"picoult, jodi, keeping faith" - читать интересную книгу автора (Picoult Jodi)

--as he says every now and then--I'm the best thing
he can remember.
When we go out to dinner occasionally with his
colleagues--the ones who have collected trophy
wives--I realize how fortunate I am to have
someone like Colin. He puts his hand on the small
of my back, which is not as tanned or slender as
those on some of the younger models. He
proudly introduces me. "This is my wife,"
he says, and I smile. It is all I've
ever wanted to be.

"Mommy."
It has started to rain again; the road is
swimming in front of me, and I've never been a
very confident driver. "Ssh. I have
to concentrate."
"But, Mommy," she presses. "This is
really, really important."
"What is really, really important is
getting to your ballet lesson without getting us
killed."
For one blessed moment it is quiet. Then
Faith begins kicking the back of my seat. "But
I don't have my leotard," she whines.
I swerve onto the side of the road and turn
to look at her. "You don't?"
"No. I didn't know we were going there
straight from Grandma's."
I feel my neck redden. We are all of
two miles from the dance studio. "For God's
sake, Faith. Why didn't you say something
before?"
Her eyes fill with tears. "I didn't know
we were on our way to ballet until now."
I slam my hand against the steering wheel. I
don't know if I am angry at Faith, at the
weather, at my mother, or at the damned sprinklers
in the grocery store, all of which have managed
to screw up my day. "We go to ballet every single
Tuesday after lunch!"
I pull onto the road and make a
U-turn, ignoring the prick of guilt that
tells me I'm being too hard on her, that she's
only seven. Faith begins to shriek through her
tears. "I don't want to go home! I want
to go to ballet!"
"We're not going home," I say through clenched
teeth. "We're just going to pick up your
leotard, and then we'll go to ballet." We'll