"You're a fool to go, you know," a harsh voice said from the doorway. "You'll never make it as a songwriter of all things, and not on Broadway, of all places. Never; not in a million years."

Keeley Cochran looked up from the suitcase she'd been packing and glanced toward the door. Her stepmother, Phyllis, stood on the threshold to the tiny bedroom Keeley had finally commandeered for herself three years ago, overriding the vehement protests of her half sisters, Jewell and Lila, because she was the oldest. Phyllis had one hip thrust out, one hand at her waist. In that pose, with her thin, frizzy blond hair hanging down on either side of her face, she looked-there was no other word for it, Keeley thought--just like a hooker.

Keeley didn't say anything, and they stared at each other for a long moment, Phyllis with a flat look of dislike in her pale eyes, Keeley trying to hide her contempt. It was Phyllis who looked away first. They both knew how she felt about Keeley's going, and it wasn't sad.

Keeley returned to her packing. She and her stepmother had been over it a hundred times-more. It was old ground, and she wasn't going to change her mind, not now, when she had finally made her decision, not now, when she'd dreamed about going for years.

Years, she thought, folding a blouse that had been washed so many times the cotton felt like fine lawn. She put it carefully in the suitcase, thinking that the time felt more like centuries. She was twenty-two years old, and she had wanted to be a musician, a songwriter, a Broadway composer, for as long as she could remember. If she waited any longer, she wouldn't go. She'd end up trapped here, as she had been ever since she graduated from high school. It was now or never; her pity had run out, and she had to go without looking back.

"If it hadn't been for your family being such parasites, you'd have been gone long before now," Keeley's best friend, Nina Calducci, had told her. That had been six months ago, when they were discussing it during a lunch break at work. She and Nina both worked for a car dealer here in Detroit, Keeley doing the books, Nina as secretary/receptionist. Nina was happy with what she was doing, but for Keeley it would never be enough. Good wages or not, she wanted more-much more than Detroit could ever give her. Broadway beckoned, and she'd denied herself long enough. If she failed, as Phyllis seemed to be so certain she would, at least she would have tried.

Tried? she thought. She wouldn't just try. She'd succeed.

"I just don't understand it," Nina said that day at lunch. They'd known each other for years, and she said what she felt. "When will you stand up to your family? You never have a problem asserting yourself around here or anywhere else. But with them, you never say a word."

Keeley pushed her half-eaten sandwich away. The stark lunch area at the dealership was unappetizing; the scarred Formica tables, drab gray walls, and harsh fluorescent lighting made everything look half dead. "I can't say anything," she muttered. "You know how much they depend on me."

"Oh, pooh," Nina said with scorn. "They wouldn't depend on you so much if you weren't always there. What is it with you, anyway? Are you going to support them the rest of your life?"

"No, of course not! But my father's out of work-"

"Your father's always out of work," Nina pointed out with inexorable logic. "Why else have you stayed? If he'd let you go to New York to study, instead of insisting that you get a job to help support him and his wife and all those kids-"

"It wasn't his fault," Keeley said, picturing her father, big and blond, who had once been the smartest, strongest man in the world to her. Since his remarriage, she felt so left out, waiting for him to notice her, but he never did. She hated herself for hoping things would change, but she couldn't seem to stop it. Would she never learn? Defensively, she added, "No one predicted the plant would strike just then."

Nina had no sympathy. "Then? What about afterward? What about six months ago? What about now? When will he get off his lazy duff and go out looking for a permanent job instead of expecting you to hand over your paycheck?"

"I don't just hand it over!"

"Close enough," Nina said flatly. This was her favorite subject, and she wouldn't be diverted. She believed in Keeley; she'd heard her music, the songs she composed. Intensely, she leaned forward. "But even not counting your Dad, what about your lazy slut of a stepmother?" Seeing Keeley's expression, she waved a dismissive hand. "Don't give me that look, she is. Six kids in fifteen years. You'd think she never heard of birth control!"

