The new day will bring a fresh batch of lowlife to her desk to be processed and prepped. Pay your money; take your chance. Head ’em out, move ’em on.
Amanda checks her rearview mirror as she switches into the right-hand lane, sees her mother’s eyes lurking behind her own. Some faces don’t blur as easily as others, the eyes warn.
She takes the ramp a touch too quickly onto I-95, then cuts in front of a white Lexus SUV. The driver swerves and shakes his fist in fruitless indignation. Just where do you think you’re going in such a damn hurry? the fist demands, as Amanda stares slack-jawed at the stagnant lines of traffic heading north.
The highway, as usual, is a clogged artery of cars. Weary commuters heading home from work, clueless tourists looking for the newest hot spot, barefoot teenagers with fake IDs heading for the hippest bar, seniors who should have had their driver’s licenses revoked years ago, not sure where they are, let alone where they’re headed. A typical Friday night in February. Probably an accident somewhere up ahead, judging by the volume of traffic and how slowly it’s moving. Her own fault, she thinks, checking the clock on her car’s dashboard. Almost seven. She shouldn’t have stayed so long at the office after court. She shouldn’t have spentso long in the liquor store choosing wine. She shouldn’t have picked I-95 at seven o’clock on a Friday night in February. What was normally a twenty-minute drive from here to Jupiter, and she’d be lucky to be home by eight. Amanda leans her head back against her headrest. No point in getting all bent out of shape over something she can’t control.
This philosophy works for about ten minutes before she’s ready to explode. “Okay, enough of this. Let’s get a move on, people.” She glares at the creamy yellow moon overhead, as if the smiling face she sees carved into its side is somehow responsible for her predicament. Full moons are a dangerous time, she knows, glancing at the car beside her, seeing a woman in a matching pink sweater set talking on her phone.
I could call someone, she decides, reaching for her purse. Although she’s not sure exactly whom to call. Ellie would think it strange to hear from her twice in one day, and she vaguely recalls Kelly having mentioned she’d be at her parents’ house for dinner. “Ellie and Kelly,” Amanda says out loud, the names rolling off her tongue. “Ellie and Kelly. Kelly and Ellie. Everything’s swelly with Ellie and Kelly.” Oh, great. Now I’m a total lunatic, she thinks, deciding to call her friend Vanessa. “Oh, sure. Call Vanessa. She hasn’t heard from you in what? Two years?” Or how about Judy Knelman? You used to see her and her husband every few weeks when you were married to Sean. And that other woman, the one who married Sean’s friend Bryce Hall? What was her name? Edna, Emma, Emily? “Oh, yeah, all Sean’s friends are just dying to hear from you.”
Why is she still thinking about Sean? Just because she ran into him at lunch? He’s turned up unexpectedlybefore. Once, at the Kravits Center, a couple of years ago. He was still pretty bitter then, even though she’d asked for nothing in their divorce, but still he’d pretended not to see her, ducking into the men’s room as she was walking over to say hello. She’d pushed the incident out of her mind, scarcely giving him another thought. When something was over, it was over and done. Out of sight, out of mind. Hadn’t that always been her motto?
Of course Jennifer had yet to enter the picture. Jennifer with her peaches-and-cream complexion and long, shiny black hair. And swelling belly.
Swelling belly, swelling belly, swelling belly.
Is that what has her feeling so out of sorts?
That could have been me, she reminds herself. I’m the one who insisted I didn’t want children. I’m the one who said I wasn’t cut out to be a mother.
You’d be a great mother
, Ellie had told her at lunch. Sure thing.
Amanda checks her rearview mirror as she switches into the right-hand lane, sees her mother’s eyes lurking behind her own. Some faces don’t blur as easily as others, the eyes warn.
She takes the ramp a touch too quickly onto I-95, then cuts in front of a white Lexus SUV. The driver swerves and shakes his fist in fruitless indignation. Just where do you think you’re going in such a damn hurry? the fist demands, as Amanda stares slack-jawed at the stagnant lines of traffic heading north.
The highway, as usual, is a clogged artery of cars. Weary commuters heading home from work, clueless tourists looking for the newest hot spot, barefoot teenagers with fake IDs heading for the hippest bar, seniors who should have had their driver’s licenses revoked years ago, not sure where they are, let alone where they’re headed. A typical Friday night in February. Probably an accident somewhere up ahead, judging by the volume of traffic and how slowly it’s moving. Her own fault, she thinks, checking the clock on her car’s dashboard. Almost seven. She shouldn’t have stayed so long at the office after court. She shouldn’t have spentso long in the liquor store choosing wine. She shouldn’t have picked I-95 at seven o’clock on a Friday night in February. What was normally a twenty-minute drive from here to Jupiter, and she’d be lucky to be home by eight. Amanda leans her head back against her headrest. No point in getting all bent out of shape over something she can’t control.
This philosophy works for about ten minutes before she’s ready to explode. “Okay, enough of this. Let’s get a move on, people.” She glares at the creamy yellow moon overhead, as if the smiling face she sees carved into its side is somehow responsible for her predicament. Full moons are a dangerous time, she knows, glancing at the car beside her, seeing a woman in a matching pink sweater set talking on her phone.
I could call someone, she decides, reaching for her purse. Although she’s not sure exactly whom to call. Ellie would think it strange to hear from her twice in one day, and she vaguely recalls Kelly having mentioned she’d be at her parents’ house for dinner. “Ellie and Kelly,” Amanda says out loud, the names rolling off her tongue. “Ellie and Kelly. Kelly and Ellie. Everything’s swelly with Ellie and Kelly.” Oh, great. Now I’m a total lunatic, she thinks, deciding to call her friend Vanessa. “Oh, sure. Call Vanessa. She hasn’t heard from you in what? Two years?” Or how about Judy Knelman? You used to see her and her husband every few weeks when you were married to Sean. And that other woman, the one who married Sean’s friend Bryce Hall? What was her name? Edna, Emma, Emily? “Oh, yeah, all Sean’s friends are just dying to hear from you.”
Why is she still thinking about Sean? Just because she ran into him at lunch? He’s turned up unexpectedlybefore. Once, at the Kravits Center, a couple of years ago. He was still pretty bitter then, even though she’d asked for nothing in their divorce, but still he’d pretended not to see her, ducking into the men’s room as she was walking over to say hello. She’d pushed the incident out of her mind, scarcely giving him another thought. When something was over, it was over and done. Out of sight, out of mind. Hadn’t that always been her motto?
Of course Jennifer had yet to enter the picture. Jennifer with her peaches-and-cream complexion and long, shiny black hair. And swelling belly.
Swelling belly, swelling belly, swelling belly.
Is that what has her feeling so out of sorts?
That could have been me, she reminds herself. I’m the one who insisted I didn’t want children. I’m the one who said I wasn’t cut out to be a mother.
You’d be a great mother
, Ellie had told her at lunch. Sure thing.
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