贡献者:处处都是 类别:英文 时间:2021-05-04 18:45:17 收藏数:6 评分:0
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Three years later she was living in southern Oregon, working for a
rich guy who was crazy about the environment. Her boss knew a lot
of other rich people who were spooked by climate change and who
wanted to do "something to help" but what exactly they didn't know,
so her job was to bring eco-friendly nonprofits into the conversation
and put together modest fundraisers and auctions. Sometimes her
boss was a little aggro, but overall she felt lucky to have found
something she was good at, something that felt good-when an
event ended and catering was packing up and guests were gone and
she was picking up tiny pieces of trash on the ground and setting
her clipboard aside and every detail she'd been worrying over for
weeks was gloriously immaterial. She found herself in one of these
tranquil moments, supervising the breakdown of some tables in the
backyard of a high-strung hedge fund manager, when her phone
buzzed. She stared at the screen. It was a text from Graham:
Hey-know it's been awhile, but I wanted to wish you the absolute best.
She felt the tug of despair in her belly, saw his taillights receding
down her mom's driveway. Quickly, she recounted all the
insufferable things about him: the withholding, the drama, the
harem of female "friends" he maintained to bolster his ego. Couldn't
love her until she was gone. Okay, okay, it had been the right thing
to break up, even though... And for a moment she saw the other life,
where they married, took their children to national parks and he
never took her for granted again.
With practiced effort, she closed her mind to this daydream. She
reread his text with a critical eye. Why send this now? Then she
realized-three years-his dissertation was finished. He was
graduating. This message wasn't to wish her well: it was an
announcement. I'm good now, it said, and you're almost gone.
A few months later she was FaceTiming with Corrie, who was now
engaged to John, a friend of Graham's. She'd never liked John much.
Too slippery. The guy you wouldn't be surprised to see on the news,
arrested on suspicion of some white collar crime. John was super
Catholic, and now so was Corrie it seemed. Around her neck lay a
thin gold cross.
"Oh," Corrie said, swooping her damp hair into a bun. "Before I
forget. Wait-do you want to know this? It's about Graham."
She shrugged. "Hit me."
Corrie laughed. "Don't worry, he's not getting married or anything.
It's just crazy." Apparently Graham's dissertation had been passed
on to HarperCollins by his advisor. He was getting published. Corrie
secured her bun with a tortoise shell clip. "Isn't that insane?"
It was. A just-graduating PhD, and it wasn't like Graham was some
inspired writer! Many times had she, curled up in the woolly
armchair in their old bedroom, scanned Graham's essays for typos
and marveled at his stolid prose. He couldn't have improved much
in three years, could he? And then a curious idea struck her:
perhaps this lucky break wasn't the result of Graham's talent or lack
thereof, but some kind of providential reward.... So, alright, just as a
test maybe she would text him back-but it wasn't time yet.