The Survivors Club Read Online Free PDF Page A

sister. She is not looking forward to dinner with Trish. It has become one more thing to do on a long list of things to do, and part of her suspects that this is bad. She has lost perspective. She has let her life get away from her. The rest of her is too busy to care.
    She has her responsibilities. She is the responsible one.
    Trisha is off to college. Trisha has her first apartment, tiny, cramped, but beautiful because it is all hers. Trisha has new friends, new life, new goals. She wants to be a playwright, she told Jillian excitedly last week. Before that she had wanted to study communications. Before that it had been English. Trish is young, beautiful, bright. The world is her oyster, and Jillian does not doubt that Trish will become exactly who she wants to become, doing exactly what she wants to do.
    And this pains her in a way she doesn’t understand. Lifts her up, pushes her down. She is the surrogate mother, proud of her child’s accomplishments. She is the tired older sister, feeling a nagging twinge of jealousy when she has nothing to be jealous of. Yes, her path was harder. No, she was never nineteen and carefree. No, she has never gotten to live on her own, not even now. But she went to college, earned a business degree. At thirty-six she runs a successful ad agency, calling all the shots. She didn’t sacrifice everything for her mother and sister. She carved out her own life, too.
    And yet . . .
    Visiting Trish is hard for her these days. She does not do it nearly as often as she should.
    Now, she drives around Thayer Street, looking for a place to park. The third week in May, the sun is just starting to set and the sidewalks are crowded with Brown University summer students, milling outside of Starbucks, the Gap store, Abercrombie & Fitch. Jillian still gets a twinge of unease over Trisha living in the city. Especially after the recent reports of two rapes, the second of which was only two weeks ago. One was over at Providence College, however, and the other was some woman in her home.
    Trisha knows about the attacks. They even talked about it last week. Some of the girls have started carrying pepper spray. Trish bought a canister as well. Plus she inspected the locks on her apartment. Her apartment is really very secure. A little basement studio, with only tiny windows set high in the wall and not big enough for a grown man to crawl through. Trisha had also installed a bolt lock when she signed her lease last spring. It’s a key in, key out kind of lock; supposedly one of the best money can buy.
    “I’ll be fine,” Trish told Jillian in that exasperated way only a teenager can manage. “For heaven’s sake, I’ve taken two courses in self-defense!”
    Jillian finally finds a parking spot deep down on Angell Street. She has a bit of a hike now to Trisha’s apartment, but that’s not unusual given the state of Providence’s parking. Plus, it’s a balmy, dusky evening and she could use the exercise.
    Jillian doesn’t have pepper spray. She contemplates this as she locks the door of her gold Lexus. She does what she’s seen on TV—she carries her car keys in her fist, with the biggest key sticking out between two fingers like a weapon. She also keeps her head up and her footsteps brisk. Of course, this comes naturally to her. She has never been the shrinking violet type. She likes to think that Trish got her independent spirit from her.
    Trisha lives at the edge of the Brown campus. Generally, they meet at her apartment, then walk to Thayer Street with its host of ethnic restaurants and upscale coffee shops. Jillian could go for some Pad Thai. Or maybe grilled lamb.
    For the first time, her footsteps pick up. Thayer Street has such great restaurants; it’s nice to be out and about on College Hill, with its youth and vitality. And the night is lovely, not too hot, not too cold. After dinner they can go for some ice cream. Trisha can tell her all about her summer internship at Trinity Theater,