Free The Mozart Season by Virginia Euwer Wolff

the cello by the neck. You could hear something rattle inside.
    She looked at me. She looked panicked. “Allegra. It fell through the f-hole,” she said in a frightened voice. She put the cello back on its side. “Oh, Allegra. What have I done? ” She was whispering.
    â€œIt’s okay,” I whispered back, as I walked over to where she was squatting on the floor. “We’ll shake it out. Look. You pick up the neck, I’ll pick up this end, we’ll just turn it over—” I started to pick up the body.
    â€œNo! I couldn’t pick up a thing. I’m shattered. Allegra, it’s always like this. Every single place I go I do something hideous.…” She put both hands up over her face, one fisted up with the other earring in it. Her hands were shaking.
    I squatted down beside her and put my hand on her shoulder. I whispered, “No, really, Daddy won’t be mad. It’s all right. We’ll just let it fall out the f-hole where it went in.… Or the other one…”
    She was letting out very strange sounds, part sighing and part crying, I couldn’t tell which was the main part. And she was shaking all over.
    â€œWell, we can do it in the morning then. Really, it’s gonna be all right. Daddy won’t be upset. Do you want me to do it by myself?”
    She shook her head hard. “No. Don’t—don’t do anything.…” She still had both hands over her face. Her hair was hanging down partly covering her face, too. I couldn’t see her eyes; her teeth were clenched tight and even her feet were shaking. Seeing her so almost paralyzed was getting me shaky, too. I kept wishing for a first-aid kit, even though I knew it wouldn’t have anything in it that would help.
    â€œMaybe we’d better go to sleep, Deirdre. Maybe you’re just tired. From Aspen … It’s late.…”
    She just stayed there squatted on the floor, shaking. I brought the rest of the glass of milk to her. I nudged the sleeve of her nightgown with it. She pushed the milk away without looking at it.
    â€œDeirdre,” I whispered, “do you want an aspirin?” I put my hand on her shoulder again.
    â€œNo! No drugs!” She was almost shouting but still in a whisper.
    â€œDo you want to lie here on the sofa then? Just till you feel better?”
    â€œOh, Allegra, I can’t believe I’ve done this terrible thing—”
    I started to laugh. “It’s not so terrible. Just an earring in a cello—”
    â€œStop it! I’ve ruined everything—” She let her hands slide down her face and looked up at me, almost like a little tiny kid playing peekaboo. Her eyes looked terrified.
    â€œYou haven’t either. Come on, stand up, come over and sit on the sofa. Tell me what you’re gonna sing at the concert. Please?”
    She let her hands slide down to the floor and looked at me. Her face got smoother. She pushed herself up and stood looking around the music room. Suddenly she was talking in her normal voice. “Oh, Allegra, it’s beautiful. It’s an all-French program, and—just beautiful. Lovely songs…”
    She opened her hand and looked at the earring in it. It had three gold circles and inside the smallest one were three tiny bells. She bounced it in her hand and walked over to the sofa and sat down on the down sleeping bag I was using for covers. Her nightgown looked as beautiful as a wedding dress. She stared at the earring in her hand and didn’t say anything for a long time. Then she whispered, “Allegra, I am a disaster.”
    I didn’t know what to say. I could say, No you’re not, but she was being quite strange, and I didn’t think I could convince her.
    â€œWhat time is it?” she asked.
    I looked at the clock. It was after midnight. I told her.
    â€œOooooohhhhh,” she said in a long sigh.
    â€œLet’s get some sleep,