“He doesn’t know, Mom. I wanted him to love me.”

“What’s she saying?” said Grandma with great interest. “Who?”

The new head was way too young to laugh, but she was laughing anyway. Not Him, Rose!

“You did it,” whispered Grandpa. His voice was smiling. I was going to give him a high five and a handshake, but I had descended so far and the pressure per square inch was so immense I was unable to move, let alone speak or open my eyes.

“She won’t drink,” said Robin. “Yesterday she couldn’t get enough.”

“She will when she needs to.”

“What if she doesn’t?”

“Rub my neck,” said my mother, greatly weary.

“There?” said Robin.

“No, there.”

“Shall I sing to her?” Grandma started at the descant, my favorite part, in her silvery voice. “ ‘Soft the drowsy hours are creeping . . .’ ”

“Can she hear us?” said Robin.

“They can always hear.”

The applause went on and on and on. The joy on her face was something to behold. Pain at the center of me flared out in savage waves. The time had come. Say something. I can’t hear you!

“ ‘Hill and dale in slumber sleeping . . .’ ”

“Where did that lullaby come from?”

“Her mother used to sing it to her.”

Grandma’s mouth half opened, Grandpa’s quivered shut; Robin left the room; my mother stared through rips in the paper. The faces were changing, one into the other, each into itself. But not Jack; he had come and gone already. The little brick house had its carriage lamps lit, and the ironwork on the door was like long rounded knives. That’s where I was going to live, Mama. Forever and ever! I loved that purple door. Mounted on the wall, the green man shook his head. Such a long, long, long day. Carried through all the corridors. Prodded and punctured at every turn. I am impressed by how much you’re doing. How do you fit it all in? Don’t roll me. Let me get up and walk. I want to walk! So much to remember. So much to do—

“It’s okay, Maddy. Shhhh. Just lay down. Lay back.”

She was turning the key at the port on my chest. Coolness spread through my arm and up my neck into the tiniest branches and the stars trapped in them. Expertly she prodded the strings, pressed my forehead, and brought her hand to rest on the slope of the wood. Breath whistled in and through, in and through. Listen and forget. Listen and forget. Who I might be hurting, who I was leaving out or leaving behind. Would she know where to look when the time came? Tuck your chin or you’ll hurt your neck. Relax and roll, relax and roll down the hill into the arms of the cello, shedding all my bright drops.