Keeley couldn't argue. Sometimes she felt that what Phyllis did best was get pregnant. She certainly didn't work-outside the home, that was. Even in the leanest times-and there had been plenty of those over the years-she had never offered to get a job to help support her growing family. Not even when Joe Cochran was laid off for the umpteenth time and once again Keeley was the only breadwinner in the house. She had to stay home and watch the kids, she said. Or more likely, watch her soap operas, Keeley thought resentfully. But she couldn't blame Phyllis entirely. Joe hadn't been much help; depressed about losing his job, he lay on the couch day after day, watching game shows and drinking endless cans of beer. It had been up to sixteen-, seventeen-, eighteen-year-old Keeley to rush from class to work at the diner, the only job she could find and stay in high school, so that she could make some money to help out. With her father's unemployment check and the salary and tips she made, they scraped by somehow, until the plant got going and Joe was called back to work, only to have it happen again, and again.

It was a cycle that had been repeated too often to count, and that day in the lunch area, she knew Nina was right. She had to make a break; she had to get out of the vicious circle she was in so she could finally do what she'd always wanted to do-to write the music. It was Nina's term, not hers, but it was the only thing she'd dreamt of since she saw her first piano and asked her mother if they could buy it.

She was only about six at the time, but she remembered the day so clearly. It was one of the last real memories she had of her mother, who had died only a few months later from a bronchitis that had swiftly turned into a fatal pneumonia. Eleanor Cochran had been beautiful, Keeley remembered dreamily--with thick, dark hair and the vivid green eyes her daughter had inherited. Keeley could even recall how gaily her mother had laughed when she saw the grand piano in the music store window and begged just to go in and look at it.

The store’s manager must have fallen under Eleanor’s spell, for when she asked if her young daughter could just touch the beautiful instrument, he magnanimously lifted Keeley onto the bench and smilingly suggested she entertain them all with a tune.

To everyone’s astounded surprise, including her mother’s, Keeley proceeded to do more than that. She never knew where the music came from, but it was just…there. She touched the piano and magic occurred. She didn't know the full chords, of course; she wouldn't have been able to play them with her tiny hands, even if she had. But the melody was there, a lively tune that came out of nowhere. Like all the other music she had composed since then, the notes just poured forth as if the songs had always been at the back of her mind, waiting to come out and be recognized.

Even then she was so enthralled by her music that she didn't even notice other people, the shoppers, the salespeople, everyone in the store, stopping to listen to the six-year-old child with the solemn green eyes and the long, thick, dark hair. She’d been so small that her nose was barely even with the piano keyboard, but she had treated them to something they’d never forgotten.

When she finished, she noticed the crowd for the first time. People were standing around her, and when she saw tears in her mother’s eyes, she thought she’d done something wrong. Then Eleanor gave her a fierce hug while the onlookers applauded, and she realized with wonder that her mother was proud of her. Even then, she hadn't thought of herself in the spotlight; to her, it was the music that was on center stage. But from that day to this, she had never taken for granted her exultation at being able to move people, to touch their hearts in a special way with what she created out of her own mind.

"You’re right," she said to Nina, with a sigh. "You’re absolutely right. I don’t know why I haven’t gone before this. It’s just—"

"It’s just that you’re too softhearted, that’s what," Nina said severely. But she put an affectionate arm around Keeley’s shoulders to take the sting out of her words. Then she frowned. She had often visited the Cochran's rundown old house, and she shuddered as she added, "I don’t know how you stand it. The kids making all that noise, Phyllis screaming all the time, the television blasting away even when no one’s watching it." She shook her head. "It would drive me nuts!"

"It makes me crazy at times, I admit," Keeley said. Then she smiled. "You just have to learn to shut it out."

"By writing music, you mean?" Nina said meaningfully. "On the piano that you’ve wanted ever since you were little and never got?"

