Happy All the Time Read Online Free Page B

and drank too much beer. Vincent refused to discuss Holly with him, so they talked about Vincent’s mulch machine, the stock market, and where they would live in New York.
    When Guido got home, his apartment seemed dim and airless to him. He turned on the lights, opened the window, and let the cool, wet breeze float in. He felt not unhappy, but lifeless and dismal. He did not feel lonely or wretched, but only pointless. He poured himself a glass of brandy and sat by the window. He was not, he realized, dying of love. He was simply lifeless without its object. What he felt about Holly was not obsession, but enrichment. Without Holly, his life was worth something, but not all that much. Holly was the beginning of his adult life. She was the one to whom he was committed forever. Before he went to bed, he picked up a copy of Le Lai de l’Ombre and was not consoled to find that Jean Renart had had the same problem in the thirteenth century. He read:
    Once the erring bow was bent
    Straight to its goal the arrow came
    The beauty and the sweet name
    Of a lady placed within his heart.
    At the end of the week, Holly called and asked him to come see her. When he arrived, he found her arm in a cast. She was using a silk scarf as a sling.
    â€œI broke my wrist,” she said. “Would you untie this knot for me? It took me forty minutes to tie it.”
    With her free arm, she flipped the hair up off her neck and Guido untied the knot in her scarf. The scent of her shoulder and the proximity of her neck made him almost dizzy. He expected the cast to be flowered, like her china and sheets, but it was only white.
    â€œWhen did this happen?” Guido said.
    â€œThree days ago. I fell down the stairs.”
    â€œWhat stairs?”
    â€œYou know what stairs.”
    â€œHolly, you never told me where you were going.”
    â€œDidn’t I? I was sure I did. Well, maybe you didn’t ask. Paula Pierce-Williams and I went to my grandmother’s house in Moss Hill. I fell down the stairs. I mean, I tripped over the runner. Paula took me to the hospital. It’s only a little fracture, but, honest to God, Guido, I heard it snap. There can’t be another sound like it. To hear something break inside your own arm. Every time I think about it, I can hear it and it gives me a sort of electric jolt.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you call me?”
    â€œI said a week, and the week wasn’t up.”
    â€œBut, Holly. You broke your arm. Your arm means a lot to me.”
    â€œIt means a lot to me. You have no idea what it’s like to sleep with a pound of plaster on your wrist.”
    â€œI’m hoping to find out,” he said.
    He rested his hands on the cool cast and ran his fingers across its uneven surface.
    â€œI can feel that,” said Holly. Then she burst into tears. “It’s so frustrating. I can’t tie my own sling, or wash my hair or anything.” Then in a voice so small and tearful that Guido could hardly believe it was hers, she asked if he would wash her hair.
    â€œYes, of course I’ll wash your hair,” said Guido. “After all, we’re getting married. But before I do—I mean before I wash your hair or get married—I want to know if I am washing the hair of someone who loves me.”
    She rested her cheek against his shoulder, so obviously miserable he didn’t press her.
    Guido had never washed anyone else’s hair before, and he found it very pleasurable. He swirled the shampoo through her scalp and when he rinsed it out under the tap, that glossy hair fell across his wrist like thick tar. When she sat up, her eyes were glazed. She combed her hair abstractly and then put the comb down with a little snap.
    â€œOf course I love you,” said Holly. “How could I not? I would never behave like this around someone I didn’t love. In fact, I’ve never behaved like this before.”
    â€œBehaved like what?” Guido