Read Online Sight Reading by Daphne Kalotay - Free Book Online

without him. In her mind she had them laughing at her anecdotes, about Rascal up on Madame Duvalier’s roof. . . . The vision had seemed so real. Which made this scene before her all the more disappointing.
    The same thing had happened to another vision she used to have. One that had seized her repeatedly in her very first months with Nicholas, back when she was still a student: she and Nicholas walking hand in hand toward the door of a house, a beautiful house, and before them two children, a boy and a girl. The vision was blurry, like a dream, yet carried with it the certainty that this was their house, and their children.
    But it hadn’t turned out that way.
    Now Yoni was calling someone Hazel didn’t know a tortoise. The blond girl laughed and flicked her cigarette ashes into the ashtray—but no, it wasn’t an ashtray at all. It was one of Jessie’s art projects, the little ceramic imprint of her hand they had fired in a kiln. Jessie had insisted it be displayed right here on the table between the window and the couch. And now it had become an ashtray. Hazel felt her mouth opening, to object.
    â€œOh, sorry. Jeez. Ah, well.” Gary was leaning over, blotting at the Persian carpet. He had spilled his glass of wine.
    â€œOh, don’t worry,” Hazel said quickly, her heart in her throat. “I’ll mop it right up.”
    Nicholas made a motion as if to help her. “No, don’t you worry,” she told him. “I’ll get it.”
    She hurried to the kitchen for some seltzer, though probably it wouldn’t do any good. Mrs. Sprat had followed her there, her enormous cotton dress rustling around her. “First we’ll just lift it off with some paper towels,” she told Hazel calmly. “That way it won’t rub into the fibers.”
    Together they hurried back to the living room. Mrs. Sprat administered the paper towels to the swilling, sullied flowers, her dress shifting around her like a great tide while Hazel poured seltzer onto a sponge. Gary, moving his feet out of the way, asked some question about conservatory hiring policy, and each one of the men had a different answer.
    Hazel knelt on her new skirt and blotted at the carpet. The wine spread into the towel with uncanny speed, so dark and red it might have been blood. And then she felt them—tears, hot and ridiculous, about to come forth. That she was upset about a spill seemed all the more unpardonable.
    â€œAll right, hand me that sponge,” Mrs. Sprat said while Hazel managed, as she always did, to blink the tears back.

Chapter 3

    E arly on the Saturday morning of the spring concert, a hall-mate said sleepily that there was someone on the telephone for her.
    It was early May, buds finally opening on branches. Remy leaned against the wall outside of her room, the spiraled cord of the hall telephone stretched as far as it could go.
    â€œSorry to bother you this early,” came Mr. Elko’s voice, “but there’s a possibility of what some might term an emergency.”
    It figured that innocent, orange-haired Lynn, still living at her parents’ duplex in Somerville, would only now contract the quick, violent flu that had swept through the dorms two months earlier. Lynn had been up with it all night, Mr. Elko said; she wasn’t certain she would be able to play this evening. “We’ll just have to see how she feels tonight.”
    All morning Remy practiced Scheherazade, trying out different accents and bowings, finding ways to avoid crossing strings where she didn’t want to break a phrase. She imagined herself saving the day—and how grateful Mr. Elko would be.
    She was still embarrassed about the way things had gone at the cocktail party. Late in the evening, when she went to the kitchen for a glass of water, she had somehow ended up in a debate with Mr. Elko. For some reason (well, because she knew it might prolong their conversation) Remy had