Four Friends
Robyn Carr
From #1 New York Times bestselling author Robyn Carr comes the story of four friends determined to find their stride. Ultimately, they'll discover what it means to be a wife, mother, lover, friend…and most important: your true self.Gerri can't decide what's more devastating: learning her rock-solid marriage has big cracks, or the anger she feels as she tries to repair them. Always the anchor for friends and her three angst-ridden teenagers, it's time to look carefully at herself. The journey is more than revealing–it's transforming.Andy doesn't have a great track record with men, and she's come to believe that a lasting love is out of reach. When she finds herself attracted to her down-to-earth contractor–a man without any of the qualities that usually appeal to her–she questions everything she thought she wanted in life.Sonja's lifelong pursuit of balance is shattered when her husband declares he's through with her New Age nonsense and walks out. There's no herbal tonic or cleansing ritual that can restore her serenity–or her sanity.Miraculously, it's BJ, the reserved newcomer to Mill Valley, who steps into their circle and changes everything. The woman with dark secrets opens up to her neighbors, and together they get each other back on track, stronger as individuals and unfaltering as friends.
From #1 New York Times bestselling author Robyn Carr comes the story of four friends determined to find their stride. Ultimately, they’ll discover what it means to be a wife, mother, lover, friend…and most important: your true self.
Gerri can’t decide what’s more devastating: learning her rock-solid marriage has big cracks, or the anger she feels as she tries to repair them. Always the anchor for friends and her three angst-ridden teenagers, it’s time to look carefully at herself. The journey is more than revealing—it’s transforming.
Andy doesn’t have a great track record with men, and she’s come to believe that a lasting love is out of reach. When she finds herself attracted to her down-to-earth contractor—a man without any of the qualities that usually appeal to her—she questions everything she thought she wanted in life.
Sonja’s lifelong pursuit of balance is shattered when her husband declares he’s through with her New Age nonsense and walks out. There’s no herbal tonic or cleansing ritual that can restore her serenity—or her sanity.
Miraculously, it’s BJ, the reserved newcomer to Mill Valley, who steps into their circle and changes everything. The woman with dark secrets opens up to her neighbors, and together they get each other back on track, stronger as individuals and unfaltering as friends.
Praise for #1 New York Times
and #1 USA TODAY bestselling author
ROBYN CARR
“A touch of danger and suspense make the latest in Carr’s Thunder Point series a powerful read.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Hero
“With her trademark mixture of humor, realistic conflict, and razor-sharp insights, Carr brings Thunder Point to vivid life.”
—Library Journal on The Newcomer
“No one can do small-town life like Carr.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Wanderer
“A delightfully funny novel.”
—Midwest Book Reviews on The Wedding Party
“Well-rounded characters, a plot rich in emotion and humor and one sweet romance make this a great read.”
—RT Book Reviews on A Summer in Sonoma
“An intensely satisfying read. By turns humorous and gut-wrenchingly emotional, it won’t soon be forgotten.”
—RT Book Reviews on Paradise Valley
“Carr has hit her stride with this captivating series.”
—Library Journal on the Virgin River series
Four Friends
Robyn
Carr
www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)
To Dianne Moggy, my dear friend, who always believed in me.
Contents
Chapter One (#ue1d66f12-1913-5f28-9829-2c79b6267252)
Chapter Two (#uc412c30e-8df1-5e16-9bfa-96959e0e6ab8)
Chapter Three (#ua3090706-014f-521c-8909-98beacde4f8a)
Chapter Four (#uead1a820-1888-5a5e-a795-137978a07542)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgments (#litres_trial_promo)
Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)
one
GERRI GILBERT ANSWERED the door in gray sweats with a tear in the knee, hem on one leg falling down and a gray T-shirt under her black hoodie. Her short, dark brown hair was spiking every which way from bed head. She held a cup of coffee in her hand; her eyes were slits and there was a snarl on her face. “You’re five minutes early. Again. We’ve been over this. Can you please not be early? I value every minute in the morning.”
Sonja Johanson put a finger to her lips, shushing Gerri. The sun was barely over the rooftops and she didn’t want to wake the house. Sonja wore her salmon sweats, white T-shirt and salmon hoodie, her silky, shoulder-length mahogany hair pulled back in a neat clip.
She backed away from the door and pointed down the street. Gerri stepped outside for a better view. A big pile of clothing, books and what appeared to be miscellaneous junk was on the Jamisons’ lawn. Right at that moment their friend Andy appeared in the doorway of her house and with an angry cry hurled the tower to a desktop computer atop the pile.
Andy disappeared into the house and Bryce Jamison backed out of the door wearing business attire that was not fresh, his shirtsleeves rolled up, his collar open, his tie hanging out of his pants pocket and he sported an even worse case of bed head than Gerri. He held a packed duffel bag. “You’re fucking crazy, you know that?” he yelled into the house. He turned and stomped past the pile toward his car in the driveway.
“And you’re fucking through here!” Andy screamed out the open door. Then she slammed it.
“I think Andy might be coming to the end of her rope,” Sonja said gravely.
Gerri’s response was a short burst of laughter. “Ya think?” she asked.
“Should we do something?” Sonja asked.
“Oh, hell no,” Gerri said, pulling her front door closed. She put her coffee cup on the brick planter that bordered dead flowers and bent to stretch. “It’s for them to work out. Or finish off.”
“Should we ask her if she’s walking?”
“She’s not walking today,” Gerri said. “Let’s get this over with.” Gerri started off down the street at a brisk pace.
Just steps behind her Sonja asked, “What do we say?”
“Say nothing. Do nothing.”
“But...”
Gerri looked over her shoulder. “Nothing,” she repeated.
Sonja came up beside her. “We should see if she’s all right.”
“We should give her time to finish throwing things, if that’s what she’s doing. I’ll check in with her before I leave for work.”
Sonja tsked. “I tried to talk to her about the relationship quadrant of her house—it’s all torn up and the feng shui is a disaster. She’s all out of balance. Now look.”
Gerri stopped in her tracks. She looked at Sonja. “That’s exactly why you’d better stay away from there today. You know how she feels about all your woo-woo stuff. If you pull any of your feng shui, chakra or karma bullshit today, you’re going to end up on top of that pile.”
“But something could have been done about that!”
“For God’s sake,” Gerri said impatiently, walking again. “It was destiny.”
Ahead of them, about half a block away, a small, lean woman came out of her house, also wearing sweats. She stopped to stretch on her front walk. She was still stretching as they passed and Gerri called, “Morning, BJ.” But Sonja added, “Wanna walk with us today, BJ?”
“Thanks, but I need the run,” she answered, waving them off.
When they had cleared the house Sonja said, “She’s making an awful lot of bad karma, the way she acts.”