Again, Keeley had no answer. Nina was right: she had yearned for a piano at home for years. In the beginning, the excuse had been that her father couldn’t afford such an expensive instrument; later, after the kids started coming and the house began to be stuffed to the gills, the reason was that there wasn’t enough room. When she got older, she started using the piano at the high school. When she attended night school at the college to get her music degree, she’d had the use of the big music hall whenever she wanted. But she still had the cardboard keyboard she had made as a child—and sometimes even now, she used it when nothing else was available.

Fondly, she thought of her youngest half sister, ten-year-old Jewell, who had seen her recently with her fake keyboard. Always curious, Jewell had asked how she could write songs using a piece of cardboard that didn’t make any noise, even if it did have piano keys drawn on it. Realizing it did seem strange, she'd explained that she didn't need sound; the music was always there, in her mind. Jewell still looked doubtful, but Keeley couldn't explain further. How could she, when she didn’t understand it herself?

Aware of Nina’s eyes on her, she said, "You know there isn’t room at the house for a piano. But even if there were, with all the other noise, I probably couldn’t hear myself think."

"I don’t deny it. Your dad and your stepmother are bad enough when they go at it, but Louis gives me the creeps. And the twins! If I could catch them, I’d wring their necks."

Nina was referring to Keeley’s eight-year-old half brothers, the demon twins, Alfred and Harry. To her, they were no worse than other boys their age, but she agreed with Nina about Louis, who, at fifteen, was the oldest of Phyllis’s six children. She didn’t know if it was a phase, but the past year or so, Louis had changed. He’d always been arrogant and rebellious and sly, but now he seemed…hard. Keeley was positive he was into something--maybe drugs, maybe not. Whatever it was, it was trouble. Phyllis had never disciplined any of her children, and Joe had always been too proud of his oldest boy, who took after him both in looks and personality, to make him toe the line. The result was that Louis came and went and did as he pleased. The twins were about to follow in his footsteps, and Keeley was sure the youngest, Sid, would emulate them. She’d tried to talk to her father about it, but he just mocked her concern.

She didn’t want to think about her half brothers, so she said teasingly to Nina, "You haven’t mentioned the girls in the family. Have you suddenly taken a liking to Lila, or even Jewell?"

Nina wadded up the waxed paper she’d used to wrap her sandwich. "Jewell isn’t so bad," she conceded, and paused. "But she’s only ten--who can tell yet? But Lila…" She rolled her eyes. "If she doesn’t get pregnant before she’s fifteen, I’ll kiss Larry Moffat—or maybe," she added slyly. "Russell Morley."

Keeley didn’t want to talk about Russ. They were night school sweethearts and she suspected he was about to ask her--again--to move in with him. Come on, Keeley, we’re practically married anyway, he’d say—and she regretted having to hurt him. She liked Russ; she did. But he was happy with his job at the stereo store, and she’d never be content here, not even if she failed on Broadway. She had to break it off; she just hadn’t found the right way to do it yet.

Nina saw her troubled expression, and her own softened. "I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I know you have to break up with him when you leave." Remembering her subject, she added pointedly, "Of course, it’s academic, isn’t it, if you don’t tell your family you’ve had it. Maybe you’re just going to stay here like the rest of us."

"I said I’d tell them, and I will!"

"When?"

"When the time is right," Keeley said, avoiding Nina's eyes. Glancing at her watch, she was relieved to see that lunch hour was almost over. She stood, ending the conversation, "Right now, we have to get back to work."

"Keeley," Nina said warningly.

Keeley stopped collecting the lunch trash. Looking at her friend, she said, "I promised, didn’t I?"

"When?" Nina said again.

Keeley sighed. "Soon."

Nina grabbed her arm, forcing Keeley to took into her face. "I hate to keep badgering you, but damn it! You’re good, you know you are. Too good for this stupid town!"

"But what if I—" Keeley began, then stopped. Even she couldn’t make herself say it. She did know she was good. But it wasn’t much benefit if she didn’t give herself the chance to prove it, was it?

