Found Money - James Grippando [3]
Amy was driving an oven on wheels by the time she reached the Clover Leaf Apartments, a boring collection of old two-story red brick buildings. It was a far cry from the cachet Boulder addresses that pushed the average price of a home to more than a quarter-million dollars. The Clover Leaf was government-subsidized housing, an eyesore to anyone but penurious students and the fixed-income elderly. Landscaping was minimal. Baked asphalt was plentiful. Amy had seen warehouse districts with more architectural flair. It was as if the builder had decided that nothing man-made could ever be as beautiful as the jagged mountaintops in the distance, so why bother even trying? Even so, there was a four-year waiting list just to get in.
A jolt from a speed bump launched her to the roof. The truck skidded to a halt in the first available parking space, and Amy jumped out. After a minute or two, the redness in her face faded to pink. She was looking like herself again. Amy wasn’t one to flaunt it, but she could easily turn heads. Her ex-husband used to say it was the long legs and full lips. But it was much more than that. Amy gave off a certain energy whenever she moved, whenever she smiled, whenever she looked through those big gray-blue eyes. Her grandmother had always said she had her mother’s boundless energy—and Gram would know.
Amy’s mother had died tragically twenty years ago, when Amy was just eight. Her father had passed away even earlier. Gram had essentially raised her. She knew Amy; she’d even seen the warning signs in her ex-husband before Amy had. Four years ago, Amy was a young mother trying to balance a marriage, a newborn, and graduate studies in astronomy. Her daughter and coursework left little time for Ted—meaning too little time to keep an eye on him. He found another woman. After the divorce, she moved in with Gram, who helped with Taylor. Good jobs weren’t easy to find in Boulder, a haven for talented and educated young professionals who wanted the quintessential Colorado lifestyle. Amy would have loved to stick with astronomy, but money was tight, and a graduate degree in astronomy wouldn’t change that. Even her computer job hadn’t changed that. Her paycheck barely covered the basic living expenses for the three of them. Anything left over was stashed away for law school, which was coming in September.
For Amy, a career in law was an economic decision, not an emotional one. She was certain she’d meet plenty of classmates just like her—art historians, English literature majors, and dozens more who had abandoned all hope of finding work in the field they loved.
Amy just wished there were another way.
“Mommy, Mommy!”
Amy whirled at the sound of her daughter’s voice. She was wearing her favorite pink dress and red tennis shoes. The left half of her very blonde hair was in a pigtail. The other flowed in the breeze, another lost barrette. She peeled down the walkway and leaped into Amy’s arms.
“I missed you so much,” said Amy, squeezing her daughter tightly.
Taylor laughed, then made a face. “Eww, you’re all wet.”
Amy wiped away the sweat she’d transferred from her cheek to Taylor’s. “Mommy’s truck has a little fever.”
“Gram says you should just sell that heap of junk.”
“Never,” said Amy. Her mother used to own that heap of junk. It was about the only thing she’d managed to come away with in the divorce. That, and her daughter. She lowered Taylor to the ground. “So, how is your dad?”
“Fine. He promised to come visit us.”
“Us?”
“Uh-huh. He said he’ll come see you and me at the party.”
“What party?”
“Our party. For when you gradgy-ate law school and when I gradgy-ate high school.”
Amy blinked twice, ignoring the sting. “He actually said that?”
“Law school