Читать книгу Everything to Lose - Andrew Gross, Andrew Gross - Страница 15

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.

I looked at the numbers and saw what any person would have seen a while ago.

Everything was falling apart.

It wasn’t Slick anymore who was whispering on my shoulder.

It was survival.

Something had to change or I wouldn’t last another month.