Nina persevered. "And your night school drama teacher said she’d write a letter to a Broadway director she knows—"

"She doesn’t know him," Keeley protested. "A friend of a friend of a cousin once removed is supposed to have talked to him once. He probably doesn’t have the faintest idea who she is."

"Who cares?" Nina demanded grandly. "It’s a way to get in! And just think—wouldn’t it be wonderful to see your name up in lights some day? Imagine--splashed right across the marquee: Words and Music by Keeley Cochran!" Nina looked at her suddenly. "That’s how it will read, won’t it? You won’t change your name when you’re famous!"

Keeley laughed. "I think the time to change your name is before you get famous. But no, fame or not, I plan on staying just plain Keeley Cochran the rest of my life."

"But not after you get married!"

Keeley thought of her chaotic family life, all the people crowded into one tiny four-bedroom house, clothes flung all over, wet towels cluttering the bathroom, dirty underwear crammed into corners, used dishes always In the sink. Then she thought of her stepmother, always tired, with her stringy hair hanging down, defeated by all the mess, hiding behind the pictures of a tabloid--and her bleary-eyed father, trying to see over his paunch while lying on the couch watching some game or another blaring from the TV. She shuddered.

"It won’t be a problem," she said, thrusting away the unsavory pictures of her home life. "I don’t intend to get married."

Nina pooh poohed the idea. "Oh, I know you’ve said that, Keeley, but you don’t mean it"

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don’t," Nina said firmly. "Someday you’ll meet a man who will—"

"If you say ‘sweep me off my feet,’ I’ll throw up."

Indignantly, Nina said, "Would I be so trite as to say such a thing? I was going to say that someday you’ll meet a man who makes you feel how everybody else feels when they hear your music."

"And how is that?"

Nina looked dreamy. "As though they’ve just fallen in love," she said.

Flattered, Keeley laughed. "You should be an actress. You’re just that dramatic!"

It was time to get back to work, but as they left the lunchroom to return their desks, Nina stopped. Her brown eyes, usually so merry, were solemn and she said intensely, "Promise me, Keeley. Promise me that no matter what happens, you’ll make the break and go to New York, as you’ve always said you’ll do."

Keeley was about to make a flip remark, but when she saw how serious her friend was, she paused. She and Nina had been through a lot together; through the years, they had shared things they never would have told to another living soul. Best friends, they had laughed together, cried together, and planned the future together. She couldn’t imagine a world without Nina, and when she felt a sudden chill, she gave Nina a fierce hug.

"What do you mean...no matter what happens? You’ll be here to see that I do what I’m supposed to."

"But if I’m not—"

"You will be," Keeley said firmly. "Now, stop talking like that. You’re scaring me."

But still Nina didn’t seem satisfied. "Don’t let anything stop. you," she insisted. "You were meant for better than this. Everybody who knows you, all your friends, your teachers--everyone but your damned selfish family--knows it. Who else could. have written all those original songs for the high school glee club, not to mention our senior play? And what about the entire musical show you did for your college night school degree? It brought down the house. Even the dean, who’s a theater buff, said it was good enough for a professional performance."

"He was just being complimentary."

"Complimentary or not, we can’t all be wrong, don’t you see? You’re special, Keeley--you always have been. So you can’t just…waste all your ability here, on ungrateful people who don’t care how much talent you have. You’ve got to do what you were meant to do—no matter what."

"I will, I will, I promise," she said. Then, because Nina’s urgency was making her uneasy, she laughed. Now, can we get back to work? I can’t leave for New York this minute, you know. I still have the end-of-the-month books to finish up for Mr. Sandborn."

"You laugh, but I’m serious. I mean it, Keeley. You’ve got to tell them."

She didn’t know why Nina was pressuring her like this, but she said, "All right. I’ll tell them tonight, okay? Will that make you happy?"

Nina’s dark eyes glowed, and she pounced. "You will? You promise?"

