Free Carpool Confidential by Jessica Benson Page B

didn’t see it that way.” But I was laughing. Going on the theory that any laughter was better than lying prostrate on the floor at this point, this conversation was turning out to be a good thing. I was grateful to whatever impulse had made me call her.
    â€œSo?”
    Was she going to offer? Should I ask? I stared down my insecurities, fears, and worries (I’ve been out of the work force forever). There are a million really good writers out there. Why would she want something from me? She did say some really nice stuff about me, though. What if I can’t write anymore? What if she says a point-blank no?
    Down Boy! What did I have to lose? “What if I did? Think about it from a professional standpoint, that is. Would you be interested?” Not exactly a hard sell, but edging into the water.
    â€œConsidering I just finished a whole character assassination on Rick for not encouraging you, do I have a choice other than yes ?”
    â€œYes.”
    She laughed. “True.” My heart thudded when she went silent for a minute, then: “Would you do something on spec?”
    Spec was a nightmare. It meant I wrote the entire piece, submitted it, waited for them to decide whether to use it, and then waited again until they decided to pay me. It’s like telling the doctor to go ahead and do the tests and you’ll pay him if you like the diagnosis. “No.”
    More silence. “What was the last piece you had published?”
    I knew she knew. She’d been writing the same stuff— “Shoulder pads, the briefcase as a fashion accessory. Something like that. OK, you’ve made your point.”
    â€œLet me have a think and I’ll call you back in a bit.”
    I didn’t want to do that. I was afraid that if we hung up I was letting go of a chance, but what could I do? Refuse? “OK. And thanks, Charlotte.”
    â€œCall you later.”
    After we hung up, I looked out the window, at the sun slanting off the glass across the river, and wondered whether she really would or whether that was a brush-off. And then Rick and last night invaded. I tried not to want to curl up and die as pain and fear welled up in me, but it was hard to see my life stretched out in front of me as anything other than a series of days, like a mountain of ice, too slippery to climb.
    I told myself I had to muster the togetherness to take Cad out before disaster struck, but the phone rang before I could get far.
    â€œCass.”
    Rick. My heart skyrocketed so hard it was like the breath had been forcibly knocked out of me.
    â€œAre you there? It’s a lousy connection.”
    â€œYes.” Please come home. Please. I need you . It took everything I had to hold onto my pride and not say it out loud.
    â€œI—,” he said.
    Kind of bypassing the pride thing, I burst into tears. “Please, Rick. Where are you? Please, come home. That’s where you belong. I love you and I need you and the kids do too, more than anything, and I can’t—”
    â€œYou’ll be fine, Hon. Listen, I don’t have much time, but I realized I forgot to cancel my personal training and massage sessions at NYAC—City House, not Travers Island—for next week. Monday was squash, Wednesday was Pilates, and Friday was a total cardio. You should do it ASAP because if you don’t give forty-eight-hours cancellation, they bill you for no-shows.”
    â€œRick, please.” Snot was running down my face.
    â€œI thought I was doing you a favor by giving you a heads-up, Cass. Those sessions aren’t cheap, and I know it’s not my call how you spend it, but in my opinion you don’t have that kind of spare cash right now. I guess I shouldn’t have bothered letting you know.”
    He sounded so put out, so wronged, I found myself apologizing and thanking him for letting me know. Hmm. Even as I did it, I recognized there was something wrong with that picture. I