“She wants to run,” Gerri said. “Quit asking her. I’d run if my knees wouldn’t collapse.”
“But it’s unfriendly,” Sonja said.
“Some women don’t want girlfriends,” Gerri pointed out. “I think she’s been clear, and not unfriendly. Just private.”
“Don’t you think that’s pretty suspicious?”
“No, I think it’s private. Are you going to talk the whole time? Because if you are, I might risk permanent paralysis and just run with BJ.”
“Little grouchy this morning? I bet you had liquor instead of chamomile before bed last night.”
“Shut up, Sonja,” Gerri said.
The 6:00 a.m. power walking had been going on for almost two years; Sonja had initiated it. She was the health guru, the motivator, often the pain in Gerri’s butt. It was Sonja’s profession. She was a feng shui consultant and home organizer who did personal color charts and something she referred to as life reading, which was like a mini study of your past, present and goals with the objective of total balance and personal success. Additionally she was a vegetarian, novice herbalist, part-time yoga and meditation instructor and impossible perfectionist. Gerri had an entire shelf dedicated to books given to her by Sonja on everything from studying your body’s pH to gliding through menopause on herbs—books stubbornly left unread.
Gerri and Andy had been neighbors and good friends for fifteen years, since before Andy threw out her first husband. They were both now in their late forties while Sonja had just scored the big four-oh. When Sonja arrived in the neighborhood a few years ago, Gerri and Andy welcomed her and immediately grew bored with her naturalist and metaphysical leanings. However—and it was a big however—when someone was sick or hurt or in trouble, it was always Sonja who came forth with anything from a massage to a casserole to transportation to, well, whatever was needed. When Gerri had been brought to her knees by a killer hemorrhoidectomy Sonja was there, drawing the sitz bath, making broth, administering pain meds and, of course, she was armed with the perfect, natural, gentle laxative. Gerri had learned you just don’t give the right laxative enough credit until you find yourself in that position.
Still, she could be tiresome as hell.
After three miles in just under forty-five minutes, Gerri sweating like a boxer and Sonja glistening attractively, they separated. Gerri entered her house noisily. “Everyone up?” she yelled into the house as she wandered into the kitchen.
Phil was sitting at the table with coffee, newspaper strewn around and his laptop open, going through email and checking the news. “They’re up,” he said. “More or less.”
The Gilbert kids were thirteen, sixteen and nineteen. Boy, girl, boy. “You’re supposed to make sure they’re up, Phil.”
“I did,” he said without looking up. “I do every morning.”
She trudged up the stairs and started throwing open doors. “Get up! Don’t make me late!” Then she backtracked to her shower and wondered why the hell Phil couldn’t accomplish one simple task—get the kids out of bed while she was out walking. Despite the fact she was planning to go in late today, it annoyed her. But lately everything annoyed her because she was doing the menopause drill and she was often testy.
She let the water run over her naked body, cool water to lower her body temperature. At the moment all she wanted in life was to feel level. Even. She’d always had a short fuse but lately she was positively electric and could burst into flame anywhere, anytime. She’d been trying on bathing suits one day and when she made her purchase, she’d flared up so bright she thought the clerk would call security to frisk her for stolen goods. Talking to the mayor at a fund-raiser one night, great balls of perspiration had begun to run down her face. She’d started sleeping naked because of the night sweats and when Phil rolled over, found flesh instead of flannel and began to grope her, she’d mutter, “Don’t even think about it.”
When she was out of the shower, dry and cool, she had one of those reprieves that came regularly—she felt perfectly normal, sane and in control. Then came the inevitable guilt—she should be fined for ever snapping at Phil. She didn’t know of a husband who pulled his weight as well as Phil. She knew of no family in Mill Valley in better balance, and that was as much because of Phil as Gerri. While Andy was throwing her husband’s clothes on the lawn, Phil was doing his morning chore, trying to get the kids up. It wasn’t his fault they pulled the covers over their heads, as teenagers did.
By the time she was putting the finishing touches on her face and hair, she was wilting again, her makeup melting off her face as fast as she put it on. She flipped on the little fan that was now an accessory in her bathroom.
When she got back to the kitchen, Phil had gone to work. Jed, her nineteen year old was racing for his car to get to class on time while Jessie and Matthew were arguing over whose turn it was to take out the trash. “Just get in the car,” she said. “I’ll take care of it myself.” After dropping them off at their schools, she called her office. Gerri was the supervisor of case workers with Child Protective Services. She said she had a family situation to resolve and would be a little late. Then she drove back to the neighborhood, but parked in Andy’s drive.
Andy didn’t answer the doorbell, so Gerri knocked and then rattled the knob. “Come on, Andy,” she yelled. A few long moments passed before she saw a shadow cross over the peep hole and the door opened slowly. Andy’s curling, shoulder-length black hair was clipped up off her neck, a few tendrils escaping, and her face was a combination of ashen and blotchy from crying. Gerri glanced over her shoulder at the pile on the lawn and said, “Have a little tiff?”
Andy turned and walked back into the house, past the living room into a kitchen that was torn apart, under construction. That would be the relationship quadrant of the house. Andy sat in the breakfast nook where there was a cup of coffee. She rested an elbow on the table, her head in her hand and groaned. “Go ahead. Say it. Say I told you so.”
“I’m not feeling that mean at the moment,” Gerri said. She went into the disastrous kitchen, grabbed a coffee mug from the sink and quickly washed it. The cupboards had all been emptied of their contents and would soon be ripped off the walls, replaced with new. Gerri poured herself some coffee, then joined Andy at the table. “Must’ve been a good one.”
“Same crap,” Andy said. “Out all night, comes home smelling like a whore, lots of excuses about some account executive sitting too close to him at a marathon meeting and smelling him up. No phone call. And apparently they serve booze at those meetings...”
“Hmm,” Gerri replied, sipping her coffee.
“There’s a new twist this time. I spent most of the night hacking into his email account and read all the romantic little notes he’s been sharing with some woman known only as Sugarpants.”
“Sugarpants?” Gerri repeated, forcing herself not to laugh out loud. “Jesus, that’s subtle.”
“Erotic emails. Dates being set up. Steamy postmortems on the dates. Do you think if he’d hit me over the head with a naked woman I would have come to my senses sooner?”
“Well, you’ve suspected...”
“God, why didn’t you stop me? I must have been out of my mind!”
Gerri just reached out and gave Andy’s upper arm an affectionate stroke. As she recalled, Andy couldn’t be stopped.