Now that she’d said it, she had to follow through. In a way, it was a relief. She’d been putting off making her final decision for months now, but she really didn’t have a reason to delay any longer. She had enough money saved--or almost, and as Nina had pointed out, it would always be something where her family was concerned. If she didn’t make the break soon, before she realized it, she’d be a bitter old woman and all her opportunities would be past.

"Yes," she said, suddenly resolute where she’d only been half-serious before. She looked into Nina’s anxious face. "Yes, I promise."

Nina looked relieved, as though a great weight had been lifted off her shoulders. "Well, hooray," she said fervently. "Now, I mean it, Keeley, I want you to call me tonight right after you tell them, and I want to hear word-for-word exactly what you said, okay?"

"Okay," Keeley said with a laugh as they went back to work.

But she never got the chance to tell Nina what she said to her parents. Unable to reach her by phone that night, she didn’t find out until the next morning that her best friend in the whole world had been killed by a drunk driver on the way home from work. She had apparently died instantly when the big truck slammed into her little compact car, crushing it like a tin can, but it was small comfort for Keeley. The news seemed to make the world come to a stop. Even now, six months later, she couldn’t think of Nina without wanting to cry.

If something ever happens to me, and you don’t go to New York to write the music, I’ll come back from my grave and haunt you, I swear it!

Nina had said that to her more than once, and as Keeley tried to finish her packing under Phyllis’s staring eyes, she wished more than anything that Nina could carry out her threat. Even a haunting would be better than the acrid emptiness she’d felt since her best friend had died. Nothing, not her feverish activity, or the songs she'd written, or the music she'd composed had alleviated her devastating sense of loss.

But she had kept her promise and told her family, and later, she talked to Russ, who was so upset he’d cried. The sight of his tears unnerved her; she almost faltered. She wanted to say she’d be back, but it wasn’t true; she wanted to say she loved him, but that was a lie, too. In the end, she’d told him she would never forget him and left before he could reply. She felt badly about Russ, but there was no other way.

Phyllis spoke again, interrupting her sad thoughts. "You know I’ve never liked you, Keeley, and it’s for damned sure the feeling’s been mutual. Oh, don’t bother to deny it; I’ve seen the look in your eyes. But this impulsive decision to leave your home and your family, well, I really think you should reconsider. You can’t just go and leave everything behind!"

Keeley knew Phyllis didn’t give a damn about her or her well-being; what she was thinking of was how they would manage without her paycheck. "What am I leaving behind, Phyllis?" she said. Pointedly she looked around the tiny bedroom, so small there was barely enough room for the bed and a dresser. "I’m twenty-two years old. It’s past time I got out on my own."

Phyllis sneered. "You can’t be serious about going to New York just to write songs! Do you know how many talented people have tried what you’re about to do and have failed? How do you think someone like you is going to make it?"

"Someone like me? Keeley repeated, slowly turning to look directly into her stepmother’s eyes. "What makes you so sure I’m going to fail, Phyllis?"

"Oh, please! You always did think you were better than the rest of us!"

She’d always held her tongue where Phyllis was concerned; she had discovered early on that if there was a disagreement between them, her father would invariably take her stepmother’s side. She had learned to avoid quarrels that only emphasized how little notice Joe took of her, or her opinions. But now she was going, walking out of this house--perhaps forever, judging from her father’s reaction when he’d realized she was serious—and she didn’t want to be silent anymore.

"You’re right about one thing, Phyllis," she said. "We never have liked each other. We haven’t gotten along from the time my father first introduced us—when was it? Three months after my mother died? Fifteen years ago, and things haven’t improved since."

Phyllis’s eyes narrowed. "You always have been a little prig about that, Keeley. Tell me, what was your father supposed to do? He was a widower, with a seven-year-old child. How could he work and take care of you, too?"

