Read Online Heads or Tails by Leslie A. Gordon - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Leslie A. Gordon
Ads: Link
tried to read the directions on the pouch after I’d already ripped it open. The cabbie rolled his eyes at me in the rear-view mirror.
A pissed off taxi driver is the least of my worries , I thought, trying to ignore his judgments. I was moments away from arriving home to my husband with an infant, a baby that we were in no way related to, a baby that neither one of us knew how to care for. I had no clue how I was going to make the next few days work. Jesse had always said that my loyalty, my devotion to my friends, was something that he loved about me. But I suppose neither of us ever imagined the lengths I’d go to. Sometimes it’s best not to consider whether helping someone you love will end up hurting you.
Finally, I got the bottle ready. I’d seen on TV that you’re supposed to test the formula on the inside of your wrist, though I had no idea why. I did it anyway. Large drops of the creamy white substance slithered off my arm and onto the faux leather seat.
“Stop messing up my cab!”
“Sorry.”
I put the bottle to the baby’s lips and she suckled gratefully. I turned my head to look out at the now eggplant-colored night sky. Moments later, I felt a tiny tug on my sleeve. The baby had grabbed it, as if to capture my attention. I looked down and her coal-black eyes locked onto mine with a strangely knowing gaze. It was only then that I truly understood — and maybe she did too — that I was her only hope. That it was me, of all people, was a measure of how desperate her situation was. Something deep inside me fractured then and I readied myself for the potential fallout.
***
Jean’s Staten Island roots both grounded and propelled her. She was quintessentially working class, handling payroll at a paper manufacturing company for years. It was probably one of the least stimulating jobs ever for a woman as dynamic as Jean, but it was stable. And after her husband, an insurance claims adjuster, died of a sudden heart attack when Margot was in elementary school, Jean had made smart choices. She’d inherited a tiny pension and somehow made it bloom. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough to send Margot to an excellent boarding school and to college. They’d had virtually no other family so it must have been particularly hard for Jean to send Margot away to school. But like many women of her generation, she was determined to smooth a path for her daughter despite personal sacrifices. For her part, Margot had maximized those opportunities, maybe because of her own inherent ambition, maybe out of obligation to her mom’s sacrifices. Either way, at Egan, Margot was a straight-A student, earning her admission to an Ivy League education. After graduation, she applied her solid training and quick smarts to a series of hedge fund jobs, working her way up the power chain each time. Ten years out of college, she was a regular on the Wall Street Business Times ’s Top Forty Under Forty list, twice as the only woman. Five years ago, Jean was able to retire and Margot bought her a small Upper West Side condo a few blocks from her own.
Jean was no-nonsense but kind, exceedingly practical but in no way at the expense of empathy. Which was why I instinctively clung to her at the most vulnerable time in my life.
I’d met Arlen at the start of senior year. He was the hockey star at our brother school. He was handsome in a way I knew I should like — tall, broad-shouldered, with sandy blond hair and a masculine Roman nose. Looking back, he wasn’t my type. At all. But all the girls were nuts for him. (The pack of freshman and sophomores who followed him to all his games were nicknamed the Arlen Globetrotters.) And for some reason, it was me he liked. So I went with it.
We dated for a couple of months that fall. I realize now I that definitely didn’t love him. How could I? Though we were boyfriend-girlfriend, I hardly knew him. We were together usually in groups, infrequently alone. He never told me what drove him,
A pissed off taxi driver is the least of my worries , I thought, trying to ignore his judgments. I was moments away from arriving home to my husband with an infant, a baby that we were in no way related to, a baby that neither one of us knew how to care for. I had no clue how I was going to make the next few days work. Jesse had always said that my loyalty, my devotion to my friends, was something that he loved about me. But I suppose neither of us ever imagined the lengths I’d go to. Sometimes it’s best not to consider whether helping someone you love will end up hurting you.
Finally, I got the bottle ready. I’d seen on TV that you’re supposed to test the formula on the inside of your wrist, though I had no idea why. I did it anyway. Large drops of the creamy white substance slithered off my arm and onto the faux leather seat.
“Stop messing up my cab!”
“Sorry.”
I put the bottle to the baby’s lips and she suckled gratefully. I turned my head to look out at the now eggplant-colored night sky. Moments later, I felt a tiny tug on my sleeve. The baby had grabbed it, as if to capture my attention. I looked down and her coal-black eyes locked onto mine with a strangely knowing gaze. It was only then that I truly understood — and maybe she did too — that I was her only hope. That it was me, of all people, was a measure of how desperate her situation was. Something deep inside me fractured then and I readied myself for the potential fallout.
***
Jean’s Staten Island roots both grounded and propelled her. She was quintessentially working class, handling payroll at a paper manufacturing company for years. It was probably one of the least stimulating jobs ever for a woman as dynamic as Jean, but it was stable. And after her husband, an insurance claims adjuster, died of a sudden heart attack when Margot was in elementary school, Jean had made smart choices. She’d inherited a tiny pension and somehow made it bloom. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough to send Margot to an excellent boarding school and to college. They’d had virtually no other family so it must have been particularly hard for Jean to send Margot away to school. But like many women of her generation, she was determined to smooth a path for her daughter despite personal sacrifices. For her part, Margot had maximized those opportunities, maybe because of her own inherent ambition, maybe out of obligation to her mom’s sacrifices. Either way, at Egan, Margot was a straight-A student, earning her admission to an Ivy League education. After graduation, she applied her solid training and quick smarts to a series of hedge fund jobs, working her way up the power chain each time. Ten years out of college, she was a regular on the Wall Street Business Times ’s Top Forty Under Forty list, twice as the only woman. Five years ago, Jean was able to retire and Margot bought her a small Upper West Side condo a few blocks from her own.
Jean was no-nonsense but kind, exceedingly practical but in no way at the expense of empathy. Which was why I instinctively clung to her at the most vulnerable time in my life.
I’d met Arlen at the start of senior year. He was the hockey star at our brother school. He was handsome in a way I knew I should like — tall, broad-shouldered, with sandy blond hair and a masculine Roman nose. Looking back, he wasn’t my type. At all. But all the girls were nuts for him. (The pack of freshman and sophomores who followed him to all his games were nicknamed the Arlen Globetrotters.) And for some reason, it was me he liked. So I went with it.
We dated for a couple of months that fall. I realize now I that definitely didn’t love him. How could I? Though we were boyfriend-girlfriend, I hardly knew him. We were together usually in groups, infrequently alone. He never told me what drove him,
Similar Books
