The Book That Matters Most by Ann Hood Page B

you, Ava. We don’t have a copy atthe library either. Which is odd because we do have a card for it in the old card catalogue, but no book.”
    The man at the entrance to the rink motioned them forward.
    Awkwardly, Cate stumbled ahead onto the ice, leaving Ava beside Luke. She wanted to skate away from him, but a woman came from behind and wedged herself between them before Ava had the chance.
    â€œThis is Roxy,” Luke said. “Roxy, Ava. Ava just joined the book group.”
    Roxy had dyed platinum hair, very black eyebrows, and Hollywood-red lipstick.
    She surveyed Ava dismissively. “Luke loves it,” she said, also dismissively, Ava thought. “Maybe because he’s the only guy.”
    They were at the edge now, being pushed forward by the people behind them.
    â€œHe’s not, though,” Ava said, her eyes scanning the ice for Cate.
    â€œRight,” Luke said. “Some widower. Kind of a sad sack, poor guy.”
    Just when Ava spotted Cate dead center, Cate’s legs shot out from under her and she fell hard on her butt.
    â€œUh oh,” Ava said, relieved to have a reason to get away. “Someone needs assistance.”
    She skated toward Cate, her legs wobbling at first, but growing steadier with every stroke. The sound of the blades against the ice was exciting, as if she were actually going somewhere. When she stopped, cutting the edges of her blades into the ice and sending up a small spray of snow, Ava had to keep herself from smiling down at Cate.
    â€œWhy did I let you talk me into this?” Cate moaned, trying unsuccessfully to stand up.
    â€œYou owe me,” Ava said, reaching her hand to Cate. “I have to read Jane Austen.”
    â€œAt least it won’t hurt,” Cate grumbled as she let Ava hoist her up.
    Luke skated by, his arm around Roxy’s waist, their legs moving in unison.
    â€œYou okay?” he called.
    â€œI hate ice skating!” Cate called back.
    â€œStick with me,” Ava told her.
    Cate clutched Ava’s arm, and let her drag her across the ice for a bit.
    â€œSee? You’re getting the hang of it,” Ava said when Cate relaxed her grip.
    â€œYou know what I realized?” Cate asked. “I knew you grew up here, but I never knew your mother was a writer—”
    â€œShe owned a bookstore, that was her real job. She’s been dead a very long time,” Ava added.
    â€œWell, I bet she’d be glad you joined the book group,” Cate said.
    â€œI think you’re doing fine now,” Ava said. “Okay if I skate alone for a bit before they kick us off?”
    She didn’t wait for Cate to answer. Instead, she pushed easily from one foot to the other, gliding past the blur of other skaters. She circled once, twice, and still again, faster each time, focusing on nothing but her skates on the ice, the wind on her face, the steady beating of her heart.
    I t is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife , Ava read.
    She groaned. Was everything about marriage? Was she really meant to read almost three hundred pages of a book about a man wanting a wife? And on New Year’s Eve, no less?
    The ice skating and the hot chocolate afterward had brought hermore pleasure than she’d had in a long time. Enough to let her curl up on the sofa under her favorite quilt with the damned book. She’d even lit a fire in the fireplace for the first time since Jim moved out, and its crackling mixed with the soft lamplight warmed Ava.
    She glanced down at the book, closed now with her finger holding her place. The cover—a woman dressed formally in white, sitting on a mauve fainting chair—should have tipped her off that this was a book about love and marriage and romance and everything Ava did not want to think about, never mind read about for hours and hours.
    Maybe, she thought, maybe just this once she wouldn’t