The Best of Us Read Online Free PDF

larger ones: Her mother began talking about downsizing to an apartment—“All these stairs are so rough on my knees!” And Pauline had noticed a cherished heirloom diamond ring was missing from its usual place on her mother’s right hand. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to ask why.
    Pauline had tried to slip her mother money, but her mother always refused to take it. “Buy yourself a pretty new dress,” she’d say, but that seemingly carefree comment would be followed by a question with tension underlying it: “Meet anyone interesting lately?”
    One night shortly before Val’s unexpected phone call, Pauline had been unable to sleep and was flipping through television channels when she’d paused on a poker tournament being broadcast live from Vegas. The camera had zoomed in on a guy who looked like he was barely out of his teens. He wore a black hoodie and sunglasses and had spent a long time studying the five cards in his hand.
    “I’m all in,” he’d finally said, pushing his pile of chips forward.
    The poker player and Pauline’s mother were different genders, races, and ages, but in that moment, they could’ve been the same person. Her mother was going all in on Pauline, and while some daughters might’ve chafed under the weight of the implied responsibility, Pauline never did. She had the exact same goals for herself—or maybe she’d unconsciously absorbed her mother’s so long ago that they’d become part of her.
    Kind of shy. Pauline had repeated Val’s words as she’d gotten dressed for her blind date, choosing a taupe silk sleeveless wrap dress. Very rich . She’d pulled her blond-streaked hair back into a chignon, applied brownish black mascara, and dotted the insides of her wrists with a delicate floral perfume. Thirty-one . She’d taken a final, appraising look in the mirror after she inserted her two-carat diamond teardrop earrings—fakes, but good ones—into her lobes. From a distance, she was classically beautiful. Closer up, one saw past the tricks of makeup and noticed that her eyes were set a fraction too close together, her mouth was a shade too small, and her nose was too narrow, as if someone had placed two strong hands on the sides of her features and squeezed.
    Still, she’d once read that the three things women needed to be gorgeous were great hair, teeth, and skin. Those she had; those could be bought.
    When she’d first glimpsed Dwight, what she’d felt more than anything was disappointment. The doorman had phoned to let her know Dwight was in the lobby of her apartment, and she’d picked up her clutch purse, counted off sixty seconds in her head, then gone to meet him.
    Not bad looking, Val had said, but Pauline thought the assessment was overly generous. Dwight was as skinny as some of the women in her Pilates classes, wore a brown jacket with oddly large lapels, and had an angry red zit on his chin.
    But she’d smiled, and reached for his hand, and spoken his name in a soft voice. And then he’d led her to his Mercedes, and whisked her off to one of those restaurants that was so exclusive it had no name on the door. Or maybe it was a club? She’d had no idea.
    Don’t screw this up, she’d warned herself as she sipped a glass of crisp Sancerre and perused the menu. One of her most embarrassing secrets was that she hated expensive food. Escargots, foie gras, and lobster tasted like slime and lard to her. What she really adored was comfort food: If she was on death row and being granted a final meal, she’d order mashed potatoes with gravy, roast chicken, and hot, yeasty buttered rolls—the kind that came out of a refrigerated cardboard tube.
    Of course, that night in the restaurant—club?—she’d ordered the escargots and lobster, and she’d smiled through every bite. To this day Dwight thought she loved them. He had no idea that when he was out of town, she snuck down to the kitchen and made a piece of cinnamon toast for dinner, layering the sweet