I just didn’t say anything because... I don’t know. Because I was used to him saying whatever he wanted.” Ethan adjusted his case strap. “Okay,” he said, because eleven- and twelve-year-olds are rarely equipped for ceremonious forgiveness.
Madeline looked relieved anyway. After a moment she added, “You did play really well.” Ethan almost smiled. “So did you, at the audition,” he said. It was enough.
That same month, Dana’s car finally gave out in the Bellcroft parking lot after an evening rehearsal.
The Corolla had been threatening betrayal for months with strange clicks and a temperamental ignition, but this time it simply refused. Dana turned the key three times, then rested her forehead against the steering wheel. Ethan, carrying his violin and backpack, stood outside under the yellow lot lights trying not to absorb the panic rolling off her. They were thirty minutes from home.
She had an office-cleaning shift in the morning. Towing alone would wipe out most of the week’s grocery budget. Before she could decide whether to call her sister or start crying in earnest, another SUV pulled into the lot.
It was Charles Ashford.
He had returned because Madeline had left a folder in the ensemble room. Charles took in the stalled car, Dana’s expression, and Ethan’s attempt to look useful, and to his credit he did not perform sympathy. He simply asked, “Won’t start?” Dana straightened instantly, embarrassed. “We’ll figure it out,” she said.