The Book That Matters Most (7 page)

Cate nodded. “I meant to tell you, Ava. We don't have a copy at
the library either. Which is odd because we do have a card for it in the old card catalogue, but no book.”

The man at the entrance to the rink motioned them forward.

Awkwardly, Cate stumbled ahead onto the ice, leaving Ava beside Luke. She wanted to skate away from him, but a woman came from behind and wedged herself between them before Ava had the chance.

“This is Roxy,” Luke said. “Roxy, Ava. Ava just joined the book group.”

Roxy had dyed platinum hair, very black eyebrows, and Hollywood-red lipstick.

She surveyed Ava dismissively. “Luke loves it,” she said, also dismissively, Ava thought. “Maybe because he's the only guy.”

They were at the edge now, being pushed forward by the people behind them.

“He's not, though,” Ava said, her eyes scanning the ice for Cate.

“Right,” Luke said. “Some widower. Kind of a sad sack, poor guy.”

Just when Ava spotted Cate dead center, Cate's legs shot out from under her and she fell hard on her butt.

“Uh oh,” Ava said, relieved to have a reason to get away. “Someone needs assistance.”

She skated toward Cate, her legs wobbling at first, but growing steadier with every stroke. The sound of the blades against the ice was exciting, as if she were actually going somewhere. When she stopped, cutting the edges of her blades into the ice and sending up a small spray of snow, Ava had to keep herself from smiling down at Cate.

“Why did I let you talk me into this?” Cate moaned, trying unsuccessfully to stand up.

“You owe me,” Ava said, reaching her hand to Cate. “I have to read Jane Austen.”

“At least it won't hurt,” Cate grumbled as she let Ava hoist her up.

Luke skated by, his arm around Roxy's waist, their legs moving in unison.

“You okay?” he called.

“I hate ice skating!” Cate called back.

“Stick with me,” Ava told her.

Cate clutched Ava's arm, and let her drag her across the ice for a bit.

“See? You're getting the hang of it,” Ava said when Cate relaxed her grip.

“You know what I realized?” Cate asked. “I knew you grew up here, but I never knew your mother was a writer—”

“She owned a bookstore, that was her real job. She's been dead a very long time,” Ava added.

“Well, I bet she'd be glad you joined the book group,” Cate said.

“I think you're doing fine now,” Ava said. “Okay if I skate alone for a bit before they kick us off?”

She didn't wait for Cate to answer. Instead, she pushed easily from one foot to the other, gliding past the blur of other skaters. She circled once, twice, and still again, faster each time, focusing on nothing but her skates on the ice, the wind on her face, the steady beating of her heart.

I
t is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife
, Ava read.

She groaned. Was everything about marriage? Was she really meant to read almost three hundred pages of a book about a man wanting a wife? And on New Year's Eve, no less?

The ice skating and the hot chocolate afterward had brought her
more pleasure than she'd had in a long time. Enough to let her curl up on the sofa under her favorite quilt with the damned book. She'd even lit a fire in the fireplace for the first time since Jim moved out, and its crackling mixed with the soft lamplight warmed Ava.

She glanced down at the book, closed now with her finger holding her place. The cover—a woman dressed formally in white, sitting on a mauve fainting chair—should have tipped her off that this was a book about love and marriage and romance and everything Ava did not want to think about, never mind read about for hours and hours.

Maybe, she thought, maybe just this once she wouldn't read the book. Surely there was a movie of
Pride and Prejudice
. She remembered Cate's teasing: No cheating. She vowed to read every other book, from
The Great Gatsby
to
Slaughterhouse-Five
. Every word. Then she went to Netflix, and scrolled down to P.

T
he book group met on the second Monday of every month, in that same downstairs room. Emma always set up a table of snacks related to the setting of the book. For
Pride and Prejudice
, there were scones and clotted cream and small triangles of cucumber and egg salad sandwiches. When Cate called everyone to their seats, which were arranged in a circle tonight, Ava saw that instead of her usual loose tunic over black leggings with moss green or dark red Australian walking shoes, Cate stood in front of the room in a white Empire-waist dress with a small floral pattern, her pale blonde hair pulled into a bun with stray ringlets around her face.

