No Ordinary Life by Suzanne Redfearn

on the door through which Chris just left.
    I give an innocent smile that she doesn’t return.
    “Mom, make yourself useful,” she says.
    I perk up, excited to start my job as Molly’s manager.
    “The coffee station is down the hall. Decaf, two creams, one sugar.”
    If I had the guts, I would harrumph back, but I don’t, so instead I walk from the room to fetch her coffee, my mind filled with the image of me and the kids sitting on an outcropping of rocks at the beach, Chris’s arm around my waist, Gus in front of us. Gus is a bit mangy for the dream, but we come as a package deal, all or nothing. Plus, I kind of like it. Gus adds a bit of personality.

20
    T he contract is for so much more than I expected that I can’t get my head around the numbers. Molly will be paid $20,000 per episode for the first seven episodes. If her contract is renewed for the rest of the season and the two seasons after that, a three-year contract total, she will get $30,000 an episode for the remaining episodes. For any Foster Band merchandise that has solely her image on it, she will receive a ten percent royalty. For merchandise with multiple persons on it, she will get a proportional split of the ten percent royalty. The contract is exclusive of any money Molly receives for concerts, music royalties, endorsement deals, magazine shoots, or appearances.
    Twenty thousand an episode for seven episodes is $140,000. Thirty thousand an episode for fifteen more episodes is $450,000. Molly’s gross income for the year will be $590,000, not including the money from the Gap commercial or anything else she might do. The years after, she will make $660,000.
    I am designated as Molly’s manager, and as such, fifteen percent of what she earns will be mine. Fifteen percent of $660,000 is $99,000. I suddenly have a job that pays nearly one hundred grand a year, possibly more, and the job is to take care of my little girl. I can’t believe it. I really can’t.
    I read the contract three times. Some of the legal jargon is a little confusing, and there’s a paragraph about breach of contract that is unsettling because it says if we leave without cause we can be sued, and since I’ve never committed to anything for longer than a day, signing on to do something for three years is a bit out of my comfort zone. But I also can’t imagine ever wanting to quit something like this. Why would we? This is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to us.
    I sign on every line I’m supposed to then grab a sheet of paper and write a list:
    Therapy for Tom
    Buy car
    Start looking at neighborhoods where we might want to live
    Look at private schools
    Repay Bo
    File for divorce
         I smile. I kiss my list. I twirl in a circle then sit back down and stare some more at my wonderful, amazing list.
    When my eyes grow too heavy to keep them open a moment longer, I crawl onto the sleeper couch beside Molly and continue the silent reverie in the dark, swooning a little with the disbelief of it all. My hand slides across the mattress until the knuckles rest against Molly’s forearm, her solid warmth anchoring me. We made it. All the scraping and scrapping we’ve done to survive is over, and somehow, miraculously, it all worked out. Tears squeeze from my eyes with the sheer relief of it.
    It’s so wonderful and I’m so overwhelmed by the thought of it that I can hardly believe it’s real. Money, that sweet green stuff that makes the world go round, is going to start rolling in. I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling, the little stucco bumps shadowed blue by the moonlight through the window. No more struggle. Incredible.
    Molly snorts then resumes her steady snoring, a perfect rhythm of breath I try to match with my own, hoping to settle the erratic pounding in my chest. It is real , I assure myself, but the thought only causes my heart to pound harder.
    Our new reality seems so fragile that it unnerves me. We only just got here, but already I’m terrified it