Friends and Strangers - J. Courtney Sullivan Page 0,109

with him that once you started looking, you saw examples of it everywhere. And as George said, the terrible treatment was never going to stop until the people demanded it.

It was what had inspired Sam to write a plea of her own.

On the last day of the semester, just before she went home, Sam found Gaby crying to Maria in the dining hall. Gaby wiped the tears away when she saw Sam there, but when Sam asked if she was okay, Gaby told her that the cousin who watched her daughter while she worked had found a job and couldn’t take care of Josie anymore.

“Day care is so expensive,” Gaby said. “I’ll never be able to move out of my mother’s place if I have to pay for it.”

“What about the College Children’s Center?” Sam said. “My friend Rosa works there part-time. It’s supposed to be really good.”

Maria and Gaby gave her identical looks.

“What?” Sam said.

“That’s not for support staff, it’s for professors,” Maria said.

“Are you sure?” Sam said.

“Technically it’s open to everyone. But the place costs a fortune,” Gaby said.

“I thought it was free if you worked here,” Sam said.

She remembered an English professor who talked about it once in class, how she had chosen to take her position because the college was so family-friendly.

“Uhh, no,” Gaby said. “It’s only free to professors who are full-time.”

“So it’s free for the highest-paid people and no one else?” Sam said.

“Exactly. Plus, it opens for the day at eight, no early drop-off. But everyone in housekeeping and dining has to be at work by six-thirty. Get it? That’s not by accident.”

“Maybe I could help you in the mornings,” Sam said, even as she cringed at the thought of being up that early. “I could watch Josie from the time you get here and walk her to the Children’s Center when it opens.”

“No,” Maria said. “She’ll figure something out.”

The more Sam thought of the situation, the angrier it made her. She kept recalling the sight of Gaby, usually so tough and composed, reduced to tears. There had to be something she could do.

On the bus ride home for Christmas break, an idea came to her. Sam searched for a notebook in her bag and couldn’t find one. The only paper she had was the novel Clive had given her, Angel, which she had been carrying around for weeks and still hadn’t read. Sam sketched out the first draft of a letter to President Washington inside the back cover. She imagined sending it to the editors of the college paper, asking them to print it.

By the time her dad and her sister Caitlin arrived to pick her up at South Station, she had talked herself out of it. But a week later, Gaby was still on her mind. Sam emailed George and told him what had happened, and that she wanted to do something, a letter to the paper, maybe. George wrote back right away. He suggested that she wait until the start of the semester, and then circulate her letter, getting as many student signatures as possible.

On the plane to London, Sam tried to read Angel and found herself reading what she’d written instead. It was actually pretty good. She made adjustments, crossing out bits about Gaby that seemed too personal, trying to shorten and strengthen her sentences.

When she read it to Clive and asked if she was being too harsh, he said, “I don’t think you’re being harsh enough. Don’t hold back. Let her know you’re watching.”

One day, while Clive was out giving a tour of the Tower of London, she texted Gaby. Have you figured out day care for Josie yet?

Gaby replied, Ugh, yes. So expensive.

Sam logged on to her laptop and cued up President Washington’s speech, the one that made her apply to the college in the first place. When her face loaded on the screen, it was like seeing a friend, or a beloved wise aunt.

If women ran the world, they wouldn’t be afraid to speak truth to power, she said. If women ran the world, they would use power not for personal gain, but to lift up the voices of the powerless.

By the time the video ended, Sam was certain that not only should she send the letter, but that President Washington would want her to. She understood why George had suggested getting signatures. But there wasn’t time. And George didn’t know her peer group—everyone would have input, changes, ideas. It wouldn’t be as easy as