Ava glanced at the circle of chairs, already almost all occupied. How could she be inconspicuous with this seating arrangement?

“Hey there, Peggy Fleming,” Luke said, holding a chair out for her.

There was nothing for her to do except sit.

“You looked good out there,” he said. He had the porkpie hat on again, and the same flannel shirt.

“Peggy Fleming?” Ava said, balancing her plate of sandwiches on top of the book in her lap. “A little before your time, wasn't she?”

“My mother loved her,” he admitted.

“Ah,” Ava said. So she was old enough to be his mother?

Luke tilted his chin at the book. “How'd you like it?”

Ava swallowed, feeling a little guilty. “I enjoyed it,” she said.

She had enjoyed the movie, enough to wonder if she might have actually liked the book too. She'd even gone to the bookstore and bought all of the other books. She lined them up on the night table on Jim's side of the bed, waiting for her to open them.

“Just so John and Ava don't think I've lost my mind,” Cate began, “as an homage to the beginning of this book club when we would actually recreate meals from the books—”

“I cooked for a week when we read
Like Water for Chocolate
,” Diana interrupted.

Penny and Ruth laughed.

“Not funny,” Monique said. “I had to make the food for
Angela's Ashes
.”

“You can see why we stopped doing that,” Ruth explained.

“I dress vaguely related to the book—” Cate began, but was interrupted by Ruth.

“You refused to wear an antebellum gown when we read
Gone With the Wind
.”

“True,” Cate said. “But I do try. We are serious readers, of
course. But we like to have fun with the books too. That's why Emma works so hard on our snacks.”

“I like it,” John said softly. “Every Halloween my wife made us elaborate costumes. Like once, she constructed an electrical outlet costume for her, and I was a plug.”

“I should do that for my twins,” Ruth said. “They've been Tweedledee and Tweedledum too many times.”

Cate started giving background about the book and Jane Austen, and the group settled into a comfortable silence.

“For someone who wrote behind a creaky door so that she would know when visitors approached so she could hide her manuscripts, Jane Austen has certainly given up her anonymity,” Cate said.

Ava tried to concentrate on Cate's description of the social milieu of Regency England and the class divisions, but her mind kept wandering. Jim was back from Peru. She knew because she'd spotted his reliable blue Prius on her way to the library, parked just two blocks from home. What had he been doing on Williams Street? For a silly moment, she thought he'd parked there and then walked to their old house, maybe to see her, maybe to reconsider his moving out. Out of the house, out of their life. All of it so swift that she was still reeling from it. But as soon as she had the thought, she dismissed it. There were countless reasons for him to be in their neighborhood, more than she could list.

Ava had to work hard to blot out the image of the bumper of Jim's Prius wrapped in pale pink yarn.

“I think it's important to say,” Penny said, standing and peering at the group through thick bifocals, “that although Ms. Austen is critical of the upper crust, she also does a good job of satirizing the lower class.”

Ava sat up straighter. Apparently she'd daydreamed through Cate's introduction and the discussion had begun.

“Well, in her lifetime England did restrict social mobility, didn't they?” Ruth said.

“In her lifetime?” Jen said, shaking her head. “We restrict social mobility today too.”

“I suppose that's true,” Penny said. “But I was from old Boston stock and I married the son of mill workers.”

“Was your family okay with that, though?” Kiki asked.

Penny smiled. “Yes. Once he became president of the bank.”

Ava tried to come up with something to say, but all she could think about was that damn yarn-bombed bumper.

“Let's not forget she was also funny,” Honor said, and launched into a PhD-sounding argument about humor versus drama.

Ava forced herself to focus. In the movie, she'd liked the overly romantic scene when Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy met up in the rain. But that didn't seem to add anything to the conversation.

She sensed a pause.

“The character of Elizabeth is curious,” she said into the space of quiet. “She's so ill-tempered and rude, yet I think we're meant to like her.”

Jennifer was frowning at Ava.

“Actually,” Cate said carefully, “Elizabeth is quite sweet-natured.”

Now Ava was frowning. Had she mixed up the characters somehow? No. Keira Knightley was Elizabeth, she was sure of that.