Andy had been the divorced mother of a fifteen-year-old son when she met Bryce a few years ago. He was younger by ten years, sexy and eager, possessing at least eight of the ten requirements to deliver instant happiness to a forty-four year old woman. He made her feel young, beautiful, desirable. Bryce was good with Noel—they were like a couple of kids together—one of the few men she’d dated who had taken to her son quickly, easily. He had a good job in pharmaceutical sales, though it required considerable travel. She fell in lust with him and for a while there was an orgasmic glow all around her.
Andy was far from straitlaced, but she wouldn’t live with Bryce because of Noel, a touchy and vulnerable teenager. Plus, there was the matter of an ex-husband and his wife to contend with—Andy didn’t want anyone making an argument for custody under those circumstances. And of course, she was in love with him, so she married him.
Bryce quickly emerged as immature, selfish, short-tempered, inconsiderate, in no way prepared to cohabit and, indeed, had no experience in cohabitation. He knew exactly how to treat a woman to get into her pants, how to send her to the moon night after night, but couldn’t share the day-to-day workload or be accountable to a partner. He didn’t like being questioned about where he’d been nor could he say for certain when he’d be home. The relationship with Noel deteriorated; Bryce became exasperated by the noise, mess and back talk associated with teenage boys. This had the effect of turning Andy, who was by nature a humorous and agreeable woman, into a demanding, suspicious, resentful nag. They were like water on a grease fire. Everything was always about those buttons—you push mine and I’ll push yours.
Bliss hadn’t lasted even a year for Andy, but she’d hung in there for three. She’d been talking about a separation and divorce for two years now and whenever she’d get close, two things stalled her out. One, Bryce knew how to turn on the charm when he wanted to and he could treat her to short periods of good behavior laced with hot sex. And, two, it just isn’t easy to be forty-seven and acknowledge yourself as a woman who had twice failed at marriage.
“You’re going to be late for work,” Gerri said. “Let’s pull it together.”
Andy shook her head. “I called in divorced,” she said. “I need a day or two. I have to get my bearings, pack up his stuff, call the lawyer, close the joint accounts.”
“This is really it, then?”
“I was through a long time ago. There were just times I thought divorcing him might be more painful than living with him.” She blinked and a tear rolled down her cheek. “I guess I’m beyond that now.”
“You’ll be all right,” Gerri said gently, earnestly. “You were all right before—you’ll be all right again.”
“It’s so hard,” Andy said. “When you don’t have anyone.”
“Yeah, I know,” Gerri agreed. “Yet it’s harder when you have the wrong one.”
* * *
You’re not forty-nine and married twenty-four years without having helped a few friends through the big D. Each one had left a mark on Gerri’s heart. Even the fairly simple, straightforward ones were gut-wrenching. To promise to love forever and find yourself pulled into that dark world of animosity and vengeance as you tore the promise apart broke the strongest men and women into pieces. And one of the roughest in Gerri’s memory was Andy’s divorce from her first husband, Rick.
They’d moved into this little bedroom community in Marin County at about the same time fifteen years before. Andy and Gerri had both been the mothers of four-year-old boys who’d become instant friends. Gerri had also had one-year-old Jessie balanced on her hip and a couple of years later there was a hot lusty night when birth control was the last thing she or Phil considered; that night produced Matthew, and a vasectomy for Phil. Andy, however, stopped with Noel, her only child.
Young, energetic working mothers in their early thirties with tight bodies, small happy children, virile husbands, great things looming in their futures, they became good friends immediately. Gerri was working a large slice of Marin County for Child Protective Services as a case worker and Phil, a bright young assistant district attorney, had to commute into San Francisco daily, on occasion staying overnight. Andy was a middle school teacher at the time, married to a teacher and coach from a local high school.
Andy’s divorce came when Noel was ten. It was sudden—what seemed a balanced and content marriage went sour overnight. Rick was unhappy and distant, they were in counseling, then separated, the divorce was quickly final and, before anyone could blink, Rick was remarried to someone who’d been in the periphery of his life all along—the school nurse at his high school. Clearly he’d chosen his second wife before dispensing with his first.
Gerri and Phil, as happily married couples will do, had blistering fights over Andy and Rick’s marital problems, each taking their gender’s side; for a while it tore everyone apart. In the end Phil relented and they kept Andy, lost touch with Rick, seeing him only occasionally when he came back to the neighborhood to pick up Noel for the weekend. Andy’s recovery was much more difficult. It was a couple of years before her bitterness eased enough to allow her to date. In the years since she had advanced herself to middle school principal.
Meanwhile, Gerri and Phil settled into a routine, if you can call it that when you have three kids in seven years and two demanding jobs doing the people’s work, jobs that required commitment and a strong sense of justice. Neither of them punched a clock; both of them were tied to pagers in the old days and cell phones now, backing each other up as well as they could. Their lives could be chaotic—children in dangerous situations that had to be investigated or rescued by CPS or crimes against the people that fell into Phil’s bull pen didn’t happen on a nine-to-five schedule. If Gerri failed to do her job well, a child could be at serious risk and if Phil slacked even a little, the bad guy got away. Phone calls from the police to either of them came at all hours.
Gerri would think back to the beginning with longing from time to time. A bright young social worker with a master’s degree in clinical psychology marries a handsome young lawyer four years her senior, a man who’s already being noticed by the district attorney and the attorney general—they were often referred to as the Power Couple. It was predicted that one of them would land in state politics; they were still fixtures at official state and political events and fund-raisers attended by movers and shakers. Their hours in their offices and in the field were long and hard, but in addition they managed to keep up with the kids—band, choir, PTA, neighborhood watch, gymnastics, ball games and track meets, concerts, and enough sleepovers and car pools to dull the brain of any card-carrying parent. They had to tag team these events—if Gerri had to table a case load to attend something for the kids, the next time Phil might have to push some trial work on a younger assistant D.A.
“Right after the last pancake breakfast of my high school career, I’m going to take a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue into the garage, sit in my car and drink it right out of the bottle until I can’t focus,” Phil had said after one of his father-duty assignments.
That was one of many things that had held them together through twenty-four years of pressure—humor. Phil, when he wasn’t mentally and emotionally tied to some case, could be very funny. And Gerri had a cynical wit that could make him laugh until he cried or farted. They had a remarkable partnership and friendship that was the envy of many. Their own personal appraisal was that they were busy, overworked, tired and somewhat dull—but they were doing a damn fine job nonetheless and had come to worship boredom as a great alternative to chaos.
Gerri had known from the beginning that Andy’s second marriage wouldn’t work. Bryce might’ve been thirty-four when they married, but he was not grown-up enough for family life. He had his business trips, his buddies he liked to run with, a long and ingrained history of never answering to anyone for any reason and a lot of women before Andy, the last being something Gerri had known would be a tough habit to break.
