Read Online Odds : A Love Story (9781101554357) by Stewart O'Nan - Free Book Online Page B

wouldn’t last, and yet, when they left without taking a ride, waving to everyone, she applauded along with the rest of the line, wishing them luck. Impossibly, she wantedto go back and start over, as if, this time, they might find a way not to ruin things.
    She hoped she and Art would get the same carriage, and thought it was a sign when they did, though he didn’t seem to notice. The horse was a fat dapple gray with a floppy red bow on her tail that didn’t quite hide the poop bag. The blankets were still warm from the last couple. They snuggled under them, holding hands as the driver recited his monologue in what she first suspected was a put‑on Irish brogue but soon conceded was the real thing.
    He told them about the ice bridge that formed below the American Falls in cold years. They could see it down there on their right. In the old days, workmen from the Grand Hotel shoveled it so visitors could walk across for a close‑up view. There was a restaurant that set up shop on the bridge, it was that solid, till 1912, when a freak thaw washed away a pair of young sweethearts and another fellow, and that was the end of that. Though, sure, if you looked down there right now with a pair of spyglasses, you could bet you’d see footprints.
    “That’s wild,” Art said.
    “That’s the least of it,” the driver said. “There’s stories to fill a book, if folks have the stomach for ’em.”
    This was his shtick, the dark raconteur. For the rest of the ride he entertained them with tales of doomed daredevils and failed rescues and gaslit murders. As one misfortune succeeded another, Art looked to her and shrugged, as if to say he hadn’t meant to encourage him. She had to laugh. Nothing ever turned out the way he wanted. She patted his hand to show it was all right andpointed at the gulls flying far below in the gorge, tiny white crosses sailing over the swirling rapids. Away from the Falls there was no spray, no crowd. They were traveling at a walking pace, the unhurried clip-clop of hooves and the driver’s rich lilt lulling her. She closed her eyes and felt the sun on her face, sat there basking, leaning against Art, and for the first time since they’d arrived she was glad they came. There was a peace in giving up, if only momentarily, and she was sorry when the ride was over. For their picture, she held her rose straight upright between them, and, like a bride, tipped her chin, closed her eyes and gave him a perfectly innocent kiss.

Odds of a U.S. citizen filing for bankruptcy:

        
1 in 17
        As everywhere else, there was a good-sized line for Journey Behind the Falls. It was past lunchtime, but it made no sense to go back up the hill, so again they waited, milling in an overheated anteroom cordoned with yellow nylon rope and abuzz with a dozen languages. There was no off-season here, the Falls were always on. Art didn’t know why he thought the place would be all theirs, and wanted to apologize. He had the ring in his pocket. Having just missed an opportunity, he was hungry for another.
    In so many ways, they were here because of his wishfulness. As a child, even as a teenager, he was a dreamer, insulated from the larger world by school and his parents’ house, the limits of their comfortable suburb. He was a straight‑A student, used to acing tests with minimal effort. It was only in his senior year that he realized life might not be as easy as he’d thought. He was co‑captain of the math team. His fellow co‑captain, Boaz Parmalee, a transfer from Israel who would later help develop the first iteration of Windows, began the season with a perfect tournament, then the next month repeated the feat, landing him on the cover of the school paper. Competing against the best in the county, Art had been content to place in the top ten. Now he crammed for each tournament, staying up late in his gloomy atticroom, running through proofs, overloading his brain. His scores improved, though he