The discussion got directed to another topic, about Austen's relevance today, but Jennifer kept giving Ava sidelong glances.

The actress, Diana, said she hadn't been able to stop reading, to see if Elizabeth would end up with Darcy after all.

“Oh, I knew they'd end up together from the start,” Ava said, happy for another opportunity. “The way Elizabeth looks at him at that first ball, you just knew.”

“At the first ball?” Kiki said. “You're talking about the movie, aren't you? With Keira Knightley?”

Ava squirmed in her seat.

“In the movie,” Kiki said to the group, “Elizabeth totally telegraphs her interest in Mr. Darcy as soon as they meet.”

Ava heard Luke chuckle beside her.

John stood and cleared his throat. “Now, I'm not going to say I didn't have some trouble with this one,” he said. “But it seems to me that men during that time had lots of options. But women had only one: a good marriage.”

Without warning, perhaps from her embarrassment or the wine, Ava burst into tears.

“Oh my,” Penny said, her heavy, cluttered gold charm bracelet clanking as her hand shot to her mouth.

“I'm sorry,” Ava managed. “It's just . . . I lost my husband last year, and all this talk of marriage and love is hard.”

John, in his lime green fleece and Topsiders, strode across the room and wrapped her in a big hug. He smelled good, like coconut and lime, like a tropical island. And the fleece was soft against her cheek. Ava thought she could stay just like this forever.

But eventually John released Ava, and went back to his seat.

There was talk about the motifs of courtship and journeys, the meaning of Pemberley, Mr. Darcy's estate, as a symbol. Ava didn't even try to participate. She'd been caught cheating, there was no need to pretend.

“Before we return for some more wine and British treats,”
Cate said, “I want to remind you that next month's selection is
The Great Gatsby
, the book that matters most to Luke.”

“I have a dreadful reminder,” Diana said. “Chemo Thursday.”

“It's my turn, D,” Honor said. “Pick you up at ten.”

“And I'm going to watch the movie
Clueless
Friday night, if anyone's interested in coming over,” Kiki said. “It's a modern retelling of
Emma
. Thought it would be fun.”

“That sounds divine,” Diana said.

Jennifer's hand shot up.

“Cate, remember I emailed you about Ava's choice?” she said.

Ava felt her cheeks growing hot.

“That's right,” Cate said. “Ava? I'm sorry but remember? We're having trouble finding copies of
From Clare to Here
.”

Ava said, “I have one. I could maybe pass it around?”

“How about choosing another book?” Ruth said.

“That's a thought,” Cate said.

“But it's supposed to be the book that matters most to us,” Ava said. “And that's mine.”

Ava looked at everyone, their faces turned toward her.

“And besides,” Ava added, “the writer has agreed to come and speak to our book group.”

As soon as she said the words, she wanted to take them back. What was she thinking? For all she knew, Rosalind Arden was dead. The book had come out ages ago. And even if she were alive, she could live far away, or be too old to travel. She could refuse.

“We've never had the writer come before,” Penny said. “That would be interesting.”

Cate was studying Ava's face. Did her friend know she was lying? Did she understand it was out of desperation?

“I'll call the intra-library exchange folks,” Cate said finally, “see if they have a copy or two.”

“We have until November,” Luke said. “We'll be able to find some by then.”

Relieved, Ava thanked everyone. As they turned from her and their chatter filled the air, Ava felt a spark of something inside take hold. She would find Rosalind Arden. She would tell her how, as a sad little girl, she'd read
From Clare to Here
, over and over for an entire summer. She would explain to Rosalind Arden how her sister had died on a beautiful June morning, and how her mother had spent the next year grieving until she couldn't stand it anymore and drove away from Ava and her father, straight to the Jamestown Bridge, where she'd jumped to her death. Could a writer understand how her book had saved someone long ago, when the world was a fragile, scary place and the people she loved weren't in it anymore? Could a writer understand that her book had mattered more than anything? Ava didn't know the answer. But she was going to find out. She would find Rosalind Arden and tell her everything. And just the thought of that lifted her spirits and allowed her to join the people beside her who were happily talking about books.