Selfishly, Gerri dreaded what she knew was coming with another divorce, another friend in recovery, and this was her closest friend. She consoled herself that it was like giving up cigarettes—once the pain of withdrawal was past, Andy would gradually reclaim her stable self. Still, she resented the hours it would eat up, listening to the transgressions of Bryce.
Feeling grateful for her anything but ordinary yet predictable life and her committed spouse, she called Phil’s office. He was in court. His assistant said there was nothing on his calendar for lunch and Gerri, feeling like toasting her wonderful partnership and telling Phil how much she loved and appreciated him, called his cell phone. She knew it would be turned off for court. To his voice mail she said, “Hi. I’m coming into the city. I thought you might like to grab a quick lunch with me. No kids. I’m flying solo. My cell is on.”
* * *
The morning was almost gone and Andy was done crying. She was working on a list—things to do to scrape Bryce Jamison out of her life. Number one was to call Noel and explain. Noel was in his first year of community college and split his time between his mom’s, his dad’s and a couple of friends who had an apartment near the campus, thus he had missed the fireworks early this morning. But he’d witnessed plenty and Andy knew that was the reason he spent less than the majority of his time at her house. The most humiliating part was the knowledge that he reported back to his father and stepmother. Well, maybe that would change now; maybe he’d hang around more.
Empty the closet and drawers into boxes, she added. Call lawyer. Copy tax returns. Print out bank statements and close accounts. Cancel credit cards. As an afterthought she wrote, “Call gyn clinic, get screened.”
The doorbell rang and immediately she heard the sound of a key in the lock. Bob. She had forgotten about Bob. She looked around the dismantled kitchen and wondered how that was possible. Bob was the carpenter who was renovating the kitchen and he would have expected her to be at work as usual. He was slow and careful and had other jobs, so it took him longer, but the inconvenience was reflected in his price. Among Andy’s many regrets right now was that she’d decided to redo the kitchen. She wasn’t sure she could afford it now, without a husband.
Bob was whistling as he walked into the kitchen, carrying his toolbox and accompanied by his Lab, Beau. When he saw her sitting at the table, he shouted out in surprise, jumped back and grabbed at the front of his shirt. For a second he looked as if he might have a heart attack. Beau jumped, as well, but then he wandered over to Andy, tail wagging.
“Lord above,” Bob said in a shaky voice.
“Sorry, Bob,” Andy replied, giving Beau a pat. “I’m home today. It never occurred to me to call and warn you.”
He took a breath. “Whew,” he said, obviously willing his heart to slow. Then he bent a little, peering at her. “Not feeling so good?” he asked.
“I’m okay. Personal family business that needs taking care of. Help yourself to coffee if you like.”
He straightened. “Thanks so much.” He resumed his whistling and hefted his toolbox onto the kitchen counter. He retrieved a crowbar and began prying the baseboards off the walls and lower cupboards. He stopped whistling and asked, “You expecting the Goodwill truck today?”
Andy laughed in spite of herself. “No, Bob. I had a huge fight with my husband and threw his stuff on the lawn. I’ll have to go clean it up.”
“Hmm,” he said, turning back to his work. He didn’t ask any more questions.
After a bit, Andy refilled her coffee cup, which put her in his space for a moment. She leaned against the torn-up cabinet and asked, “Married, Bob?”
“Hmm. In a way,” he said.
Again she couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, gee whiz, you and my husband have something in common. He’s married in a way, too.”
Bob straightened and faced her. There was a sympathetic curve to his lips. He was a few years older than her; he had a sweet face, engaging smile and twinkling eyes. He might be considered a tad overweight, but Andy thought he looked a lot like a college football coach, or maybe a farmer—large and solid. Robust and cheerful. One of the reasons she’d hired him for the job, besides glowing recommendations, was his delightful disposition. She had trusted him to be alone in her house the moment she met him and after spending many hours together during the measuring, selecting and purchasing for the renovation, they almost qualified as friends, though she knew very little about him. He seemed the kind of man who’d give comfort well. She pictured him with a happy grandchild on his knee. “I’ve been separated for a long time,” he told her.
“Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“Nah, it’s okay. It’s been years now. My wife moved out and neither of us has bothered with a divorce.”
“Oh. What if one of you wants to get married?”
“Nah, I doubt it. Well, if she wanted a divorce, I’d be happy to split the cost with her, no problem. So you see, legally I’m married, but not really.”
“Children?” she asked.
“Unfortunately, no. It was a brief marriage, an uncomplicated split.”
Andy held her cup up to her lips. “I guess you must be over the worst of it by now.”
“Oh, yes,” he said, applying the crowbar to the baseboard and with a hearty pull, separating it from the bottom of the cupboard.
“Well,” she said, pushing herself off the counter. “I have things to do.”
“Mrs. Jamison?” he asked. “I’m having a Dumpster delivered in two days for the scraps and trash. The new cabinets are in the shop, the tile is ready for me to pick up and I’ll keep moving here as much as possible. If you’d like, I’d be happy to work weekends on the kitchen.”
“Bob, you work anytime it’s convenient for you—just let me know when so I’m not trying to throw a costume party when your saw’s running, all right? Leave me a note or message on my voice mail saying when you’ll be here next. The quicker the better, huh?”
“I have a couple of hours in the evenings,” he offered.
She shrugged. “Fine with me.”
“It’ll go a little faster that way.”
“I don’t have anything to do but go to work every day and get a divorce,” she said.
His face looked pained. “Oh, Mrs. Jamison, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Actually, I think it might be a positive change. Bob, would you mind calling me Andy? Please?”
“Sure. Anything you want.” Then he tilted his head and smiled. “Short for Andrea?”
“No. Short for Anastasia. My father is Greek. Know what it means?”
“Can’t say I do.”
“One who will rise again,” she said.
He gave a friendly nod. “And of course, you will.”
She took a deep breath and sighed heavily. “I just hope it’s not again and again and again.”
* * *
Gerri spent a couple of hours in her Mill Valley office. She only did the occasional home visit now. As a supervisor her job was administrative, overseeing other case workers and their files in addition to a million other things from paperwork to hiring and firing. She’d spent many a night and weekend working at home and in the field, still had to be on call for emergencies with families at risk, so taking the rare long lunch was definitely not an issue with the director. She headed for San Francisco. She could use just an hour with Phil. She’d get an update on city dramas and politics, tell him about her morning with Andy. When she was troubled about anything, she turned to Phil, her best friend. No one could give her a reality check and reassure her like he could, and she was able to do the same for him.
* * *
When she stepped into the elevator in Phil’s office building, she saw that his administrative assistant, Kelly, was standing there, looking at her feet. “Hey,” Gerri said. “How’s it going?”
Kelly looked up and the second their eyes connected, hers welled up. She couldn’t respond or even say hello; she hit the button on the elevator to let her off on the next floor, not where either of them was going. “Sorry,” she said in a shaky voice, bolting past Gerri, headed for the ladies’ room.
