Will pulled his mother by the hand and said, "Come on, come on…" But she seemed reluctant to follow him. It was obvious she was still afraid. Will carefully looked up and down the narrow alley, as much as the twilight light allowed him; his eyes examined one by one the uniform houses, the tiny gardens, the fences with bushes, he saw the sun playfully swaying on the windows on one side, leaving the other in shadow. They didn’t have much time ahead of them. It was the hour when everyone was having their dinner, and Will was more than sure that soon the neighborhood children would appear on the streets and sidewalks, ready to look, comment, observe. It was dangerous to wait any longer, but the only thing he could do was try to convince her, as he usually did.

"Mom, let’s go inside to see Mrs. Cooper," he said. "Look, we’re almost there." "Mrs. Cooper?" she asked hesitantly. But Will was already ringing the bell. To do so, he had to put down his bag because with his other hand he was still holding his mother’s. Maybe she found the idea a bit embarrassing that some might see him at this age—he was almost twelve now—holding his mother’s hand, but he knew well what would happen to her if he didn’t.

The door opened and in the doorway appeared the hunched figure of his middle-aged piano teacher, bent by arthritis, spreading a wonderful lavender scent everywhere, so familiar to Will from the first day he met her. "Who is it? Is that you, William?" the elderly lady asked him. "I haven’t seen you in over a year. What do you want, my dear?" "I want you to let me come in for a little while, please, and to bring my mother with me," he said decisively.