She knew that Jane supported herself doing bookkeeping work. Celeste imagined her sitting at a tidy desk in her small, bare apartment. (She hadn’t been there, but she knew the block of plain red-brick apartments on Beaumont Street down by the beach, and she assumed the inside would be unadorned, like Jane. No fuss. No knick knacks.) The simplicity of her life seemed so compelling. Just Jane and Ziggy. One sweet, quiet, dark-haired child (putting aside the strange choking incident, of course). No fights. Life would be calm and uncomplicated.
The grass is always greener on the other side. Even the most perfect seeming lives aren't perfect.