Gerri was paralyzed by confusion for a moment, but then, given Kelly had been with Phil for twelve years and they were friends, she put her hand in the path of the closing door, forcing it open again, and followed her. Whatever was wrong, she hoped her husband hadn’t been an ass. That would be hard to defend.
Kelly was in her late thirties, plump and lovely with ivory skin and coal-black hair like Snow White, the mother of a nine-year-old daughter. Her work was hard, her hours long, but she was devoted to Phil, and she saved his bacon daily. She made everything he did look even better than it should; she covered for him, cleaned up his messes, ran his schedule, fielded his calls, everything. They jokingly called her the Office Wife.
By the time Gerri got into the restroom, she could hear soft crying in one of the closed stalls but there was no one else there. She went directly to that stall. “Come on, Kelly,” she said. “Come out. Talk to me. We’re alone.”
It took a minute before the door opened slowly and she was faced with Kelly, who was looking down in shame, her cheeks damp and her nose red. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I kind of fell apart. I’ll be fine now.”
“That’s okay,” Gerri said, gently rubbing her upper arms. “You don’t have to apologize to me for having an emotional moment. Can I help?”
“I don’t think so,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s just marital...stuff.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Gerri said with a soft laugh. “I’m not going to grill you, Kelly. I don’t want to pry. But if you want to tell me what’s wrong, I’ll listen. And you know I’m on your side.”
She gave a sniff and raised her eyes. “That’s just it, I have no idea what’s wrong,” she said. “It’s John. We’ve been struggling lately. I don’t know what to think. He’s become so different. Distant.”
“Now why would you say that?” Gerri asked, her mind flipping to this woman’s husband, a quiet and kind man who seemed very much in sync with his wife, his family.
“I can’t find him a lot,” she said with pleading, watery eyes. “He has a lot of lame excuses about where he’s been. He’s distracted, like he’s depressed or something. And he’s dressing up for work more often—he’s a programmer, he doesn’t have to wear a starched shirt and tie. And he’s not interested in... He’s not romantic. I keep asking him what’s wrong, but he keeps saying ‘nothing.’ And we can’t agree on anything! I haven’t said the right thing in months!”
Oh, no, Gerri thought. I can’t have two cheating husbands in one day. “That doesn’t sound like John. You’ve been married how long?”
“Twelve years,” Kelly said.
“Oh, Kelly, there might be something bothering him that you haven’t considered. Work? Family pressures? Money? Stress about his age, trying to keep things together for your daughter’s future? Are you sure he’s not worried about a medical problem?”
“Nothing has changed in the checkbook and we can usually talk about those things.”
“How about your hours? I know you put in a lot of hours for Phil.”
“That’s the same, too. He hasn’t complained about my hours or asked me when I’m taking time off. I don’t know what to do.”
“Have you suggested some counseling? To help you figure things out? Get back on track?”
“He doesn’t want to go,” she said, shaking her head miserably.
“They never want to, Kelly,” Gerri said with a sympathetic laugh. “I’ll email you the names of some real good marriage counselors. I’ll include men—sometimes that goes down better with the husband. Tell him if he wants to be happy again, this is a must. Push a little, Kelly. And if he won’t go with you, go alone. You have a good benefits package.”
“I suppose,” she sniffled.
“Believe me,” Gerri said. “At least get some support for yourself. Hopefully for the two of you.”
“Is that what you did?”
“What I did?” Gerri echoed.
“Made Phil go to counseling?” she asked.
“Don’t tell anyone,” Gerri said with a small laugh. “I wouldn’t want to bruise his macho image, but Phil has succumbed to counseling once or twice. He hated it, but he went. And I think he cleaned up his act just to get out of it.”
“I can see that. You two seem to be real happy now.”
Happy now? Gerri thought. “We’ve had our struggles. Everyone does. But there’s help out there, you know.” She took Kelly into her arms for a hug.
“I think I admire you more than anyone,” Kelly said.
“Aww, come on...”
“Being able to forgive him for something like that... That took such courage, such commitment.” Kelly’s chin was hooked over Gerri’s shoulder, their arms tight around each other, and Gerri could see her own eyes in the bathroom mirror. They were huge. Her mouth was set; she ground her teeth. Suddenly she thought she looked much older than she had that morning. “I’d forgive John an affair, if he just wanted to be forgiven, to be together again, like we were. God, I miss him so much! I know most women say they’d never forgive that, but I would.”
Gerri had to concentrate to keep from stiffening, to keep herself from either squeezing Kelly to death or throwing her against the stall doors in a fit of denial. Kelly knew everything about Phil. In some ways, she knew him better than Gerri did. He definitely checked in with Kelly more than Gerri; Kelly had to know him like a wife, a buddy, a best friend and a mother to do what she did for him.
“Some things are very hard to get beyond,” Gerri said softly. “But anything is possible.”
Kelly pulled out of Gerri’s embrace and, smiling gratefully, said, “But you did it because you’re strong and wise. You amaze me. You could have just gotten mad and thrown him out—and both of you would have lost each other forever. But you’re so good together.”
Gerri tilted her head and smiled, a completely contrived smile. Her gut was in a vise. “You like him too much,” she said. “I should be jealous. You know more about him than I do.”
“Not hardly.” Kelly laughed. “Seriously, you’re a role model for me. If you can put yourselves back together, better than ever, after another woman, then I can at least try harder to understand what’s wrong before I give up on John.”
There it was, the smoking gun. Another woman. Kelly knew Phil had had an affair, something Gerri had never once suspected. Her mind raced. When? How? Not Phil, she thought. He was a complete partner! He bitched about it, sure. What he wanted was to devote himself to his work, which was important work, and come home to tranquility and order. That wasn’t happening at their house, which was full of kids, strife, challenge, noise, confusion. There was always something. He complained, true, but he always came through. Not always grinning like an idiot, but neither did she.
She was no different. Her work was equally vital and she faced the same chaos at home. Being the woman on the team, however, it seemed to fall to her to attempt to pull it together, assign jobs, schedule events. To keep things running smoothly, she needed him and she didn’t take him for granted any more than he did her. They’d made the kids together; there were obvious compromises involved in growing them up. As far as she could remember, they’d never failed to work together to get it done.
When? How?
