage, even though her leak had been relatively minor. Her water broke for good when she was safely at home hanging ornaments on their Christmas tree. Inge briskly drove her to the hospital, using the Jeep, and her delivery went smoothly and swimmingly. Matthew Harrison Heron was born a completely normal baby boy at 3:01 PM on December 14, 1993.
During the first years of his life, Linda watched him very closely. He gradually developed into a beautiful toddler with amazing auburn hair the color of a newly minted penny.
Would he come out of her womb with an uncanny love for dancing, she wondered. He liked to chase his big sister around the house and hit her with stuffed animals and dolls when she wasn't looking. His favorite toys were his trucks and his train set. To her he seemed normal.
She was working on her computer in her sanctuary room, which had been turned into a study and office, even though she still kept the wooden daybed in there. Both of her children had been instructed never to bother her when she wore the headset, unless it was an emergency. Since she was simply web-surfing, seven-year-old Matt knew it was okay to approach her as he leaned against the doorway and addressed her. "Mom, can I go sledding?"
The last time she'd said yes to that, one of his friends older brothers took him to a hill at the park miles away, where they'd spent three hours. Worried sick, she didn't know whether to desperately hug him or scream at him when he returned home. "Where are you going to go sledding?" she asked.
"At Warmby's hill." He shifted his weight from foot to foot and looked down.
When he did that, he looked so adorable to her that she wanted to pick him up in her arms and cuddle him. Many times she did, and he would say "Aw, mom! That hurts!" to get her to stop. She doubted whether it really hurt him or not.
Warmby's hill was safe, just a short little bunny hill at one of the houses down the street. "Okay," she told him. "But put on some warmer clothes. It's cold out there. And the second it starts getting dark, get on home.
"Okay," he said, pushing himself away from the door.
When Matthew started nursery school three years ago, Linda gave herself permission to get back into her dancing full zeal. Stephen was serious about them saving money and economizing, however. They had the kid's college fund and their own retirement accounts to think about. She felt glad that she hadn't jumped on the bandwagon for all those "dot.coms" that had been all the rage the year before. Many of her friends had jumped in, made lots of money, then lost all of it and then some when the bubble burst.