Dead Woman Crossing by J.R. Adler (best management books of all time txt) 📕

from the moon made it difficult to see her clearly, a shadow cast across her frail face, making her look like a figment of herself, a drawing of her mother not yet fully colored in. The eyes she remembered as being vibrant were dull and bloodshot. Beneath them, sunken and dark bags, like two freshly dug holes waiting for the eyes to close permanently and bury themselves within. Her mother had to have been sick or at the very least not taking care of herself. Kimberley felt a small sense of relief that she had had the foresight to enroll Jessica in a local daycare ahead of time, especially now that she had seen how unwell her mother looked.

Nicole rubbed her granddaughter’s sleeping back, swooning over her. She hadn’t seen her since she was a baby.

“She’s gotten big,” Nicole said, her voice just above a whisper with a waning sadness held within. Her eyes widened, revealing more of the red veins that appeared to have no end, like the roots of an ancient tree.

Kimberley nodded, her eyes still searching her mother’s face, absorbing it in its entirety as well as each section of it.

“Let’s get her inside and in bed,” her mother said, beckoning Kimberley with her hand.

Kimberley ran her fingers through Jessica’s hair as she slept peacefully in an old wooden crib she was sure was either passed down from David’s family or had been picked up from a local garage sale. The bedroom her and her daughter would be sharing for the foreseeable future was small, but it would do. It was big enough for a full-size bed, a bedside table, a crib, and a tall dresser. That was all she needed. Well, all she really needed was Jessica, so anything beyond that was a luxury. She tucked the small stuffed elephant beneath her daughter’s arm. It was dingy, old, and gray with a missing eye, but Jessica loved it more than anything. Kimberley pulled the pink blanket up a little higher and leaned down, planting at least the twelfth kiss on her daughter’s forehead for the night.

She took a look around the room, at the two suitcases beside the closet, the bag on the floral bedspread, and then decided she’d unpack it all in the morning. This was hers and Jessica’s home now, a nine-by-ten bedroom with popcorn walls and vomit-green shag carpeting. It definitely must have been last updated in the 1970s, when dangerous, textured walls met comfy, ugly floors—a time when people clearly didn’t know what they wanted, and it was evident in their choice of interior design. Kimberley walked to the door and reached for the light switch, her hand hovering near it for a moment, one final glance at Jessica. As she turned off the light, the back of her forearm slid down the wall.

“Ouch,” she said as her brain registered the searing pain. She brought her arm up to her line of sight, a thick, red scratch stretched three inches long. The popcorn walls had already gotten her; the house drawing the first drop of blood. Kimberley rubbed the blood away and reminded herself to keep Jessica away from the walls, if that were even possible. She rubbed her arm again, trying to polish away the stinging pain.

“She fell right asleep,” Kimberley said to her mother as she gently closed the door to the bedroom.

“Oh, that’s good.” Nicole smiled. “She had a long day.”

“Yeah, and she slept for a lot of it. Made it through the trip with only one tantrum.”

“You’re a lucky mom. When you were little, the only way I could get you to sleep was with a nip of rum.”

“Mother of the century.” Kimberley rolled her eyes, but her tone was light, and she smiled. It was so good to see her mom.

“Oh, I’m mostly kidding, honey.” Nicole gave her daughter’s hand a squeeze. “Come, dinner’s ready.”

Kimberley followed Nicole down the hallway and into the small dining room that fit a square table, four chairs and a buffet filled with white china. The plates on the table were plastic, so she assumed the china was for special guests, of which she clearly was not. David padded into the dining room and took a seat at the table.

“Everything looks great,” he said, planting a kiss on Nicole’s cheek.

Her mother smiled at David and turned her attention to Kimberley. “Sit. Eat,” Nicole said while she took her own seat.

The plates were already pre-served with a scoop of buttery Brussels sprouts, a large cut of flank steak, and an even larger helping of mashed potatoes. A glass of red wine was placed at her and her mom’s plates, with an open bottle in the center of the table. Kimberley took a seat across from her mom and next to David.

“No wine for you, David?” Kimberley asked, mostly out of curiosity.

“Wine’s for women,” David said, pulling a beer from his overalls and opening it before setting it on the table.

Kimberley nodded. No use arguing that line of thinking. She picked up her fork and dove it into the Brussels sprouts.

David cleared his throat. “We say grace in this house, Kimberley.” He held her mother’s frail hand in his and bowed his head. Kimberley went to reach for his hand out of politeness, but it wasn’t in sight and his eyes were already closed. She sensed he had done it on purpose, perhaps displeased that she had eaten a bite of food before giving thanks. Her mother’s hand found hers and she held it.

David cleared his throat. “Dear Lord, we thank you for this food and all our blessings. We ask nothing of you as you have already given us so much. Amen.”

“Amen,” Kimberley and Nicole repeated.

Nicole let go of Kimberley’s hand and shot her a sympathetic glance.

David let go of Nicole’s hand and brought his other hand up from beneath the table. Without missing a beat, he cut into his rare steak; blood oozed out of it, pooling in the center of his