Love Anthony by Lisa Genova Page A

she’d have a large latte and a blueberry scone. Every now and then he’d read part of a news story to her, and she’d share either some particularly insightful, gorgeously worded nugget of wisdom or some hideously atrocious paragraph of trash. She loved those easy, unstructured mornings, back when they were newly married.
    She wishes he were here. As she stews on this a bit more, she realizes that what she’s really longing for is a latte, a scone, and a leisurely morning at The Bean. She doesn’t need David here for that. Seized by a sense of purpose and a desire she hasn’t experienced in a long time to be out in the world, she throws on a pair of jeans and a sweater, zips her coat, grabs her hat, purse, and keys, slides her feet into her boots by the front door, and, before she can talk herself out of going, leaves the house.
    DOWNTOWN IS MOBBED, crawling with cars and people. The few times Olivia has driven through Town since she arrived on the island this winter, it’s been deserted, even on a weekend. The storefront windows have been darkened, sporting naked mannequins and signs reading SEE YOU NEXT SEASON. Most of the restaurants have been closed in the middle of the day. Parking spaces have been everywhere, just as anyone would expect in winter, when too few people are on the island to support most businesses.
    But today everything has come alive as if it were the middle of August, not the middle of April. What’s going on here? She can’t imagine.
    She turns right onto India Street, beginning to loop the block for a third time, and vows to abandon the mission if she can’t find anything this go-around. She’s about to give up, planning a consolation trip to Stop & Shop for a bag of coffee or maybe the Downyflake outside Town, but then she spots an opening in front of the Atheneum in between a Hummer and a Land Cruiser.
    The Atheneum is Nantucket’s library, an imposing white building, the front entrance flanked on either side by colossal Ionic columns. It looks like an architectural anachronism, more like an ancient Greek temple than a modern library, as if it belongs on the Acropolis and not in the heart of the otherwise quaint, New England–style, historically restored town of Nantucket. Since she’s right there, and she’s now imagining how nice it would be to read a book while she drinks her latte at The Bean, just like old times minus David, she decides to run inside and find something to read.
    As the bumper-to-bumper traffic outside might’ve predicted, the library is swarming with people. There are strollers everywhere, mothers and fathers reprimanding and calling totheir kids, kids yelling and running away from their parents. A baby in one of the strollers is wailing, inconsolable. The whole place is buzzing with activity and voices that echo and skip off the high ceilings. The energy feels all wrong, disrespectful, like when kids talk and goof around in church, and Olivia second-guesses her decision to come inside.
    She gets as far as the front desk and pauses, wondering if she wants a book badly enough to wade through the clogged chaos before her, deciding, in the end, that she’d rather get the hell out of there. She’s about to turn around and leave when she catches sight of a familiar book cover sitting alone on a TO BE SHELVED metal cart. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time .
    She read that book years ago, just after Anthony was diagnosed, part of her mission to read everything ever written about autism. She remembers thinking at the time how different the main character’s autism was from her Anthony’s. Exact opposite ends of the spectrum, like red and violet in a rainbow. In the most obvious ways, they were entirely different, yet she found subtle and surprising similarities that comforted her, restored her hope. Violet isn’t blue because it also contains red.
    “I’ll take this, please,” she says, deciding that she might be ready to read it again.
    After