The Drifter(96)
Post-pancakes (which, to appease Betsy, were made with spelt flour but still drenched with syrup), Remi excused herself and announced that she would be getting dressed on her own. Minutes later, Remi emerged in her favorite purple striped dress, topped with a turquoise cardigan and accented with a fringed vest that was part of last year’s failed “cowpoke” costume and gold high-tops.
“Perfect,” said Betsy. She dug out a pair of rhinestone earrings, shaped like clusters of leaf-shaped stones, from her jewelry box and slid on her patent leather pumps with hopes that Remi would notice.
“You’re so shiny today!” she said, with a clear stamp of approval.
By the time Betsy and Remi rounded the block closest to school, Remi had counted to ten in Mandarin a dozen times. Betsy drew a deep breath, crossed the threshold to school, and greeted Elodie with a smile.
“Betsy! I’m delighted to see you!” Elodie said. “And Remi. Don’t you look happy today?”
Betsy knelt down to give her daughter a hug.
“OK, Rem. Go get ’em.”
Remi pecked her mother’s cheek before she darted into the classroom.
Before Elodie could speak, Betsy waved goodbye, with the briefest “See you tomorrow,” and turned to leave.
Outside on the sidewalk, the air felt crisp on her flushed cheeks. She looked up at the cloudless sky, infinite blue over the tops of the low buildings that lined the street. The clear morning light filtered through the tiny trees and reflected off of the windshields of cars parked along the curb. She wiped away the first tear, then the second. And then she started to laugh. She realized how ridiculous she looked in her sparkly earrings and heels, frozen in front of a preschool, her face wet and red with tears, and hunched over with laughter. People walked past her on the sidewalk, unfazed, expertly dodging the potentially insane woman on the sidewalk with barely a raised brow. Her phone buzzed in her bag. Gavin, she thought. She dug for it, but the call had gone to voice mail. For a few seconds, she debated calling him back, but decided it could wait until she got to the office. She texted Caroline instead.
I have a story you are going to love, Betsy tapped with her thumbs.
She looked down the sidewalk in the direction of the subway station. Maybe she’d take the M20 instead? If she needed to, she could hop off of the bus at any time. Once she got to work, she could hail a cab from the office and get back to the school in minutes, if she needed to, she thought. She just had to move her legs, put one foot in front of the other. Betsy took a few deep breaths, relieved she finally knew, instinctively, which way was north, summoning all of the forward momentum she could to move that way.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
For her excellent guidance, patience, positivity, and for believing in me and in this story, I’m indebted to Brettne Bloom. For her editorial insight, generosity, and overwhelming kindness, thanks go to Emily Krump. For being early and enthusiastic readers, I am forever grateful to Jen Wang, Heather Fogarty, Anamaria Wilson, Ira Ungerleider, Catherine Elsworth, Suzanne Lennon Portner, Melissa Thomas, Sarah Rafferty, Anna Roth Milner, Deanna Kizis, Eve Epstein, and Whitney Langdon. This wouldn’t exist without you. For nearly three decades of friendship, sharing their memories, and their mutual stamp of approval, thank you Liz Bowyer and Kari Olivier. For their unconditional support and overall badassness, I am grateful, again, to Jen Wang, Sara Lamm, Mary Wigmore, and Tuesday night margaritas. For their insight on matters of the mind and the spirit, I am grateful to Deb Stern and Sylvia Hirsch Jones. For some critical intelligence and showing me the ropes all of those years ago, thanks go to Doris Athineos and Dana Wood. For getting me over that last hurdle toward the finish line with some heartfelt high-fives, many, many thanks to Andrew and Catherine Stellin Waller. For being awesome, I send love and thanks to Crystal Meers. For a lifetime of love, I am grateful to my family. For enriching my life and filling my heart in infinite ways, thank you Millie and Louis. For literally everything else, including the best thirteen years of my life, thank you Andrew Reich.