She could remember a few rough patches, some periods of adjustment, but she could not remember noticing any of the obvious signs. She paid the bills—there were no unexpected withdrawals of cash, no charged jewelry, flowers, hotel rooms. He’d never been missing for long periods of time. There were no odd phone calls, even on his cell. He took every evening and weekend call within her hearing; he had a tendency to talk so loud she shushed him so she could hear the TV or read. He’d never come home too late to explain; he’d never smelled like another woman. Those nights he stayed in the city, she’d often called him late. He’d always answer, they’d talk for a long time—you don’t do that if someone else is lying beside you. Oh, God, she thought. This isn’t happening to me. He can’t have had an affair! When the hell did I leave him alone long enough for an affair? We were on our phones all the time, checking in, working out schedules....
“Counseling,” she said to Kelly, giving her arm a pat. “Now wash your face and get a grip.”
“Thanks,” she said. “Email me those names?”
“Of course,” Gerri said. He’s going to fire her when he finds out about this. “Do me a favor, will you please? I invited Phil to lunch, but I had an emergency come up just as I got here and I have to handle something immediately. I was going to swing by the office and tell him myself, but I have to get moving. Please tell him we saw each other in the elevator and I’m sorry, I have to stand him up.”
“Oh, too bad,” she said.
“I have to rush, Kelly. Oh, and Kelly—don’t mention our talk to Phil. About...it’s a very sensitive subject.”
“Still?” Kelly asked as if surprised.
“I’m sure he’d like to keep all that private stuff from the rest of the office.”
She laughed. “Well, the gossip died off a long time ago—years ago.”
Years ago? Years ago? Years ago? Where was I? “Still,” Gerri said. “It is. At least for us.”
“I understand,” Kelly said.
“Good luck,” Gerri said, giving her one last squeeze. Then she almost ran out of the ladies’ room to the elevator, to the ground floor, to the parking garage, to the Golden Gate Bridge. She was in a trance of disbelief. The first thing she did was think of the many explanations he might come up with to make this all go away. Bullshit, he would say. When was that supposed to have happened? he would ask. That’s impossible! If there was talk about something like that, I didn’t know about it! I was always too goddamn busy with games and meets and concerts and meetings to fit in an affair! Where did you get something as nuts as this?
But it was a long drive back to Mill Valley and by the time she got there, she knew. It was true. He’d had an affair. His assistant had known about it as had others in the office. And she had not. Not even a whiff. He had pulled it off.
She didn’t go back to her office, she took the afternoon off and went home. She spent the entire time until the kids came home in the office she shared with Phil. They had a big home, one of the largest on the street. Their office and the master bedroom were on the ground floor, four bedrooms on the second floor, one for each kid and a guest room.
The office was nicely divided with a built-in desk running along three walls in a U-shape. They shared a computer, but each had their own laptops, as well, and bookshelves to the ceiling, plus two large walk-in closets—one for each of them that held their filing cabinets and shelves for supplies.
Gerri knew Phil’s password and opened his email. But if she knew his password, he wouldn’t save anything she could see, yet she looked through all the saved files, all the old emails. Nothing, of course there was nothing. And he certainly wouldn’t keep personal, incriminating files in the prosecutor’s office—it was a political job, constantly under scrutiny.
She spent a little time looking through hard files he brought home, but in no time at all she knew she wouldn’t find anything. There wouldn’t be any evidence.
Yet she knew. She knew.
two
SONJA HAD A meditation group in the morning at the community rec center and right after that she spent a couple of hours at the health food co-op, but when she got back home in the early afternoon, she noticed that the kitchen carpenter’s truck was backed up to Andy’s open garage, and Andy’s car was there, as well. The pile of Bryce’s things was gone from the front yard. She couldn’t restrain herself any longer and she went into the house through the opened garage, guided by the sound of an electric screwdriver. When the noise paused she said, “Knock, knock.”
The carpenter turned away from the shelf he was removing. “Hello,” he said.
“Hi. Bob, isn’t it?”
“That’s right.”
“Is Andy here, by chance?”
“She’s around here somewhere,” he said.
“Whew, this is messy work, isn’t it?” she said to him.
“I’m afraid it gets to be a real messy ordeal,” he confirmed, going back to his job.
Sonja wandered through the kitchen and into the house. She called out to Andy and Andy yelled, “Back here.”
In the master bedroom, Andy was folding clothes into a cardboard box. “Oh, boy,” Sonja said. “This doesn’t look good.”
“Depends on your point of view,” Andy answered. “It’s probably long overdue.”
“You’re moving him out?”
“I’m packing up his clothes. He didn’t bring much into the relationship. Bryce has always lived kind of loose—few attachments.” She gave a sigh and folded a pair of jeans into the box. “I should have considered that.”
“Does he have things like furniture?”
“Boy things—a big-screen TV, motorcycle, sound system, computer. Basics.”
“How are you holding up?”
“Hanging in there. Noel is coming over later. I’ll explain to him, but he won’t be surprised.” She looked back into the box. “Or disappointed.”
“Oh, Andy, I hate that this is happening...”
“Like I said, it’s overdue. If I’d had a brain, I wouldn’t have gotten into it to start with.”
“So what got you into it?” Sonja asked.
She shrugged. “I think it was his basic equipment. Handsome, young, funny, endowed.” She looked up from her work. “I was just so lonely by the time he came along. You know?”
Sonja shook her head sadly. “I’m going to go home and make you something for dinner, something healthy and fortifying. Plus, a plateful of chocolate cookies. Well, they’ll be carob without sugar, but it’ll get you over the hump, and carob is so soothing to the digestive tract. I’ll round up some tea that’ll calm you so you can think clearly and feel your body’s messages....”
“Thanks, I appreciate the thought, but my body is sending me the message that it wants a greasy burger and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s, with a gin chaser. Or two.”
“Oh, I know that’s what you think you need,” Sonja admonished. “But that’ll just dull the senses and prolong the recovery. Trust me. And tomorrow morning, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to burn some sage and waft the essence through the house with feathers. To clear away his presence.”
“Shouldn’t you wait until he picks up his stuff?” Andy asked.
“I’ll do it again, after. Would you like something to equalize you? I could give you a massage and balance your chakras.”
“No one’s touching my chakras today, Sonja. Not even you.”
“I have some cleansing herbs, if you’d like to do a body cleansing. It can give you such a fresh feeling.”
“Doesn’t that sound terrific? The shits for twenty-four hours? No, thanks. What I’d really like to do is get his stuff out of my space.” Andy glanced at her watch. “I have a doctor’s appointment in two hours, then Noel will be over.”
Sonja’s face took on a startled expression. “Are you feeling sick?”
“No. Just a precaution,” she said. “It turns out Bryce hasn’t been faithful.”
“Oh, God! Oh, Andy! I’ll whip up a herbal drink for you!”
“Due respect, Sonja, but if Bryce left me any souvenirs that drink will probably have to be made up of antibiotics.”
Sonja actually got tears in her eyes. “I just hate him,” she hissed.
“Good,” Andy said. “That makes me feel way better than herbs. Let’s all just hate him for a while.”
