Read A Place I've Never Been for Free Online Page B

drank, and drove all night, one Thursday, to watch the sun rise over Echo Lake, where Kitty Mitsui had a cabin. Claire reported it all—the wind on her cheeks, the crispness of the air, the glory of the mountain sunrise. They built a fire and lay bundled together in sleeping bags, five of them, like Campfire Girls, she said.
    Claire believed until the end that she was peripheral, barely accepted. She believed that Spiro and Kitty and the others were going out together without her, excluding her from the best, the most intimate gatherings. This was ironic, for as Arthur learned after her death, Claire was, if anything, the group’s spiritual center; without her it fragmented. Mournful couples went home alone on spouse night, the healthy clinging testily to the sick. Then Mr. Theodorus died, and the group entered a period of adolescent turmoil. Furious explosions occurred; well-buried animosities were laid bare. For the first time the group included enemies, who sat as far across the table from each other as possible, avoiding each other’s glances.
    Arthur can’t help but wonder sometimes if any of it was sexual; if Claire might have slept with one of the men. It’s hard for him to imagine. Usually, when he tries to envision those post-group revels, or when he dreams about them, he sees only five bodies huddled in sleeping bags by a lake as dawn breaks. Sometimes he wakes up with itchy hands, and bursts into tears because he wasn’t there.
    When spouse night ends, Mrs. Theodorus says to Mrs. Jaroslavsky, “Doris, if you don’t need it—well, I could sure use that spice cake. I have this important show judge coming over tomorrow.”
    â€œDon’t do me any favors,” Mrs. Jaroslavsky says. She is grim-faced, puffy. Then, cautiously: “You really want it?”
    â€œIf you don’t mind. This judge is very powerful, and God knows, I could never bake anything like that. All I have around are these horrible Black Forest things Spiro’s brother sends over, with ten pounds of synthetic whipped cream.”
    â€œTerrible, the things they call a cake,” Mrs. Jaroslavsky says, as, smiling, she hands Mrs. Theodorus an aluminum-wrapped package.
    They walk out to the parking lot together. “I know when I’ve outstayed my welcome,” Mrs. Jaroslavsky explains to Mrs. Theodorus and Arthur. “I know it’s been too long. I feel I can talk about that with you two, since we’re all in the same position. The rest of them, they’re fickle. When Morry died, they couldn’t have been nicer, they kept saying, ‘Doris, anything you want, anything you want.’ Now they’d like to slap my face. And that Olivia. She gets my goat. Every day it’s, ‘Stay as long as you need, Doris, anything you need, Doris,’ but I know the score. She’d like to get rid of me too.” She blows out breath, resigned. “So this is it, Mrs. Jaroslavsky,” she says. “No more spouse night. The rest of the way you have to go it alone.”
    â€œI know how you feel, Doris,” Arthur says. “The group’s my last link to Claire. How can I leave them? Toward the end, sometimes I think, they knew her better than I did.”
    â€œOh, but they don’t, don’t you see?” Mrs. Jaroslavsky says. “That’s just their illusion. They have each other for a year, maybe a little more. But what I have to remember, what I must remember, is I had Morry a lifetime.” She smiles, breathes deeply. “The wind feels wonderful, doesn’t it?” she says, and turning from Arthur, opens her face to the sky, as if to absorb the starlight.
    Across the parking lot Kitty Mitsui calls, “Hey, you guys want to come for a nightcap? Come on! It’ll be fun!” She smiles too widely at them, as if she imagines that by sheer force of will she can muster the energy to bring the dead back to life.
    Arthur smiles back.