Half Life Jillian Cantor (trending books to read .txt) 📖

But no matter all that, I still imagined her mother’s death would hit her hard, and I felt for her, remembering her kindness to me the week Papa had died.

Even knowing she would have to come back to Loksow for the funeral, it was a shock when I nearly walked right into her, as I was leaving my advanced physics class.

I had not seen her in almost two years—since I’d gone with Pierre to hear her concert in Montmartre, and then we had shared only a brief exchange and a quick hug just after her performance. Seeing her again now I was struck by how remarkably she appeared not to have aged a single bit. Somehow time had made her only more beautiful, more full of light in person.

“Marya!” She grabbed me in a hug before I could react to her unexpected presence outside of my school. Klara clutched my hand, pulled close to my leg. Leokadia pulled back from me and noticed her. “And who is this?” She bent down to Klara’s level, and extended one of her petite hands for a shake. Klara hesitated for a moment before accepting.

“Klara,” I said. “This is Mama’s friend who plays beautiful music. Remember I have told you about her?”

Klara shook her head, confused, and I was caught inside my lie. I had never mentioned Leokadia to Klara before. Not because I wasn’t proud and happy for what Leokadia had done with her talent, what she had become these past few years. But because talking about her out loud with Klara felt as if it would be admitting other things that I would never want to admit to her. We were a family, Kaz and Klara and I, and inside the bubble of our family there was a delicate balance. Move any wrong way and the whole thing would burst.

“Yes.” I wrapped myself tighter in my lie. “She used to teach piano here with me, many years ago. Before you were born. I told you, chicken, you just don’t remember.”

My sweet Klara nodded now.

She didn’t have the capacity to believe I’d lie to her, and perhaps to make up for it, I kept on talking. “I bet Leokadia would show you the piano while she’s visiting. Teach you a song.” I stood back up and turned to her. “Only if you have time.”

“Yes.” Leokadia clapped her hands together. “I am here until the end of the week. I would love to see you both. Would tomorrow morning work?”

KLARA KNEW THE WOMEN I TAUGHT WITH, THE WOMEN IN MY classes, her aunts and her cousins, especially Lou, who had been living with us the past few months. But none of them played music, none of them sparkled with the radiance Leokadia had. And even at five years old, Klara had somehow picked up on this.

“Today we are learning piano with your very beautiful friend, aren’t we, Mama?” We had gotten fresh eggs from the Nowaks’ farm yesterday, and I boiled them for our breakfast now.

Lou sat across the table from Klara and looked up from her textbook. She had become quite interested in studying biology, and it amused me that it was only here, away from both her physician parents, that she had come to find a new scientific fascination with the body. “Piano?” Lou asked, her eyes lighting up a little.

“Yes,” I told her. “My friend, she’s a concert pianist. She’s come to visit for the week. Would you like to come with us for a lesson this morning, too?” Lou nodded, looking delighted. She was sixteen, and looked every bit like a woman, the spitting image of Bronia at that age. But unlike sixteen-year-old Bronia she seemed not to have a mothering instinct in her entire body. Mostly, she acted like a little girl. And though I left her in charge of Klara from time to time, whenever I came home she was on the floor, playing whatever game Klara had commanded, a look of glee on her face. Sometimes I would stifle a laugh, thinking of how the whole scene would shock Bronia. In my letters to her, I told her only about how well Lou was doing in her biology courses.

And though there were no mountains in Loksow, Lou still went on very long daily walks, or else she said she got restless. I often sent her to the Nowaks’ farm, and then we had fresh eggs for breakfast nearly every morning.

IT FELT STRANGE WALKING BACK INTO LEOKADIA’S OLD HOME, Kaz’s old workspace, after all this time. The inside was exactly as I remembered, sprawling and filled with expensive-looking furniture and rugs, except now it was all covered in a fine coat of dust. Pani Jewniewicz had been dead only a week, but it seemed no one had cleaned her apartment in much longer than that. Her husband had gone years before her, her daughter all the way across Europe. I felt sad about the way she had died alone, her house oddly neglected, and I had the thought that no matter what else might happen in my life, I did not want it to end that way for me. I put one arm around Klara, one around Lou, and gave them each a half hug.

“Come in.” Leokadia ushered us in to the back of the apartment, where the baby grand piano still sat in the same place it had years earlier when I’d watched her give lessons, taken a few lessons myself. It shone now, free of dust, and I imagined she had spent the morning cleaning it herself, though not a blond curl was out of place, nor was there a single wrinkle in her stunning blue velour dress.

I introduced Lou, and Leokadia quickly grabbed a chair for her from the dining room. Then she patted the piano bench, and Klara hopped up on it. Leokadia sat next to her and showed both girls the notes, running her fingers delicately across the keys. I sat on the