And I had a jar.
Not a real jar. A savings account with a stupid name. I called it SOMEDAY. Every extra shift, I put a little in it. Twenty dollars. Fifty. A hundred when I could.
Someday, I was going to open my own pharmacy. A small one. A place where people didn’t wait forty minutes for their heart pills.
By the night of the champagne, SOMEDAY had fifty-two thousand dollars in it.
Greg knew about it. He used to tease me. “How’s Someday doing?”
He was the only one who knew.
That’s when Diane started coming over.
A lot.
To help Greg, she said. With the kids. With the house.
She’d never been warm to me. Not once in thirteen years. At our wedding, she told my mother I had “a sensible face.” At Owen’s christening, she held him up to the light and said, “Well. He’s got Greg’s ears, thank goodness.”
