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They were both so nervous about my moods and emotions these days that anything that promised to bring me some pleasure was desirable,
"Then we'll tell him it's fine with us," Mommy said.
"I'll need the pickup. I think," I told Daddy. "I wouldn't want you to have to drive me."
"You can use the pickup, but you had better clean it up before you 'ire in it." Mommy said. "You don't want to walk into someone's home smelling like a farm girl.'
"What's wrong with that?" we heard Grandad call from the living room. He was listening through the walls.
"Nothing a good shampoo and bath won't cure," Mommy retorted. Daddy actually laughed loud enough for Grandad to hear.
It brought a smile to my face.
Uncle Peter wouldn't have laughed much louder. I thought. He's still with us.
4 The Lesson
Needless to say. I was very nervous the first night I drove over to Mr. Wengrow's house. I rushed through dinner, which brought me looks of
displeasure from Grandad Forman's piercing, reprimanding eyes, and then I went upstairs to my room and agonized over what I should wear.
Should it be one of my better dresses or skirts, or should I just wear what I wore to school? Was I making too much of all this? Would I be overdoing it, pumping up Chandler's already exaggerated ego? What if I dressed nicely but he pulled a complete switch and came in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. showing me how little he thought of the occasion? Wouldn't I feel the fool?
And then what about my hair? Should I have washed it? Was brushing it and spraying it enough? How much makeup should I put on? Just lipstick, or a little rouge? I kept smelling myself, terrified that I would bring the farm odors along with me. Chandler would surely say something unpleasant about that. I was positive I overdid my cologne.
Finally. I settled on just a little touch of lipstick, no rouge, and my dark blue skirt and light blue shortsleeve blouse. I put on a pair of sandals, took one last glimpse of myself in the mirror, and hurried
downstairs, not realizing until I was at the bottom that I had forgotten my violin.
Mumbling complaints about myself to myself. I hurried back upstairs to fetch it and then took a deep breath, calmed myself, and walked slowly down the stairs. Mommy came out to tell me to drive carefully.
"Come right home afterward. Honey," Daddy called from behind her.
When I stepped out of the house. I saw that Uncle Simon had washed the truck. He was just wiping off the windshield, and stepped away as I approached.
"I told your daddy I would do it," he said before I could ask or say a word.
"Thank you, Uncle Simon."
"I checked the air in the tires and the oil, too." he added. "Everything's fine."
"I'm only going about four miles, Uncle Simon," I said. smiling. "It's not more than a tenminute ride," I added.
"Most accidents happen close to home." he said. I realized everyone was nervous about everyone else since Uncle Peter's accident.
"I'll be careful," I promised, opening the truck door, putting in my violin, and turning back to him. He stood there, nodding.
"Thank you, Uncle Simon," I said again, and got on tiptoe to give him a quick kiss on his cheek. Even in the darkness. I could set his face bloom like one of his red roses. His eyes brightened.
I got into the truck, waved, and drove off, taking a hard bounce on the rise in the driveway Grandad never cared to have fixed because it reminded us that "life was full of bumps to avoid or tolerate."
Moments later, I was on the highway. My heart sped up with my anticipated arrival at Mr. Wengrow's. When I pulled into his driveway, I realized I would have to park next to Chandler's beautiful late-model black Mercedes. I pulled as far from it as I could.
Mr. Wengrow lived in a modest one-story Queen Anne, set back on close to an acre of land. He was a bachelor who had lived with his parents. His mother had passed away first and his father had died just last year. During the day he taught music at a private elementary school.
Mr. Wengrow greeted me in a dark brown sports jacket, an open shirt, and a pair of brown slacks and shoes. I was glad to see he wasn't dressed any more formally than usual.
There was a very small vestibule on entry with a mirror on the right. The frame of the mirror had hooks for jackets and beneath it was a small, dark oak table with a flower-patterned vase. It had nothing
