Joy For Beginners by Erica Bauermeister Read Free Book Online

the windows.
    “Somebody told me once about burning sage to chase out the old spirits,” she said, “but I like the idea of candles better. They go so much better with dinner.”
    They had cooked together in the small kitchen, moving around each other with the grace of long friendship, Caroline picking up and cutting the carrot that Marion had just peeled, Marion stirring the chicken in the sauté pan while Caroline added the onions, followed by tomatoes. Marion had brought the last of the oregano from her garden and the dusty-sweet smell filled the house when it touched the warmed oil. Caroline cut thick slices of bread, bought from the bakery near her house, and scattered the carrots across the top of the salad. Marion pulled the bottles of olive oil and vinegar from the cupboard, drizzling dressing across the lettuce, finishing with a few firm pulls from the salt grinder. As Caroline put the plates on the table, she realized it had been a long time since she had cooked anything. For months now, the only food she had been able to get her hands to take off the grocery store shelves had been rice pudding and canned chicken spread, the reasons for her choices as baffling as pregnancy cravings.
    But when the first bite met her mouth, it was as if her body suddenly remembered food, and she found herself taking a second helping, another slice of bread, a third glass of wine. They ate, their conversation weaving back and forth across the table, filling the house with fresh news, old stories. Finally, the food was gone, the last of the wine poured into glasses, only the dishes left.
    Caroline took a long, slow swallow, looking toward the darkened window.
    “So, why do you think people do it?” she asked. “Leave each other?”
    “I don’t know,” Marion answered.
    “But you’ve written articles about it.”
    “That doesn’t mean I know anything.” Marion’s tone was light. Caroline looked over at her, waiting. After a while, Marion gestured out toward the ocean beyond the windows.
    “I think love is kind of like those waves out there,” she said. “You ride one in to the beach, and it’s the most amazing thing you’ve ever felt. But at some point the water goes back out; it has to. And maybe you’re lucky—maybe you’re both too busy to do anything drastic. Maybe you’re good as friends, so you stay. And then something happens—maybe it’s something as big as a baby, or as small as him unloading the dishwasher—and the wave comes back in again. And it does that, over and over. I just think sometimes people forget to wait.”
     
    THE NEXT MORNING CAME gray and cool. Caroline woke up on the couch, her back stiff, and walked into the kitchen where Marion was making coffee.
    “You’re a little twitchy this morning,” Marion remarked as she took a coffee mug out of the cupboard. “Want some?”
    “Thanks,” Caroline answered, adding, “It was easier back at the house.”
    “Sure.” Marion poured out two cups, put sugar in hers, and then drank deeply and with great satisfaction.
    “Okay,” she said when she had finished. “Where’s the book?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “ Her book,” Marion repeated, looking at her sideways. “I know you. It’s here somewhere; you haven’t gotten rid of it, have you?”
    Caroline went into the bedroom and pulled a paperback off the shelf in the closet. The cover had a title draped across a gauzy photograph of red, high-heeled shoes.
    “Original,” murmured Marion, one eyebrow raised. “Okay, come with me.”
    Marion walked out the front door and down the pathway, past the closed window blinds and doors of the neighboring cottages, to the parking area. She lifted the lid of the large blue dumpster.
    “Pitch it,” she said.
    “But . . .”
    “I know; it’s a book. Pitch it.”
    Caroline hesitated, and then with an instinctive motion up and over, her arm pulled back and launched the book into the air. It landed with a satisfying thump at the bottom of