The Remedy for Love: A Novel Read Online Free PDF

anger, Alison had said sometimes, no matter how justifiably pissed he was. “A lot of anger, Eric.” Heavy on the
K
sound in his name. Had he been angry on their bike trip? He had not. Had she returned? She had not. The bags were heavy, but not as heavy as Danielle’s had been, and only two of them. More awkward, though: paper. He arranged them in the crook of one arm so as to have a hand free. His own footprints from a mere three minutes previous were already filled in, but no question where the path was through the roadside meadow. The forest, however, was decidedly darker, the balsam firs beyond the stone wall drooping with snow, the branches starting to block the path. He enjoyed tugging on them, watching the snow dump, the branches springing back skyward. This would be a place to come mushrooming in the spring, and warbler walking. It would be a lot of things in spring that it was not now. He and Alison could come here together: she’d always liked to explore vernal pools. She’d bend deeply from the waist—all that yoga—and examine the loops of frog eggs. She’d flip leaves uncannily and find a fire newt every time. She’d have zero compassion for Danielle, or less.
    The pitch of the slope seemed steeper and the rain boots more hopeless and he slid and slipped his way down, proud of his balance, almost skiing at times, groceries at risk. The last stretch of the path coming down from high above the river and past the outhouse was difficult—the wind and snow hard in his face, ice underfoot. The hemlock branches, heavy with wet snow, were already brushing the ground, no obvious entry to the shelter they’d provided earlier. He skirted them, stinging snow in his face, ducked to the cabin and up the stone steps, hurried to push the door open and escape the pelting, a loud halloo so as not to frighten the young woman.
    He failed at that:
    “Hey,” she cried.
“Hey!”
Then, “What the
fuck,
yo, get out!” She’d pulled the big slipper tub up practically touching the stove and stood in it, her naked butt pinkened from a scrubbing; anyway, she was in the act of dipping her washcloth into the pot of water she’d put on, and her legs were long and bare and awfully hairy and dripping, a patter of metallic beats from the copper tub, like a shower of pennies.
    He turned away mortified. “Oh, my god, sorry! I just brought you this stuff. You’ll need more food. And there’s good wine. From the store. For you. If you want.”
    Danielle had a tattered robe instead of a towel, but at least she had that. She wrapped herself up in it. “You just come crashing in?”
    “It’s so windy, I . . .”
    She climbed out of the tub in her pink-gray robe and marched toward him, sharp little fist at the ready. “Out!” she cried. “Get out!” And then she was pummeling him as best she could, one hand holding the robe, knuckles in his sternum between the grocery bags, which he didn’t want to drop. He tried not to smile, blocked her hand between the bags. “Help!” she cried, pulling it back, punching at him wildly, little knuckles ripping the heavier of the bags.
    He crouched to save the wine as the bag tore open, dropped the other bag in the process, cheese and scallions and peppers tumbling out. She took the opportunity to pop him in the chin a good one, even as the next wine bottles hit the floor clanking against each other, rolling away across the floor. He said, “Hey, okay, easy. I just thought you could use some more food.”
    And she popped him again, kicked at him. “You didn’t think! You didn’t think at all! Jimmy! Help!”
    Jimmy? He fumbled on, the rest of the groceries hitting the floor, perfect mango splitting. He said, “That’s raw-milk Parmesan. It’s delicious, the real thing. I thought you’d like to have it. And some basics? That’s excellent flour.”
    She kicked the bag, a puff of white.
    “And all sorts of vegetables.”
    She tried to stomp the first eggplant, but it rolled under her