Joy For Beginners Read Online Free PDF Page B

solace after the chaos and smells of the hospital when Kate was sick. No need to think, just water then air, a quick breath before her face and mind descended gratefully back into the quiet below her. She had started swimming farther and longer, delaying the moment when she would have to leave and return to the world. Occasionally she had missed dinner at home and she was surprised that she cared less than she thought she would. She had declared herself proud when she found that Brad and Jack had figured out a quick dinner for themselves, applauding their self-sufficiency when in fact her primary emotion was relief.
    After Kate’s diagnosis, things had changed between Caroline and Jack. It was as if for Jack bodies had suddenly turned into mine fields—liver, lungs, heart, breasts, ovaries, brain—all quietly waiting under the surface to be triggered, blown up. He had started reporting to Caroline with a grim satisfaction about people they knew, even marginally—the neighbor who had collapsed while playing soccer, a coworker’s father who had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. He read articles in the paper about environmental causes for immune diseases, began training for a marathon, brought home giant plastic bottles of supplements with multisyllabic names and insisted she and Brad take them as well.
    Caroline had had difficulty being patient—it was she, after all, who sat in the hospital, who held Kate as she retched into the toilet, watched death tease and poke at her friend like some schoolyard bully. And suddenly she had been frustrated, angered even, by her husband’s seeming inability to take care of himself. The things she used to do for him and take such pleasure in now were all signs of his own inadequacy. Make your own damn coffee, she wanted to say, and she had been shocked at the sound of the voice in her head, its sharp, mean edge.
    Now, as Caroline swam through the water of the pool, from the back of her mind came something Jack had said during their one truly horrible fight. Kate had had a bad reaction to chemo that day, and after Caroline left the hospital she went to the pool. She came home late, without calling. Jack had met her at the door and informed her, his voice tight, that she’d missed dinner. She yelled, told him he was selfish; she was on the front line, she said, not him.
    Jack had looked at her, the anger in his eyes turning into sadness. It’s only called a front line, he said, if there’s another one behind it.

    WHEN CAROLINE ARRIVED at the bookstore that afternoon, her hair still damp from the pool, she could feel the change in the air. An author event was scheduled for that evening, another big name, and the bookstore was already seeing an increased traffic flow as word got around. Anticipatory cache, Caroline called it.
    As the time approached, Caroline stood at the front door, welcoming customers and directing them back to the cafe area where the tables and chairs had been rearranged to accommodate a large crowd. The author wasn’t there yet, but Caroline had gotten used to late entrances during her stint as coordinator, had even gotten to the point where she smiled a bit to herself at the newly minted authors who showed up the requested fifteen minutes early.
    Her cell phone rang and Caroline looked down, seeing a number she didn’t recognize. She opened her phone.
    “This is Mary.” The publicist—not a good sign. “I just got a call. She’s not coming. One of her characters died unexpectedly today. She says she’s in mourning and can’t see anyone.”
    “I have a roomful of people here.”
    “And I wish I had an author for you.” The publicist’s own exasperation simmered beneath their mutual knowledge of the author’s sales record.
    “What am I supposed to do?”
    “Can you tap-dance? Seriously—I’m sorry; I owe you one.” And the phone call ended with a click.
    The glamour might not yet be apparent in her job, Caroline thought. But drama, there was