The Lucy Variations Read Online Free PDF

“What did you hear, exactly?”
    “I kind of heard the whole thing. I sort of put my ear to the door.”
    “You kind of sort of spied?”
    “His name is Will something,” Gus said. “Grandpa heard about him from one of his symphony friends.”
    “Did you get a last name?”
    “I forget. But I remember Brightman Quintet.”
    Lucy pulled her computer back onto her lap and commenced googling. Gus had to have misheard, about the hiring, anyway. Maybe he’d gotten the name right but the context wrong. Briteman Quintet, she found, not Brightman. She followed a link and scanned it quickly. “Will R. Devi?”
    “Yeah.” He set down his book and crawled over next to her, and they read through a screen of links about Will R. Devi. Pianist, violist, teacher. Judge of a few well-known competitions. Host of some local public television show about young musicians that had been cancelled a couple of years back.
    “You weren’t on that,” Lucy said to Gus. “If he was anybody, you would have been on that show.” Or she would have.
    They found more stuff about this Will person: articles and blog entries and whatnot. Then, their mother announced herself outside Lucy’s door. “Lucy? Is Gus with you?”
    “Yes,” she said. Her mother came in. She wore a grey wool pencil skirt and tights, riding boots, a red sweater, and matching red lipstick. Her hair was down but brushed back. “Why so fancy?” Lucy asked. Sunday typically meant jeans or upscale yoga outfits.
    “We’re having company for dinner. I’d like you two to dress.”
    A formal dinner, on a Sunday night, with virtually no notice? Lucy looked at Gus, who asked, “Who’s coming?” As if they couldn’t guess.
    “Their names are Will and Aruna Devi.” Here, her mother looked down and picked a piece of non-existent lint off the arm of her sweater. “And be on good behaviour, Gus. You start working with Will on Tuesday.”
    Lucy glanced at Gus, hoping he’d say something like:
You decided? Without me?
But she knew those were her thoughts. Gus was still sweet and agreeable and mostly unquestioning. He said, “Okay,” and got up to follow their mom downstairs.
    After they left, Lucy stared at the door. Temnikova’s death hadn’t changed anything. Decisions were made the usual way: Grandpa Beck steamrolling over everyone, aided by her mother, her dad standing off to the side letting the whole thing happen.
    Play this piece, Lucy.
    Wear this dress.
    Come here. This person wants to meet you.
    Make eye contact with one of the judges before you sit down at the piano.
    Hold your head up. You know who you are.
    She knew who
he
wanted her to be. Not the same thing.
    She put Alice Munro on hold and searched for pictures of Will Devi online. He looked pretty young. Good-looking enough to have his own local TV show but maybe not enough to go national. His face had an odd asymmetry to it, with one eye that didn’t open as wide as the other and a nose that sort of veered off to the left. He exuded a determined warmth that helped offset the imperfections.
    It didn’t matter. He could be the nicest person in the world. It still wasn’t right to force him on Gus. The way they’d forced Prague and the other stuff on her, robbing her of her life, little by little, until quitting felt like the only choice that was hers to make.
    An hour before the Devis were to arrive, Lucy finally peeled off her pyjamas to get in the shower. She had her own giant bathroom – “the spa”, Reyna called it – with a comically enormous tub and walk-in shower with dual heads and a marble ledge to sit on. She propped her right leg up on the ledge to shave, then her left. She felt her big-sister resolve kicking in and was eager to meet Will. If she didn’t like him, she’d definitely say something to her mom even if it got her yelled at or, more likely, frozen out.
    She dried and moisturized and pumped keratin serum into her hair, which she gathered into a subdued ponytail. Some powder,