The Art of Appreciation Read Online Free

to the secretary and hung up.
    Sarah stopped in the doorway to slip off her bike shoes. Their hard soles clonked together as she dropped them in the basket beside the mat. “Nice save. It’s sort of cute how you think you can fool me.” She nodded toward the phone. “How’s Sylvia?”
    Abby’s shoulders dropped. “Fine. This time—”
    “Nope.” Sarah held up a hand, palm out. “No excuses, Ab. I’ve tried to get through to you, and I’m done. Maybe change isn’t in your vocab.” She yanked open the refrigerator door and reviewed the scanty contents.
    Abby’s temper rose. “Or maybe I can’t afford to risk my job. There aren’t a lot out there for curators, and especially not a lot that will let me eat regularly and live indoors. I don’t have an excellent boss like yours, Sarah. Just yesterday he said that—” She stopped, cursing herself for mentioning David’s call.
    Sarah’s head jerked up. “David called you? I mean, yesterday? What did he want?”
    “To see how we’re doing, I suppose.” Abby rose and drew a glass of water, debating what else to say. David had sounded worried and tired and lonely…none of which Sarah would admit to caring about. “He’s stressed over some big hubbub going on in editorials—I know, when isn’t there—and he watched something on TV about jellyfish pods. Wanted to make sure we knew they were dangerous and how to spot them.”
    “David.” Sarah shook her head and resumed her search of the fridge. “I was wondering if he—they—needed me back at work.” Her tone was wistful. “Good thing that wasn’t it, because I intend to enjoy every minute of this vacation.” She tore into her apple, swallowed hard, and then wiped juice off of her chin. “Let’s go out tonight, Ab. We’ve been here two weeks and haven’t spent a single night on the town.”
    Grateful that Sarah’s usual “work vs. life” lecture had been diverted, Abby agreed. Maybe it would be fun to discover the wonders of the Santa Cruz beach boardwalk.
    That optimism was difficult to remember a few hours later when she was nursing her fourth drink and nodding along with the music of an enthusiastic, if barely talented, local band. Somehow, she and Sarah had ended up at an after-hours party on the patio of a small beachside hotel. She had just located Sarah on the impromptu dance floor and was wondering which of the three men dancing nearby was her partner when she felt a tap on her hand. It was with effort that she returned her attention to the man in the chair next to hers. She vaguely remembered that he was a sales rep for some drug firm, but couldn’t have recalled his name even if she’d been facing a firing squad.
    “This band is great, isn’t it?” he shouted, tapping his toes opposite the beat.
    To avoid conversation, Abby pointed to her ears, indicating a deafness she feared was coming. Unfortunately, he took that as an invitation to move his chair closer to hers.
    “Of course, this isn’t what I usually listen to,” he bellowed. “I used to like ska before it got popular, but now I’m really into jazz. That and Christian pop. Ever since I found Jesus…”
    I didn’t know He was lost . Abby grinned and let the drug rep’s voice flatten to a “wah-wah-wah” in her ears. She caught sight of Sarah again and sent her an eyeball plea for help. Sarah missed it during a dramatic spin between two partners.
    In desperation, Abby launched into a joke about an apple, a banana, and a penis—it had brought down the house when she was in junior high. Hipster drug-guy stopped in mid-rhapsody about his mega-church and stared at her like she’d sprouted a third ear in the middle of her forehead.
    A splutter of laughter alerted Abby to someone passing behind her chair. She was mortified to recognize the taller surfer from her first day on the beach. He turned to look back at her and gave her a thumbs-up with the hand he wasn’t using to balance a pony keg on his shoulder. She