"What's that?" I asked my sister. She was sitting at Father's piano, her fingers lighting dusting over the keys. Neither of us knew how to play, though Father had promised to start teaching me soon.
That was before he had died last week. Now there was no one to teach me. I crawled up on the bench beside my sister. She reluctantly moved over to make room for me.
She at least knew how to read music; she'd begun taking violin lessons last year. More often than not she only produced screeches and squawks. I'd been ordered out of the music room on more than one occasion by my father for laughing during her recitals.