Everything to Lose - Andrew Gross

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to anything. But it’s Brandon. I mean, what do we do, give the house to the bank, pull him out of a school that’s totally making a difference in his life; file for bankruptcy …?”

      “No. You definitely don’t want to go down that road. That’s your last resort.”

      “Without a job, I can’t afford to even stay in Armonk, Robin. Even if I did put him in public school.”

      “Hil—” She took my hand again. “It took me six years to build myself back up. My health. My credit rating. And I’m not even talking about who I was inside. What about your ex? Can’t he come to the table?”

      I shook my head. “He’s broke. He’s closed down his business. I guess we’re both broke.”

      “Shit—I’d call a lawyer on his deadbeat ass anyway.” She chortled. “Trust me, beats kickboxing any day for getting the endorphins going.”

      “Jesus …” I blew out a sip of my latte, laughing. “Remind me not to get in your way.”

      “Think I’m joking? For two months, I had my girls at my sister’s and I was sleeping in our warehouse,” she said, her eyes fixed on me. “Getting myself to chemo twice a week. For years, who do you think it was I visualized every time I was hitting that hundred-pound bag?”

      “It was hard, huh? I mean, obviously what you went through with your health … But the rest. Watching the life you built up around you fall apart. Losing everything you counted on?”

      Robin looked at me. This time she wasn’t smiling. “Killer. Hardest thing I’ve ever gone through. And I hope you’re not looking for any fairy tale, take-home nuggets like it was all worth it in the end. ’Cause it wasn’t. It sucked. You just do what you have to do. And first order of business, you protect your cubs, right? That’s what drove me. I’d do anything I could for them. And I did. And you will too.”

      “What if there was something you could have done …?” I put down my cup. “Something you didn’t want to do, but that you had kind of in your back pocket, that could have changed things. Changed everything. I mean, financially …”

      “You got some rich dude who wants to marry you you’re not telling me about?”

      “Not even a broke one,” I said. “Just if somewhere I could find some money …”

      “Legal?”

      I just looked at her.

      Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not thinking about putting yourself out there, are you? In that case I change what I said. Try Chapter Eleven first.”

      I laughed, and shook my head. “Gimme a break. Of course not, Robin.”

      “You’d be surprised. There’re a lot of suburban moms who are finding all kinds of ways to pay for Pradas these days.”

      “Well, that’s not me. Yet.”

      “Good.” She took a sip of coffee and then shrugged. “Look, there’s this … and then there’s the other side of the road. I’ve been on both sides. And it’s dark over there. Short of maybe killing someone or robbing a bank … I’d do whatever you had to fucking do to take care of yourself and Brandon, Hilary. No one else will.”

      She took a last gulp of her latte and there was only the slightest hint of humor in her eyes.

       CHAPTER TEN

      In terms of money, things were only getting worse. I threw myself into finding a new job. Steve Fisher knew someone in the market for an ad manager. I just hadn’t done that kind of work in years. All my contacts from back then had mostly moved on or were ancient history by now.

      Someone else told me about someone who was looking for an accounts payable manager for a local wine distributor. The problem was, it paid only around half of what I’d been making. Enough to pay the mortgage, but no way I’d be able to cover Brandon’s school. Anyway, they were looking for someone with an accounting degree, and mine was in cultural anthropology.

      I called up Karen Richards, the head of school at Milton Farms, to see if I could qualify for some financial aid. Brandon was one of their success stories and I always tried to pitch in on school events. The past two years I paid tuition on an extended monthly plan, the only way I could handle it even when I had my old job. But now I was hopelessly behind. And the spring payment months were coming up.

      “Hilary, I’m afraid it’s just too late for this semester. Our funds are all allocated. And to be honest, our financial support isn’t really designed for your sort of situation anyway.”

      I hesitated. “My sort of situation …?”

      She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, but look at the home you live in, Hilary. Your ex-husband comes here on Father’s Day driving a new Porsche. I know I don’t really know what’s going on, but I honestly think the best solution is to work this out with him. I wouldn’t normally say this, but I noticed you’re several months behind in tuition payments …”

      “That’s why I’m calling, Karen.”

      “Look, you know we love Brandon. We’ve all seen the improvements since he’s been here. But this is something you need to address. I’ve already spoken to the tuition company. I can only keep them at bay so long. You understand what I’m saying, don’t you, Hilary?”

      “Yes. I understand.” The vise was closing.

      “We’re a needs-blind school here, when it comes to aid. But I’m not sure I can run with you if this continues into next semester.”

      “I hear you. I’ll figure something out,” I said.

      I told Margaret Wheeler and Eileen Pace, Brandon’s social behavior and physical therapy tutors, that we’d have to put things on hold for a while.

      “But he’s doing so well,” Margaret said, her disappointment clear. “Look, if this is what it’s about, you don’t need to pay me right away. We’ll work something out.”

      Margaret was a retired special ed teacher. Her husband was a cop. Ten days ago I was bringing in more than they did together.

      “Just for a couple of weeks, maybe,” I said. I hugged her. “Thank you, Margaret.”

      I put together a balance sheet of my finances. You didn’t have to have an accounting degree to see that it was bleak.

      I had twenty-six thousand left in the bank, including the thirteen and change I’d received in severance. Forty-two hundred was due every month for the mortgage. And zero chance of refinancing that now. Utilities were another six hundred. Not to mention the sixty-five hundred due next month to the town of Armonk for property taxes. Jim used to pay that, like the mortgage. But no longer. If I made Brandon’s school current, that left me only ten thousand.

      The house payments alone would eat that up.

      I couldn’t go to my folks again. They owed as much in unsold boats as I had in debts and it was bleeding them dry.

      I could cut the tutors, all the stuff for me I’d always fit in—mani/pedis every couple of weeks and facials every couple of months and the trips to the mall.

      That was all history now.

      I could cut back on Starbucks, along with eating out. I could even cut back on the barre method and my kickboxing, though sending a spinning, grunting side kick into a sixty-pound bag was about all that was keeping me sane right now.

      But I saw the wave that was coming at me. Like someone in the path of a tsunami coming onshore with no chance of getting out of the way. Maybe not this month, but certainly the next. It was going to crash over me and snap me in two. Me and Brandon. Like matchsticks. And even if I did find another job, and quickly, the math still didn’t add up.

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