The Book That Matters Most by Ann Hood Page B

he shoved them aside to make room for his own textbooks; he was getting his MBA then, poring over facts and figures at that table long into the night.
    The memory of it made her pause to tenderly touch his arm, and he looked up at her almost gratefully. This was the time when she should feel guilty for lying, wasn’t it? For falling in love with another man? But she didn’t. Instead, Charlotte scooped up the rotten avocado pit suspended in water and tossed it in the trash.
    â€œDoes this ever really work?” she asked no one in particular.
    â€œSusan’s mom grew one this big,” Ava said, holding out her hands to show Charlotte.
    â€œSusan’s mother doesn’t work,” Charlotte said. She slung her macramé hobo bag over one shoulder. “She has time to grow avocados.”
    â€œOff I go,” she added.
    When she bent and kissed the sweaty top of Lily’s head, Lily grabbed her arm and began to wail.
    â€œDon’t go! Don’t go!”
    She had to pry away Lily’s fingers, and then hurry out the door before Lily blocked it; the child had done that before.
    It wasn’t until she was outside that she realized in her haste to escape that she hadn’t kissed Ava goodbye. She stared at the front door, the muffled sounds of Lily crying inside coming through the open window. No, she couldn’t go back inside. She’d bringAva something special this afternoon, a shell or a shiny beach stone. An apology.
    H is dark green Valiant was already in the motel parking lot, waiting. The sight of it always made her smile. A Plymouth Valiant! An old-man car, she liked to tease him. He liked when she teased him. Not like Teddy, who looked wounded if she ribbed him, even gently. Sometimes she had to tell him, “That was a joke,” and even then he had to force a smile. Across the street from the motel lay the ocean, sparkling blue in the bright sunlight. A line of cars already waited to enter the beach’s lot, inching slowly forward.
    She pulled over just outside the motel parking lot to reapply lipstick and smooth her still damp hair. In the mirror she caught sight of her heavy-lidded eyes and flushed cheeks. The extra Valium had made her slightly woozy and sleepy, in a good way. God, it was hot today! The smell of her sweat filled her car. She dabbed at her chest and neck with some crumpled Burger Chef napkins, then tossed them on the floor and continued into the parking lot, sliding her beat-up Citroën into the spot right beside him. She didn’t move until he realized she was there, his face lighting up at the sight of her. Before he could get out of the car, she got out of hers, and entered the Valiant on the passenger side.
    â€œGood morning,” he said.
    Charlotte grinned at him. “Good morning, you,” she said.
    T he crackling sounded faraway at first, but then grew louder and more persistent. Someone was shouting too, and for a moment she thought she was home and her daughters were calling to her,or crying. But no, the voice was a woman’s and what she was saying, over and over, was, “Do you read me? Do you read me?”
    He jumped from the bed and grabbed his pants from the floor.
    It was still morning, but late, and the sun streamed in through the crack where the drapes didn’t meet. The air conditioner chugged noisily, and from the radio came “Brandy, you’re a fine girl . . .” and now he had a walkie talkie pressed to his ear and he was saying, “Roger.”
    She couldn’t focus on what the voice on the other end was saying. Her head throbbed and her mouth was so dry that even licking her lips didn’t help. Pulling the thin sheet from the bed and wrapping it around her shoulders, she went to the bathroom and filled the plastic cup with water, drinking it straight down. She was on her second glass when he appeared in the doorway, already dressed.
    â€œI’m sorry,” he said, “but some