Mary V pulled a magazine toward her and began turning the leaves idly, her lips pressed tight together, her ears strained and listening still.
Ages passed.

Twice Mary V placed her fingers over her lips to stifle an impulse to scream.

Then-- "We can't make it.

Damn that brush," said a new voice--Johnny's voice--quite clearly.
Mary V dropped the magazine and went and put her arms around her dad's neck and pressed her face hard against his shoulder.

Her dad held her tight, and swallowed fast, and said never a word..