The Yellow Braid by Karen Coccioli Page B

said.
    “Very impressive,” Caro said. “I don’t
imagine they’re very cheap.”
    “They’re not. That’s why my dad is making me
buy it with my own money,” Beatrice said. “He has a pool business
so he pays me for helping him out.”
    “That must keep you busy,” Tommy said.
    “Not too bad,” Beatrice said. “I go out with
him three mornings a week. The rest of the time, I’m free.”
    “Well, Beatrice, anytime you want to visit,
please do,” Nina said. “You and Livia might turn out to be great
company for each other.”
    “Thanks,” Beatrice said. She turned to
Livia. “Want to go out and walk around?”
    “Sure,” Livia said.
    “Come on,” Beatrice said, grabbing Livia’s
hand and guiding her through the mill of guests.
    Caro stared after the girls, already
chatting animatedly. And all of a sudden, she felt sick to her
stomach. A friendship between the two of them would severely
impinge on her time with Livia. This thought made Caro hate
Beatrice. Why didn’t she and her mother stay in Rhode Island?
    The truth was, Caro was jealous of their
fun, and of the freedom Beatrice had to lightheartedly manhandle
her friend. Caro was demonstrative by nature and in normal
conversation thought nothing of pressing a wrist or caressing an
arm even with people she’d just met.
    Moral to the point of being borderline
prudish, she was scrupulous, however, about avoiding close physical
contact with Livia. Since her husband’s death, she’d never been
interested in remarrying or finding a male companion. Discovering
his affair, however, had instigated a desire to let go and be bad.
She’d learned that keeping her prim behavior intact all her life
had only led her to misery.
    The fact, however, that Livia was the cause
of her sexual stirrings horrified Caro. And yet, she could not deny
them. Even now, as she stole looks at Livia she saw a girl on the
cusp of young adulthood—still the tomboy, but in a flirty, feminine
package—and her moral and ethical reserves weakened. A momentary
image of kissing Livia rose to her consciousness. She immediately
crushed it.

CHAPTER TWELVE
     
     
    To raise, to elevate, to
endorse with timeless reverence the image of woman, has been my
mission––the reason for my work. ~ Ruth Bernhard
     
     
     
    Sexless. Innocent. Truthful.
    Perfect love in its simplest form begins
with an attraction to a beautiful object, but then is raised beyond
the body, to its highest form—spirit.
    This was the dictum Caro recited and
meditated on as she continued to smother thoughts and impulses
regarding Livia that were even mildly suggestive. The current
arrangement between them was proving advantageous for both of them:
mad at Abby, and sorry for the love she’d wasted on Zach and
Marcie, Caro was happy to bestow her love on Livia.
    As for Livia, she reveled in the
unconditional affection of a maternal figure, especially one who
understood without question the eccentricity of her poetic
sensibilities.
    Consequently, in the days that followed
Phyllis’s party, Caro came to depend on Livia’s presence for her
sanity. Her nights were a fragmentary progression of hours between
fitful sleep and blurry wakefulness. Marcie and Zach appeared in
disquieting reveries.
    The rhythm of Caro’s days often got underway
before daybreak. Huddled under a comforter, she contentedly watched
the lazy strokes of pink and purple filter across the sky. In
slowly widening increments, the sea separated itself out, a bullish
companion as it heaved itself endlessly forward to the shore. Caro
appreciated the forthright action of the swift-moving tides because
their movement represented the daily swelling of enthusiasm as the
minutes edged toward nine or ten when Livia would appear.
    During this early hour Caro recalled from
the day before Livia’s sweet smile that Caro could now coax out of
her quite easily. It was a smile that produced the hint of dimples
on her cheeks. Or she’d hear again Livia reading a