Sonja opened her arms. “Let me hug you,” she said.
Andy dropped the clothing into the box and let herself be drawn into Sonja’s arms. There was something about the way she held her that almost brought tears to Andy’s eyes. Sonja’s remedies and hocus-pocus bored her to sleep, but she had a nurturing spirit underneath it all that was wholly genuine and, in fact, healing. She was small, soft and strong, gentle and comforting. Before letting go, Sonja whispered, “Is there anything I can do for you right now?”
Andy pulled back and smiled. “Nothing. Just let me finish all this. It will help, believe me.”
“I’ll be home this afternoon. Call me if you think of anything at all. If I can drive you to the doctor so you won’t be alone, I’d be happy to.”
Andy laughed softly. “Believe me, I know the drill. This is my second cheating husband and I was single a long time in between. I practically have a standing appointment.”
Sonja said goodbye to Bob as she left through the kitchen. It crossed her mind that the disaster in there was very bad for relationships, it being the rear right of the house. She had suggested to Andy that they find somewhere else to stay during renovations, but Andy blew her off.
Ordinarily an afternoon with no classes or appointments for her consulting would make Sonja anxious—it meant she wasn’t getting the word out through referrals from people whose lives had been enhanced, and that wasn’t a good feeling. But today, she needed the time for herself. Even though she hadn’t liked Bryce, she grieved for the marriage. It would upset the balance in the neighborhood. She thought about her friends. Their husbands didn’t have a great deal in common, but on those occasions they socialized as couples, the men found plenty to talk about. They would stand around in a little clot, holding a drink or beer, talk seriously about their work or politics, tell some off-color jokes, pick at their wives behind their backs like men do—pure, simple pleasure for them.
Sonja met George when she was twenty-eight, he thirty-eight. They dated for two years before marrying and would soon celebrate their tenth anniversary. She hadn’t had many relationships before George and she knew why. She was considered eccentric. But George being mature worked out so well—he was calm, consistent. He might not fully appreciate all her zealous care, but she was keeping him healthy and his home life serene. He didn’t like to argue; he liked stability and predictability, and she liked that he liked that. She could work with that.
She prepared a small meat loaf for him that was more loaf than meat because his cholesterol was up. She lit a few candles around the house and put on one of her soothing CDs, the kind you would hear in the background at the spa. The effect was very calming. George was a financial planner and his work was fraught with tension as he dealt with clients’ futures and moved people’s money around. She had time for a warm soak in the tub and a brief meditation so that when he walked through the door she’d smell delicious and be perfectly centered.
When he came in she smiled at him, then her eyes dropped to his shirt. “Oh, George, what did you spill?”
“I don’t know,” he said, looking down. He brushed at the spot.
“Don’t worry, I can get it out. Can I fix you a special tea? I have just the thing if you’ve had a hard day.”
“No, thanks, Sonja. My day calls for a Scotch.”
She clucked and shook her head. “If you must. I’ll have dinner in just a little while—I have to run a meal over to Andy. She’s under the weather.”
“She is?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows.
“I’ll tell you about it over dinner. Just be a minute.”
She took two containers on a tray across the street to Andy’s. When she saw Noel’s car in the drive she knew she’d just hand them off; she didn’t want to interrupt them. When Andy opened the door, the unmistakable aroma of greasy pizza drifted through and Sonja frowned, then forced a smile. “Trust me,” Sonja said as she passed the tray. “This is better for you.”
Andy said thank-you and Sonja went back to her own kitchen. She caught George fixing a second Scotch and chose not to comment.
Once they were settled with their meals—hers was a pasta and greens salad with beans, his was the loaf-meat and vegetables—she said, “Bryce and Andy have split up. They’re getting divorced.”
“Oh?” he said, looking up from his fork briefly. “Too bad.”
“It was really dramatic. When Gerri and I went walking this morning, she was throwing his belongings out the front door onto the lawn, and they were screaming obscenities at each other.”
George smiled. “Is that so?”
“It’s not funny, George. She has to be tested for venereal diseases. Apparently he hasn’t been faithful.”
George made a face. “Really—I don’t need to know that.”
“Some people have pretty complicated, tragic relationships.”
“I guess that’s true,” he answered. He pushed his plate away.
“You haven’t eaten much. You’re not upset, are you?”
“No,” he said. “I had a late lunch.”
“Not something bad for your cholesterol, I hope.”
“Of course not, Sonja. I had a plate of grass. It was scrumptious.”
She smiled patiently. “Oh, you had something bad, I can tell. Well, that’s why I go to so much trouble to make sure you eat well in the evening. No matter how you carry on, I know you appreciate that I look after you as well as I can.”
“Indeed I do. I just wish that occasionally you could look after me with a spice or two. I’d love to taste my food briefly before it passes through my body.”
“And I’d like you to last,” she said. “Because I love you so.”
“You sure you don’t want me to last so you have someone to control into old age?” he returned, lifting a graying brow.
“George! What a thing to say! Just when one of my best friends is going through a terrible divorce!”
“And getting tested for venereal diseases,” he added. “You’d better rush her over some grains and herbs.”
Sonja laughed at him. “You love to do that, don’t you? Pick at my remedies. Well, I guess I’m smart enough to know that I don’t have what she needs for something like that—it’s prescription only. I am going over there first thing tomorrow to burn some sage and smudge the air with Indian feathers just to clear out the negative presence.”
He stood from the table and shook his head. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”
* * *
Gerri ordered a pizza for the kids. Once that was devoured, they headed for their evening pastimes—family-room TV, computers, phones, homework, usually in that order.
Gerri fixed herself a drink instead of dinner, wondering briefly if Sonja had a herb for homicidal tendencies. She was going to confront Phil, of course. She’d been with the man a long time. She thought there was nothing she didn’t know about him. I’ve been getting fart marks out of his underwear for almost twenty-five years for God’s sake.
Though it was still biting cold in the March night, she bundled up and went out onto the deck, under the starlight. At least she wasn’t hot. She’d been trying to size up her emotions all day long and still didn’t have a handle on whether she was enraged, confused, hurt or completely off base. She went over every day of their marriage—the births of the children, the fights, the really hard times. There was the year she lost both her parents, one after the other, to cancer—it was a blur. She’d been vacant, wandering around in a complete daze, but Phil had picked up the slack; he was completely there for her. No one could have comforted her better. Could he have done that and still had someone else in his life? Someone he went to and said, “You can’t believe how bad things are at home....”
She saw Phil enter through the kitchen, toss his briefcase and laptop on the breakfast bar and wander through the house, looking for her. It was the first thing he did every night unless she was standing in the kitchen.
