The Book That Matters Most Read Free

grip.
    â€œI’m Ava—” Ava began.
    â€œAva! You’re Maggie’s mom, aren’t you?” a young woman exclaimed. “I’m Honor! Honor Platt? I used to babysit for Maggie and Will, remember?”
    A vague image from a decade ago of a serious Brown student toting an impossibly large backpack floated across Ava’s mind.
    â€œHonor,” Ava said. “How are you? It’s been—”
    Honor interrupted again. “Maggie was like seven or eight? And Will was maybe eleven? I always liked coming to your house,” she added softly.
    â€œYou did?” Ava said, feeling that ache of loss creeping in. Damn you, Jim. See? People liked us. They liked coming into our home .
    â€œThere was always good food in the fridge and you guys were so fun. You and Mr. Tucker.” Honor smiled as if remembering.“Will was the sweetest boy. And Maggie . . . well, let’s just say she kept me on my toes.”
    â€œHonor Platt,” Ava said softly. In college, Honor had worn baggy jeans and loose sweatshirts, her hair tied up in a ponytail. She’d played Ultimate Frisbee, and taught Will and Maggie how to throw a Frisbee in a perfect arc. But here she was, a grown woman with soft auburn hair grazing her collarbone and a small blue stone glistening on her left nostril.
    â€œHow are they?” Honor said, grinning. “Maggie and Will?”
    â€œGreat, great,” Ava said, trying to ignore the feeling of worry that always accompanied that question. No, she told herself, they were great. Or at least Will was. Maggie—Ava pushed away the doubt that kept threatening to take over. Maggie was fine, she reminded herself, or they wouldn’t have sent her to Florence for this school year.
    â€œGrown up,” she added.
    â€œI can’t believe it,” Honor said. “Maggie’s almost as old as I was when I babysat her.”
    Ava nodded and sipped her wine, trying not to let concern about her daughter intrude, which was difficult considering how many times she’d let herself believe that her troubled child was finally on track, only to get surprised or disappointed. This time Maggie was on track. Finally. Blessedly.
    â€œWhat are you doing these days?” Ava asked, happy to change the subject.
    â€œI’m teaching at Brown now. English department. Women’s studies. Tenure track.”
    â€œWhat? That’s impressive.”
    â€œI’m so glad you joined the book group,” Honor said. “When I moved back here after grad school, it was a godsend. A way toconnect with people, and get out of my apartment and away from my thesis.”
    She gave Ava’s arm a quick squeeze before moving away from her.
    â€œIt’s going to be hard to fill Paula’s shoes,” Penny said.
    Ava had forgotten Penny was still standing there.
    â€œLast year our theme was ‘The Classics,’ and Paula’s pick was Remembrance of Things Past . Can you believe that?”
    Ah , Proust , Ava thought, remembering that he was the writer whose words her mother had repeated. There are perhaps no days of our childhood we lived so fully as those we spent with a favorite book . She considered reciting the quote to the woman staring up at her to prove herself worthy to be here, in Paula’s shoes.
    â€œI think she’s the only one who read it,” the woman continued. “All three volumes.”
    Suddenly, this book group sounded like more than Ava was up for. Three volumes of Proust?
    â€œYikes,” Ava said.
    â€œYou know what I say?” Penny said. “Mark Twain claims a classic is a book people have heard of but never read. Well then, Mr. Mark Twain, you’ve never met Paula Merino.”
    Ava attempted a laugh, but it came out as more of a grunt.
    Had she even forgotten how to laugh? Ava chastised herself. That did it. She would finish her wine and then apologize to Cate, to all of them, and go home. She