“Stop it,” I said. “Quit thinking.” As if such a thing were possible.

Stumbling over to my desk, I snatched up a page of lyrics. Eyes jumping from line to line, I softly sang, my voice breathless and terrible. “Again!” I said, trying to mimic my mother’s voice. “That was dreadful.”

Starting again, I sang louder, pushing everything into my voice. It was raw and wild, but like a hammer to a blade, I used it to temper my emotion into something useful, something I could control.

The door swung open, and I broke off mid-note, my hands grasping for the bedposts to keep my balance. But before I could regain an ounce of composure, my mother strode in.

“Cécile!” she snarled, but I cut her off before she could start into me.

“Mama!” I flung myself against her, burying my face in the fur collar of her coat. She smelled like perfume, cigar smoke, and spilled wine, but I didn’t care.

“What’s happened?” she demanded. “Has someone hurt you?” Her strong arms pushed me back, face pale as she examined me. “Well?”

What to say? The truth was impossible – even if I could tell her, after the way I’d just acted, I’d sound like a raving lunatic. “I woke up afraid,” I mumbled, looking away for shame of how childish I sounded.

“A bad dream?” From the tone of her voice, my mother agreed with my assessment of my behavior.

Wiping tears away with the back of my hand, I nodded.

“Stars and heavens, you will be the death of me!” She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead, and only then did I notice how disheveled she was. Her hair was loose of all its pins and the kohl rimming her eyes was smeared. “For a dream you wake the neighbors. Ahh!” she grimaced. “Not just the neighbors, half the dogs in the city were caterwauling along with you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re a fool of a girl.” She shook her head, her eyes blurry with something – likely wine, though it could have been absinthe. Or worse. Her hand reached for me so suddenly that I had to stop myself from jerking away. “You’ve been crying.”

Warmth filled my chest, my heart convinced I’d heard a note of compassion in her voice.

“You shouldn’t, you know. Some girls look pretty when they cry and can wield their tears like a weapon against men. But you aren’t one of them. Instead of wrapping them around your finger, you’ll send them running.”

The warmth fled, and my mutinous bottom lip began to tremble.

Her shoulders slumped a little. “Heaven knows, that’s why I never shed a tear in public.” Letting go of my face, she took my arm and pulled me toward the door. “It’s freezing in here. If you catch cold, you won’t be able to sing. And if you can’t sing…” Her mouth pressed out in a little pout. “Well, the neighbors might well be pleased.”