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Show in my father's house/ 225 I nodded. "If you need help, be sure to call me." I nodded and managed a smile. She closed the door slowly. Then I heard the car door slam, the motor roar, and I breathed my relief heavily, leaning against the wall and the first genuine pain jagged through my arm. What to do. I couldn't let go of the sag in my left arm long enough to turn the knob. The fingers of my left hand absolutely would not work. I took a deep breath and kicked at the door leading to the living room, hoping that my mother would not be teaching someone important - the ballet instructor or the choral teacher. Soon her face appeared in a small gap of the door. She eased through the crack, closing the door behind her. "It's Mrs. Michaelson's daughter," she explained, naming one of the town's leading families. Then she put her arm around me. "Honey, are you all right?" Tears sprang into my eyes and a new current of pain jolted through me. Of course I'm not all right, I thought angrily. My arm is broken. I wanted her to hold me, rock me until the pain was gone, but fear shackled the concern on her face. She had to give her piano lessons; our living depended on it. I filled my voice with disgust for my weak, silly predicament. "I want to lie down and I can't open the bedroom door." "You can lie down in Aunt Helga's room until I've finished my lessons." "What about my arm, Mama?" I felt sick with guilt as I looked at it, drooping and bending in all the wrong places. "Daddy will be here soon," she whispered. "He'll leave |