Keeley didn’t know why, but some demon seemed to take hold of her. Maybe it was because she’d been thinking of Nina, and how much she missed her friend; maybe it was the idea that in a few minutes, she was going to walk out of the only home she’d ever known. She wasn’t sure what it was, only that she had to express her feelings, just once. After this, she need never mention it again.

"If you’re trying to make me believe that my father married you so that we could be a family, you’ve forgotten that I’ve lived here all this time, too," she said. "The last thing we’ve been is family, Phyllis, so don’t pretend otherwise."

"If you’re accusing me—"

"I’m not accusing you of anything. Maybe it was your fault; maybe it was mine. I don’t know, but I don’t care anymore."

It wasn’t true. She had never forgotten the terror and confusion she’d felt after her mother died. She didn’t understand what was happening, or why her mother was gone, or why Eleanor wasn’t coming home again. Her father hadn’t been any help; lost in his own grief, he shunted her off to a baby-sitter and was out every night--to bars, Keeley later found out, one of which was where he met Phyllis. The marriage came as a complete surprise, although to Keeley, years later, the "early" arrival d her half brother, Louis, explained a lot.

What it hadn't explained at the time was why she'd been left out. At seven, she was too young to comprehend the upheaval in her life, and her father and stepmother were too preoccupied with their young baby to pay attention to her needs. At a time when she missed her mother terribly and desperately craved attention and assurance that she wouldn’t lose her father, too, she was all but ignored by the joyful new parents. Joe had always wanted a son, and at nearly thirty, the never-before-married Phyllis had been pining even more for a child than she had for a husband. Together, they were a perfect trio, and Keeley was left out. To make matters worse, Keeley didn’t even look like she belonged. In a new family of blue-eyed blondes, dark-haired, green-eyed Keeley stood out like a sore thumb.

Fifteen years and five more half siblings later, the differences were even more apparent. Maybe because she’d had to be, Keeley had always been a self-starter, self-motivated, ambitious, eager to learn. But except for Jewell, who had always been different from the others, and Lila, who already seemed a carbon copy of her mother, the four boys were just like their father, even young Sid. They were all lazy, self-centered, all of them only looking out for number one.

Of them all, Keeley thought distractedly, she would miss Jewell the most, but it couldn’t be helped. As Nina had reinforced in her, she wasn’t going to be someone who talked about a dream until it got so old it just crumbled to dust; she was going, and this time, nothing would stop her. Certainly not anything Phyllis said. She had waited too long already--years too long. Now it was November, and the latest forecast said Detroit could expect another storm before nightfall, with a new front gathering on the eastern seaboard, heading right for New York. It wasn’t the best time to travel, she knew, but she didn’t have a choice. If she didn’t go now, something would stop her; it always had. If it wasn’t family problems, it was other things.

Six months ago, after Nina had been killed, when she’d finally saved up enough to leave again--this time for sure--he’d been mugged on her way home from work. She had just cashed her paycheck, and of course the thief had taken every cent. People said she was lucky she hadn’t been hurt, but all she could think of was the money he’d snatched. It had taken her this long to recoup, and now she was going to keep her promise to Nina and get out before it was too late.

"What did you mean, we haven’t been a family?" Phyllis demanded. "If you’re trying to blame me—"

Keeley didn’t want to talk about it anymore. What purpose would it serve dredging up the past? Wearily, she just shook her head. "It doesn’t matter."

"The hell it doesn’t!" Phyllis cried. "I won't have you blame me for something that isn’t my fault! Do you hear me, Keeley? Do you hear me, girl?

Keeley heard, all right; it would have been impossible not to, even with the television howling from the living room, and three of the younger kids, the twins, Hairy and Alfred, and Lila shouting at one another in the kitchen over the last piece of pizza.

"I heard you," she said, folding a sweater she had decided to take. She could only carry so much. With all her music, she couldn’t take two suitcases, but what she was leaving behind was so old it didn’t matter anyway. Without looking at her stepmother again, she packed the sweater. She was almost finished, and she glanced around to see what she’d missed. Arms akimbo, Phyllis stepped into her way.

