“Yes, Mother,” Judy sweetly agreed, but she was deeply aware of the real reason for the glowing cheeks and brightened eyes—and judging from the smile lurking on Lynne’s face, so was she!
That evening Mr. Lurie examined his schedule and announced with great satisfaction, “Yes, I can come home early tomorrow—last session at two-thirty. If I get a ride, should be here ten minutes later.”
By two-thirty Judy was dressed. Her mother was in a comfortable chair, her music in her hands which she could study silently. That morning her pad had pleaded for a rehearsal. The doctor was obdurate. “One hour before you appear at the concert. Not before.”
Judy gave herself another fleeting glance at the mirror. The candy-striped blue and white cotton with its full skirt looks cool, Judy considered, even if I’m melting inside of it. The embroidered collar, stiffly starched, scratched—but then, she smiled, Karl has never seen this dress. Maybe it didn’t have the smart elegance of Marian’s tie silk, but it was fresh looking!
As she glanced at the clock, now two-forty-five, she reviewed the things she must tell her father—the egg nog, ready in the refrigerator, the watercress sandwiches. She tiptoed into the bedroom.
Minna’s eyes opened. A descriptive arm indicated the window saying plainly, “Why wait? Why don’t you leave now?”
“There’s not that much rush. I’ll play something. The P.S. (the family abbreviation for Practice Student) hasn’t arrived. Something sweet and soothing to induce sleep.”
Remembered bits of Chopin Nocturnes, the “Minute Waltz,” and the fingers stumbled exactly at the same tricky places. Another look at the clock—the piano was gladly relinquished to the late and harried P.S.
Judy went to the porch and anxiously scanned the street. She returned, stared at the clock as its hands moved relentlessly. At five minutes to four she heard her father’s leisurely step.
“You’re an hour later than you promised—” she said accusingly.