You Should Have Known by Jean Hanff Korelitz Read Free Book Online Page B

kid with cancer now than twenty years ago. And I’d much rather have a kid with cancer in New York than anyplace else.”
    Amanda, impervious to this argument, only shook her head. “I couldn’t deal with it. I hate hospitals. I hate the way they smell.” She shuddered, as if assailed—there, amid the expensive squalor of Sally Morrison-Golden’s town house—by a puddle of Lysol.
    â€œI just wish we had more, you know, artists and writers,” said Sylvia, who—having raised this particular topic, was now obviously attempting to move on. “Lunch with an opera singer or a visit to the painter’s studio. Why don’t we have more artists?”
    Because they don’t send their children to Rearden , Grace thought irritably. In the topography of New York private schools, Rearden was located in a mountain pass between the Wall Street Range and the Peaks of Corporate Law. Other schools—Fieldston, Dalton, Saint Ann’s—got the children of creative parents, theater people, and novelists. It hadn’t been delineated quite so clearly when Grace had been a student there. One of her friends had been the daughter of a poet who taught at Columbia, another was the unmusical son of two members of the New York Philharmonic. But Henry’s classmates were growing up in the homes of personal wealth managers and hedge fund warriors. It wasn’t particularly pleasant, but it couldn’t be helped.
    â€œWell, I think we’re in pretty good shape,” Sally announced. “Forty lots—something for everyone, right? Unless I’ve missed something. There’s still time to get it in if anyone has something?”
    â€œI was thinking…,” Grace said, alarmed by a wave of shyness. “I mean, if you want. I have my book. Just galleys at the moment, but you know I could promise one. I mean, a signed copy.”
    All three of them looked at her.
    â€œOh, that’s right,” Amanda said. “I forgot you wrote a book. What kind of book is it? Is it a mystery? I’m always looking for a good book for the beach.”
    Grace felt herself frown. It was the best way she knew of not laughing.
    â€œNo, no. I’m not that kind of writer. I’m a therapist, you know. This is a book about marriages. It’s my first book,” she said, noting—and disapproving—the distinct whiff of pride in her voice. “It’s called You Should Have Known .”
    â€œWhat?” Amanda said.
    â€œYou Should Have Known,” she repeated, louder this time.
    â€œNo, I heard you. I mean, I should have known what?”
    â€œOh. It’s…you always know people better at the beginning of a relationship.”
    In the very long and very silent moment that ensued, Grace had ample time to reevaluate her title, her thesis, and pretty much everything she held dear. Professionally, at least.
    â€œCould you maybe do a therapy session?” Sally said eagerly. “You know, ‘Authority on marriage will do couples therapy for you’?”
    Shocked, Grace could barely keep it together enough to shake her head. “I don’t think it would be appropriate.”
    â€œYeah, but people might really go for that.”
    â€œI’m sorry. No.”
    Amanda gave the tersest, tiniest frown of disapproval. Then, from the front of the house, they all heard the doorbell sound, a low and lazy chime. Grace, with immense gratitude, felt the tension drain from their little group. “Hilda?” Sally called. “Will you get that?”
    There was movement in the kitchen.
    â€œWas someone else supposed to come?” Amanda asked.
    â€œWell, no,” Sally said. “Not really.”
    â€œNot really?” Sylvia said, laughing a bit.
    â€œNo. I mean, someone said they might, but they didn’t follow up with me, so I thought…”
    There were voices now, muffled and indistinguishable. And something else: a