"Well?"

Keeley sighed. "What’s the point of arguing about it?" she asked. "If it hadn’t been for the money I’ve brought in, you would have kicked me out years ago, and don’t try to deny it. You’ve always said I didn’t belong here, that I wasn’t part of the family. I’d think you’d be happy now that I’m finally going to be out of your hair."

Phyllis’s thin lips tightened. "Oh, no, you’re not going to get away with that one! You’re the one who’s wanted to go. You couldn’t wait, remember? You’ve wanted to desert us all from the time you turned sixteen."

Fourteen, Keeley thought but didn’t reply.

Phyllis saw her expression, and her eyes flashed. "And don’t give me that look, as if you’re better than the rest of us! You know we’ve tried our best, and if you go like this, you’ll… you’ll just break your father’s heart!"

Keeley almost laughed. When she went, it wouldn’t be Joe’s heart that was affected but his wallet, and they both knew it. "Yes, well, I’m sorry," she said, "but it’s not as if this is a big surprise. You’ve known what I intended for months now--for years."

"Oh, yes, that’s right, you’re off to be a Broadway star, how could I have forgotten that?" Phyllis said with a sneer. "Well, all I can say is, don’t plan on coming back when you fail, my girl, because your bed isn’t going to be here!"

"Fine," Keeley said. She’d known it would come to this. "I won't fail, but in any case, I won’t be coming back." Their eyes met. "There isn’t anything for me here but more of the same, and we both know it."

The pale eyes flashed again--with anger…and fear. "After all we’ve done for you!" Phyllis cried. "And this is the thanks we get!"

The words were out before she knew it. "After all I’ve done for you, you mean," Keeley said, her voice tight. "If I’d kept accounts, I’d be flying to New York instead of taking the bus."

Phyllis looked ready to strike. "Oh, you horrible girl! We’ve never asked you for a dime, and you know. it!"

Keeley couldn’t believe it. Wondering how even Phyllis could say such a thing--Phyllis, who met her at the door every payday with her hand out--she wanted to laugh, but she felt too bitter. She and Nina had wanted to take an apartment together, but with what she had to pay to help here, she couldn't afford it.

And she hadn’t been able to go away to college, either, because she’d had to get a full-time job right out of high school. She could still remember the terrible argument she and her father had gotten into the night of her high school graduation. She hadn’t really felt trapped until that night, when he’d told her she couldn’t go to college as she had planned. He had just lost another job, and with unemployment in his work so high, he’d informed her that she had to get a job to help pay the rent.

"It doesn’t have to be this way!" she’d cried, swamped by unfairness. ‘Why is it always up to me to help out?"

He’d shouted at her, his harsh voice loud and strident "Because I say so, now don’t argue with me!"

"But it isn’t fair!" she’d shouted back. "If you want help, why don’t you ask her? Maybe she can do something for this family instead of having another baby to drag us deeper into trouble!"

Before Keeley could get out of the way, Joe Cochran slapped her hard, right across the face.

"Don’t you dare talk about your mother like that!" he’d shouted, "Phyllis is a good woman, and I won’t have you criticizing!"

The slap had rocked her on her feet, but she wouldn’t back down. Her green eyes blazing, she’d faced him, shouting, "Phyllis isn’t my mother! My mother’s dead!"

The scene had taken place nearly five years ago, Kee1ey thought. She felt weary just thinking about it. All this time wasted here in Detroit when she could have been pounding doors in New York. Why hadn’t she gone? She wasn’t sure of the answer; maybe she didn’t want to know. The point was that for whatever reason--guilt, obligation, duty, approval--she’d stayed.

But no longer, she thought, reaching for her coat. She had her bus ticket in her pocket, and she was going tonight. She’d tried to explain to people who didn’t want to listen and who didn’t care anyway; now there was nothing more to say.

