The Children by Ann Leary Read Free Book Online Page B

brag. And sure enough, as Laurel and Spin sat at the table and Joanie guzzled a Gatorade, she began what Sally and I like to call her “Joan-a-logue.” I knew that this would be the extended version. Our mother was slightly in awe of Laurel.
    â€œI run five miles, every day,” she began, wiping her forehead with a dish towel. “I’m sixty, but I still run every day.”
    This is actually a setup, and sure enough, Laurel replied, “No, you can’t be sixty.”
    â€œI’ll be sixty-one in August,” Joan declared. She acknowledged that this must be hard for Laurel to believe, but she’s never lied about her age. She thinks it’s exercise that keeps her so young. She runs every day, even if she also plays tennis, as she had that morning. Yes, five miles every day, unless the temperature is over ninety or below twenty degrees. Her resting heart rate is fifty-five. She ran the Boston Marathon several times, but that was long ago. She should have been a bi-athlete. She loves to swim as well. Her great-great-grandmother was one of the first female lifeguards in Massachusetts; that’s where her family is from. They’re an old Boston family. She was a Garrison. The Garrisons came to this continent on the Mayflower, which is probably why she and her family have always been so healthy and live so long. She comes from hearty stock—not many people survived that first winter in Plymouth. Joan believes in exercise, and she asked Laurel if she knew that exercise is what keeps your brain sharp. Before Laurel could reply, Joan informed her that indeed it is. It only makes sense, she explained. You need to keep pumping oxygen into your brain, or it will atrophy like any other organ. All Joan’s friends complain of declining memories, but Joan never forgets a detail. She asked Spin if it isn’t a fact that everyone knows her to be the one among their friends with the keenest memory, and Spin sort of shrugged, winked at me, and nodded. Yes, Joan assured us all, she’s as sharp as a tack. Well, her bridge games help, too, and her volunteer work. She likes to keep busy, and she’s competitive. She’s not ashamed of admitting that. It seems that being competitive is out of vogue these days, but why? Isn’t that, after all, what a capitalist system is based upon—healthy competition? Her father, William Garrison, was the headmaster at Holden Academy for twenty-five years. When she was eight years old, she was playing sports with kids twice her age, and these were boys, not girls—the school hadn’t become coed yet—
    â€œJoan,” Sally interrupted. “Laurel was training for the Olympics, so I think she knows about being competitive.”
    â€œOh yes, yes,” said Joan. “How exciting to be on the Olympic ski team.”
    â€œI wasn’t on the actual team. I was short-listed. I tore up my knee during the trials,” Laurel said. “Then, later the same year, I had my accident.” Her voice trembled a little when she said the word accident, but she smiled bravely.
    â€œOh, that’s right, dear. Spin told us about that,” my mother said. “What a horrible thing.”
    â€œNo, everything happens for a reason. I didn’t realize it at the time, but if it hadn’t been for the accident, I probably never would have gone to college, let alone graduate school. And I’m fine now. I can’t ski as fast, of course, but I actually enjoy skiing in a way that I never did when I was competing.”
    â€œI’m so glad. I can see how skiing would become more enjoyable once it became a pastime rather than a profession,” said Joan, who has only ever known pastimes, never a true profession.
    â€œYes, and I never would have met Spin if I hadn’t turned into a recreational skier. So it was all for the best.” Laurel turned to Spin, who looked at her lovingly.
    I glanced at my mother. She was