Joy For Beginners Read Free

him off and driving to the bookstore, anticipating the smell of old paper and warm blueberry muffins, ground espresso beans and nutmeg and ink.
    It was quiet behind the counter where people dropped off their bags and boxes of books, then went to wander among the shelves or drink coffee while she assessed the value of their reading habits. First, you had to get rid of the esoteric tomes no one else would want; the beach reads that everyone else had already read and sold, sand filtering out of their pages like used-up words; the books that had been stuffed into the bottom of backpacks along with, she was sure, old bananas. For books in good condition, she would offer a quarter of the original price in store credit. Less, if people wanted a quick exit and cash.
    At first Caroline had seen the job of used-book buyer as a stepping-stone to the more exciting world of the new releases displayed at the front of the store, their words freshly printed, their meanings clean as new sheets. But she quickly realized she had an affinity for the older books and their muted scents of past dinners and foreign countries, the tea and chocolate stains coloring the phrases. You could never be certain what you would find in a book that had spent time with someone else. As Caroline had riffled through the pages looking for defects, she had discovered an entrance ticket to Giverny, a receipt for thirteen bottles of champagne, a to-do list that included, along with groceries and dry cleaning, the simple reminder: “buy a gun.” Bits of life tucked like stowaways in between the chapters. Sometimes she couldn’t decide which story she was most drawn to.
    After Jack left, Caroline had found herself standing at her counter, considering the boxes and bags of books in front of her. She was, she realized one day, being traded in for a new release—and as a used-book buyer she couldn’t decide if it was the irony or the triteness of the analogy that she resented most.
     
    THE EVENING OF Kate’s victory party, Caroline had been afraid that Kate would challenge her to climb a mountain or go out on a date. But Kate’s assignments were as quiet and unexpected as Kate herself. She had taken a handful of beach rocks from a huge glass bowl in the center of the table and handed one to each of them—as reminders, she said. Caroline was first, and Kate had reached across the table, putting the smooth oval into Caroline’s hand.
    “Your task is to get rid of Jack’s books,” she said, and Caroline had realized she would have preferred the mountain.
     
    “I DON’T KNOW if I can do it,” Caroline said to Marion, lifting up her coffee cup. She saw the expression on Marion’s face. “It’s not just because they’re Jack’s,” she explained. “They’re books. It’s not their fault—they didn’t do anything to anybody; they deserve a home.”
    “So do you,” Marion replied.
     
    CAROLINE COULDN’T IMAGINE a home without Jack, even though in reality she’d been living alone for nine months already. Jack had a new sleek condo downtown, bought before he even told her he was leaving, his signature on the purchase documents a commitment, he had explained. He’d bought it with his own money—his inheritance from his father. She remembered the money; Jack had said he wanted to hold it aside, for flying lessons. She had thought he meant it literally.
    Now, with Jack and Brad both gone, walking through her house was like driving the curves of a familiar but poorly maintained country road. She leaned into its rhythms naturally as she walked in the front door, left her keys in the dish they had bought on a family trip to Hawaii, passed the couch she and Jack had rolled off one night when the bed was too far away, went into the kitchen where it still seemed more natural for Brad to be standing as a four-year-old, head barely at the height of the counter, asking her what was for dinner. Without thinking, she was the person that the house, the furniture,