The boy chases after the Packard, rain falling from graying clouds. If he’s fast enough, he can stop Mother before she leaves him at Deerfield Academy. He doesn’t know anyone. Back home he was “piano boy”, writing about moonlight phantoms and lonely swans. It was hardly a compliment, but he knew where he fit.
He had Mother. He remembers the way she beamed, smiling, when he wrote his first composition. Rocked him to sleep after nightmares about dung beetles.
He stumbles suddenly and sees the Packard fade into a pebble-sized speck. He cries into flickering shadows, in the rainy, wind-swept street.