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Show 20-3 I had already learned, from the way my mother looked at Eric that first night by the piano, by the excitement that she wrapped herself in the morning after the concert. I had also learned from my father's silences and unusual crispness. Mother could not hear her own voice so did not know what I heard. I stood at the front door and watched them walk to the car together. Before she climbed in, Mother reached up and kissed my father, and then held her cheek against his for a moment. His hand on her back tightened. She stepped back and they both laughed as she reached up to straighten her hat. I watched them, wondering what each was thinking. Father turned and waved to me and blew me a kiss before he climbed in the car. A few leaves whirled around the wheels as the car backed, turned and then disappeared. No one was home, either across the street or at Emily and Darby's. I was glad and wondered why I had called them anyway. So few days left until school. So few days for my own thoughts. For Andrew. I gathered up a few books, a new atlas, found Fidelio under the piano and went out into the backyard. The sun was still controlled midday even though the afternoons were cooler. We found a cool spot far back between the lilacs and the hedge of Russian olives. Fidelio dug frantically until he reached cool dirt and then flopped down with a long sigh. He looked at me for a moment, dipped his head a few times, and then stretched out. His eyes closed. I turned the pages of the new book, glanced at the photographs of ostriches and waterfalls. This one had color drawings, some showing scenes from the war. I didn't want to look and soon closed the book and covered it with my hands to make a pillow. The sun found my feet. Warm. Sweat trickled from under my hair and down my neck and cheek. Fidelio got up and turned around a few times, dug a bit more and then flopped again. I shut my eyes. The grass tickled my legs and arms. Warmth up my legs. Quiet. |
