Read Online Wish Club by Kim Strickland - Free Book Online
Authors: Kim Strickland
Tags: Fiction
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today. Probably he did. Tates were notoriously motivated.
Lindsay watched the rush of people behind her via the reflection in the window. She really should get going, too. She had a four-o’clock meeting at the Women’s Foundation headquarters. Their spring fundraiser, the Spring Fashion Show Extravaganza, was coming up in March, and Lindsay was on the committee, responsible for luncheon and flowers.
Lindsay watched with perplexed curiosity as all these society women at the Foundation planned their luncheons. It was as if they didn’t get it. They had all this money, all this power, and they used it to
have lunch.
Of course they were raising money for all sorts of causes, and she supposed it wasn’t everyone who could go off and join the Peace Corps, but ever since she was a little girl she had found herself looking around her and wondering at the unfairness of it all.
How come she was born an heiress to the Tate’s Drugstore fortune, and little girls her same age were going to bed hungry each night in India? “What can you do?” had been her mother’s refrain as she tucked Lindsay into her canopied bed, but that was exactly Lindsay’s question: what can you do? More than lunch. More than fashion shows. Her mother had always said that trying to change the whole world was folly, that the best you could do was to try to change your own little corner of it, but Lindsay didn’t believe that was necessarily true.
But it wasn’t so easy. Trying to get these women to change their minds about how they did their good deeds was like trying to turn a fast-moving barge. And Lindsay, despite her family name, never felt she carried enough influence. She always felt that somehow, when she spoke up, people looked at her as if to say,
why are you talking?
Whether it was all in her imagination—as Claudia said—or not, she still felt victimized. It still hurt.
Lindsay wondered if she’d be more popular and influential if maybe she were prettier, or thinner—but she watched other women at the Foundation, plain women, chubby women, and they seemed to have plenty of influence. And she knew it wasn’t about the money. Even Claudia, who always seemed to be so in awe of the Tate fortune, had more influence than Lindsay. At Book Club, the women soaked up her words every time she spoke. Not that Claudia could see it. She always focused on how she’d tripped over her words, instead of how much what she said was valued by the group. And then there was Mara, who seemed to think that having money would solve everything, that it was the means to happiness. Lindsay pictured Mara’s two big beautiful sons and wanted to give her a thump on the head.
Lindsay clenched the front of her coat, pulling it more tightly over her chest. She held her hand over her heart for a moment, over the place a locket might go. She looked down at the locket in the store window, so similar to the one meant for her, for her children. The one she most likely would never have.
When
Claudia pulled into the parking lot at Barnes & Noble she was still thinking about April Sibley, annoyed with April for being April and with herself for letting April get to her. Why had she snipped like that at a student?
The poor girl had very few friends, and even though the reasons for that seemed obvious, Claudia thought if any student was worthy of some pity and a little sympathy from a teacher, it was probably April Sibley. Then again, like Aldo, maybe her deservedness was deceptive.
Claudia walked into the bookstore and sighed: instant relief. She just loved it here. All these books. She ran her hand lovingly along the covers of the books on the front table as she made her way over to the escalator. As she rose up to the second floor, Claudia scanned the tables of bargain books, stacks of fiction on sale for more than half off. It was scary to think of all these writers, writing all these novels, working so hard, finally getting published, getting their books in print,
Lindsay watched the rush of people behind her via the reflection in the window. She really should get going, too. She had a four-o’clock meeting at the Women’s Foundation headquarters. Their spring fundraiser, the Spring Fashion Show Extravaganza, was coming up in March, and Lindsay was on the committee, responsible for luncheon and flowers.
Lindsay watched with perplexed curiosity as all these society women at the Foundation planned their luncheons. It was as if they didn’t get it. They had all this money, all this power, and they used it to
have lunch.
Of course they were raising money for all sorts of causes, and she supposed it wasn’t everyone who could go off and join the Peace Corps, but ever since she was a little girl she had found herself looking around her and wondering at the unfairness of it all.
How come she was born an heiress to the Tate’s Drugstore fortune, and little girls her same age were going to bed hungry each night in India? “What can you do?” had been her mother’s refrain as she tucked Lindsay into her canopied bed, but that was exactly Lindsay’s question: what can you do? More than lunch. More than fashion shows. Her mother had always said that trying to change the whole world was folly, that the best you could do was to try to change your own little corner of it, but Lindsay didn’t believe that was necessarily true.
But it wasn’t so easy. Trying to get these women to change their minds about how they did their good deeds was like trying to turn a fast-moving barge. And Lindsay, despite her family name, never felt she carried enough influence. She always felt that somehow, when she spoke up, people looked at her as if to say,
why are you talking?
Whether it was all in her imagination—as Claudia said—or not, she still felt victimized. It still hurt.
Lindsay wondered if she’d be more popular and influential if maybe she were prettier, or thinner—but she watched other women at the Foundation, plain women, chubby women, and they seemed to have plenty of influence. And she knew it wasn’t about the money. Even Claudia, who always seemed to be so in awe of the Tate fortune, had more influence than Lindsay. At Book Club, the women soaked up her words every time she spoke. Not that Claudia could see it. She always focused on how she’d tripped over her words, instead of how much what she said was valued by the group. And then there was Mara, who seemed to think that having money would solve everything, that it was the means to happiness. Lindsay pictured Mara’s two big beautiful sons and wanted to give her a thump on the head.
Lindsay clenched the front of her coat, pulling it more tightly over her chest. She held her hand over her heart for a moment, over the place a locket might go. She looked down at the locket in the store window, so similar to the one meant for her, for her children. The one she most likely would never have.
When
Claudia pulled into the parking lot at Barnes & Noble she was still thinking about April Sibley, annoyed with April for being April and with herself for letting April get to her. Why had she snipped like that at a student?
The poor girl had very few friends, and even though the reasons for that seemed obvious, Claudia thought if any student was worthy of some pity and a little sympathy from a teacher, it was probably April Sibley. Then again, like Aldo, maybe her deservedness was deceptive.
Claudia walked into the bookstore and sighed: instant relief. She just loved it here. All these books. She ran her hand lovingly along the covers of the books on the front table as she made her way over to the escalator. As she rose up to the second floor, Claudia scanned the tables of bargain books, stacks of fiction on sale for more than half off. It was scary to think of all these writers, writing all these novels, working so hard, finally getting published, getting their books in print,
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