Saint played Liebestraum No. 3.
Her small hands a blur over the keys, the fast cadenza bringing sweat to her forehead and a level of concentration that did not allow her to notice her grandmother enter the room.
Spring rain made mirrors on the street, kaleidoscopes that reflected the bow of white trillium.
As she neared the middle of the piece, the series of octaves before the arpeggios, her grandmother came to stand right beside her, an act unheard of when she was practicing.
Saint glanced once and saw the large envelope she held.
“It has a Hanover postmark,” Norma said. She had taken to wearing glasses, lighter than her granddaughter’s.
Saint slowed and rolled the suspension chord. She told her grandmother to open it.
Norma’s hands shook not from anticipation but because she could not stop them.
Retirement had aged her overnight.
“My god. You got in, Saint. You got in.”
Saint thundered the keys.
Norma stayed for the entirety and lightly applauded when it was over.
“That was perfect,” she said.
“I lost my counterweight,” Saint said, and stared at her right hand like it had somehow betrayed her.
“You got into Dartmouth, Saint.”
“I don’t want to leave you.”
Norma pressed Saint’s head to her. “Silly girl.”
“You’re all…I ever had.”
“Come, I’ll take you for ice cream at Lacey’s Diner to celebrate.”
Saint turned back to the piano.
She would try it again.
She did not know how to give up.