"Good-bye, Phyllis," she said, lifting the suitcase.

Phyllis stayed where she was, making Keeley squeeze by. "You’ll be sorry," she hissed, looking down with frightened eyes as Keeley was forced to sidle past her.

Keeley didn’t reply. Taking a tighter grip on the suitcase, she went toward the living room, where her father lay on the couch. The newspaper was over his face, the television still competing with the uproar in the kitchen. Just for a moment, as she looked in at him, she faltered. Thoughts of happier times before her mother died flashed into her mind. She had a picture of him as he had been, young and strong and happy, lifting her up to the sky.

But that man was gone, she realized sadly, staring at the recumbent form; he'd died the night Eleanor Cochran had. He hadn’t been the same since then, and if she’d stayed all this time in the hope that she would get him back one day, she’d been fooling herself. She had once believed he was her connection to the memories of happier times; that was why she'd stayed and worked so hard and given him everything she’d earned. What a fool she’d been to believe his taking it was proof that he needed her still.

She shook her head. Had she been the weak one, or had he? Maybe she would never know, she thought, tiptoeing across the gritty carpet to give him a kiss good-bye, and maybe it didn’t matter anyway.

Gently, she pulled away the newspaper. Her father was fast asleep, his mouth slack, his breathing labored because he’d gained so much weight.

"Good-bye, Dad," she whispered, and leaned down to kiss his cheek.

He didn’t stir.

Sighing, Keeley replaced the newspaper and turned toward door. The quarrel over the pizza was still going strong, and she didn’t know where Jewell had gone. It didn’t matter, she supposed; she’d already said good-bye in her own way.

"You’ll be back, you know," Phyllis sneered as Keeley reached for the door.

Keeley didn’t answer; turning the knob, she went outside. The cold air hit her like a slap, and she knew it would probably snow before she reached the bus stop. Even that didn’t matter. At long last, she was on her way. She was halfway down the walk when she heard a shout.

"Keeley! Keeley!"

She turned. Jewell was standing in the doorway, the light from behind illuminating her slight figure, making her long hair look like a glowing halo. Her mother was holding on to her, so she couldn’t come outside, but she gave a frantic wave.

"Good-bye, Keeley!" she cried. "Good luck!"

For the first time since Nina had died, Keeley felt the sting of tears. Lifting a hand, she waved back and called, "I left something for you on your bed!"

"What?"

"You’ll see," she said, and smiled as Jewell gave one last hurried wave before dashing out of sight. She was heading down the walk again when Jewell returned, hurling herself after Keeley despite her mother’s grab to hold her back. In her hands was the cardboard keyboard Keeley had left her.

"Oh, Keeley, it’s your piano," Jewel said, looking up at Keeley with wide, deep-blue eyes. She was already shivering with cold, and she hugged the rectangle to her thin chest. "Don’t you want to take it with you?"

Keeley bent and gave the girl a quick, fierce hug. Jewell always had been the best of the bunch, she thought, and tried not to cry as she said, "You keep it for me, honey--in case things don’t work out and I have to come back and get it. All right?"

Before the child could say anything, Phyllis shouted angrily from the doorway. "Jewell, you come inside right his instant!"

Jewell didn’t go. Looking up at Keeley with those huge eyes, she said, "You won’t forget me, will you, Keeley?"

Keeley bent down. Their eyes were on the same level when she hugged Jewell again and said fiercely, "Never."

"Jewell! This instant!" Phyllis shouted again.

Keeley glanced toward the house. The last thing she wanted was for her father to wake up now, so she reluctantly got to her feet and said, "You’d better go, honey. It’s cold out here, and you don’t want to get sick."

"Jewell!" shouted Phyllis.

The little girl started up the walk, but after a few steps she turned. "You’ll make it, Keeley," she said tearfully. "I’ll never doubt it." She hugged the cardboard harder. "And I’ll keep this for you, even though you won’t need it. One day we’ll see your name up in lights. I just know it!"