Free Accelerated by Bronwen Hruska Page A

something it would have been different, but Nicole had had to work two jobs just to pay the discounted tuition plus room and board.
    Her job as an Assistant District Attorney wasn’t bad, but the pay was. She lived on 155th Street and was barely getting by. Luckily, Kat had gotten into the G&T program at P.S. 163—New York–speak for “Gifted and Talented.” In theory, it was an “enriched” curriculum available free to any four-year-old who scored high enough on a standardized kindergarten exam, but it was still public school, which meant money was always tight. As a result, music and art—anything extra—flew out the window in lieu of things like lunch and toilet paper.
    Sean was breaking his one rule with Nicole: do not under any circumstances get her started on school. Not only did she have a gigantic chip on her shoulder, but she was also an excellent litigator, not to mention she’d been trained to go for the jugular by the D.A., and by their parents before that.
    “At least I’m not taking handouts from my in-laws,” she said.
    “Nice,” he said. “What’s up with you tonight?”
    “I’m on the rag.”
    “Well back off. I’ve had a hard day.”
    Nicole’s body language changed. “What happened?”
    Sean shrugged away the question.
    Nicole narrowed her eyes and lowered her voice. “Did you hear from Ellie again?”
    “No.” He said it defensively.
    Ellie had been sending postcards to Toby from all over the country as she got progressively farther away from home. The last one had come from Santa Fe. But she’d only bothered to call Sean three times since she’d been gone. Once to say she was okay—that she’d gone off the Prozac and was no longer staying up all night and dropping a thousand dollars a day (that he was still paying off) on Internet purchases. But she didn’t want to come home. Not yet. She told him not to worry. But not to call either. It was temporary, she said. “I’m not sure I want to leave you.” The statement had been as reassuring as a two by four to the solar plexus.
    The second time she’d called she was crying hysterically and slurring her words. “I’m a bad mother,” she’d said.
    “So come home,” he said and hung up. It seemed to have completely escaped her that she’d abandoned him, too. The third time had been the other night at the parent social.
    The last miscarriage had pushed Ellie over the edge. He hadn’t been convinced another kid was even a good idea—the cost, for one thing—but when Ellie realized how hard it would be to get back into network television at an executive level, she decided to bag the job search and throw herself into another six years of the super-mom thing. It would be great for Toby to have a sibling, she’d argued, until he agreed. She waged a highly orchestrated attack involving ovulation kits, waiting thirty-six hours between “tries” as the doctor called what had become of their sex life, and elevating her legs in the air for twenty minutes afterwards. It took almost a year to get pregnant. Ellie was devastated when she lost the baby ten weeks in. It took another year to get pregnant again. When she had another miscarriage, she sunk even deeper. He’d tried to stop the “trying” then. But when he suggested that maybe a second child wasn’t in the cards, that they were good the way they were, Ellie became even more focused on success. “I’m not giving up,” she’d said, as if sheer will and hard work were going to make the difference. “We can do this.” The two other pregnancies ended almost before they started. She managed to take Toby to school in the mornings before crawling back into bed for the rest of the day. She stopped shaving her legs and shopping for groceries. He told her he loved her, that they didn’t need another baby. He kept telling her that their family was perfect the way it was. He cooked her dinner and combed her hair, but Ellie couldn’t shake it. She was depressed.
    He took