Eventually he found his way to the deck just as she was exhaling a long stream of cigarette smoke. Her first cigarette in twelve years. He stood in the doorway, noted the drink and cigarette and said, “Jesus Christ, did someone die?”
“You had an affair,” she said evenly.
He took a panicked step toward her, his face in a frozen state of shock, and after making a partial recovery said, “I’d better get a drink and a jacket.” He turned to go back into the house.
So. He had. If he hadn’t he would have said, “What? What the hell are you talking about?” And all she could think was that the son of a bitch was still good-looking, maybe better looking than he had been at twenty-eight. Fifty-three now, still sporting a full head of that thick rich brown hair, now delicately threaded with gray at the temples. His face was just mildly lined but not so much from age as from the sun on the golf course. Then there were those teeth, beautiful and strong. He was not yet seeing the periodontist but she was. Up till today, she’d been happy for him about that. And he’d managed to stay fit, maybe the slightest paunch, graying chest hair, but he was tall and solid. Strong. She hated him so much.
He came back outside with his own drink, wearing his weekend jacket over his shirt and loosened tie. “Lay it on me, Gerri. What’s going on?”
“You had an affair. I just found out.”
“And where’d you hear that?”
“Never mind. Just tell me. And start with the truth because you don’t know how much I know.”
He took a deep breath and a drink from his glass. Then he said, “I had an affair. Years ago. I’m sorry. It’s been completely in the past for a long, long time. I’m sorry,” he said again. “It wasn’t your fault—it was my fault. My failing, my inadequacy. You can’t imagine how much I regret it.”
“You had an affair,” she said again, blown away by his admission. “I need you to tell me about it. The truth about it. When it started, who it was, when it ended. And most important, why!”
He leaned back in his chair. “The why might be impossible—I’ve asked myself a hundred times. Years ago, years ago, there was an attractive woman in the office. We worked together briefly and hit it off right away—she was very personable, funny. I did the one thing I thought I’d never do— Not only was it straying from my marriage, which I’d never even been tempted to do, but also it was a coworker, the potential for major-league sexual harassment. Defying all common sense, I made a pass. She responded to me. We had a couple of lunches, met for a drink a few times. She was single, lived alone and I made the mistake of going to her place one late afternoon and got carried away, knowing it was wrong, feeling like shit with guilt, but it got started. It ended almost six years ago. Nothing like that ever happened before, and it will never happen again.”
Gerri did a quick mental calculation. Six years ago, while he was having an affair, the kids had been seven, ten and thirteen. She remembered that year and the preceding year—soccer, band, one starting middle school. Her mother had died of uterine cancer nine years ago, her father quickly following of prostate cancer. That had been a horrible time, but by six years ago things had leveled out emotionally. As far as she could remember, there wasn’t anything particularly noteworthy going on. They hadn’t had a standoff about him buying a sailboat; none of the kids were sick or in trouble; she hadn’t yet been having the menopausal symptoms that rocked her stable world.
“When did it start?” she demanded.
He hung his head briefly. “Seven years ago. It was on and off for a couple of years. Not steady, but on and off.”
“A couple of years?” she asked, horrified.
“On and off, Gerri,” he said. “I’d see her, then tell her I just couldn’t do that and wouldn’t see her again for months, then slip back, break it off, slip back. And so on.”
“Oh, for God’s sake! Slipped? Can’t you come up with anything more intelligent than slipped?”
“No,” he said. “I honestly can’t. I never drank too much, my job was secure, my case load wasn’t any worse or high pressure than usual, we weren’t in any kind of huge crisis that I can remember, you and I were getting along just fine....”
She felt the sting of tears in her eyes and it made her furious. “Then why?” Her voice cracked.
“I don’t know. She wanted me. Someone desirable actually wanted me. You and I were fine, but there were always so many complications keeping us from... I guess I was thinking like an eighteen-year-old. But really, there should be a statute of limitations on shit like this— I screwed up, I haven’t screwed up since and you can be damn sure it won’t happen again. And it was a long, long time ago.”
“Who is she?”
“No,” he said without hesitation. “She’s gone. It’s over. We haven’t had any contact in over five years and there’s nothing to be gained.”
“I might have to see her,” Gerri said.
“No,” he answered again. “I don’t know where she is, what her life is like, but I’ve messed up my life enough. There’s no point in messing up hers, as well. Gerri, I realize what happened is unforgivable in your eyes, but I’m here because I want to be your husband and want to be with my family. That’s the bottom line. That’s all I want. Whether it’s perfect or at times difficult, that’s my choice, not something I have to rely on willpower for. There was never any question about loving you.”
“God, you can’t really have done this,” she said. “You had an affair for two years, and I never knew. Never even smelled it in the wind....”
“I wasn’t with her often. I’m busy—you know that. And I never once missed a family thing to be with another woman, I swear to God. I never let it interfere with my family, my marriage or my job,” he said.
“Well.” She laughed humorlessly. “What magnificent control. Tell me, was the sex at least fantastic?”
“Irrelevant,” he said, bolstering himself with a deep drink.
“Not to me, it’s not!”
“Gerri, the worst sex I ever had was fantastic. Men and women probably look at that differently.”
“You know they know in the prosecutor’s office.”
He sipped again. Maybe nervously. “I realize there was some gossip, but I only leveled with one person—my boss. When it was over, I told the D.A. I’d been involved with someone in the office. I find it hard to believe he shared that with the troops. He has a lot of faults, but he learned how to keep confidences years ago.”
“Why’d you tell him, then?”
“I told myself it was because we serve at the discretion of the people—because if there was ever an accusation of any kind, I couldn’t let him be blindsided. But in the years since I realized that it helped to end it for good—confessing. Because I knew what I’d done was wrong and I was consumed by guilt. I think it was like standing up at a meeting and saying ‘Hi, my name is Phil and I cheated on my wife.’ He told me that behavior could not be tolerated and if I valued my job, it had to stop.” Phil chuckled. “Imagine that from him, huh? Son of a bitch has a revolving door for a zipper.” He took another drink. “I could have done the same thing here, with you—confessed, let you hit me over the head with a baseball bat until you were convinced I could be a better husband, but I couldn’t risk losing you.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks and she stamped out the cigarette. “My God, Phil. I think my insides are festering. I’ll be peeing blood by morning.”
He leaned toward her. He reached for her hands, but she wouldn’t let him connect. “Listen, I did the wrong thing, not you. I hoped you’d never be hurt by it, I hoped I’d make it right over time by being a good partner, a good father. None of it was your fault and I’ll pay the price—but don’t let it eat you up. No reason both of us should carry the load.”
And yet in her mind there were so many things she couldn’t quite place in the context of the affair. She remembered that during sex one night he said, “Didn’t you used to move your hips?” and she had laughed, thinking he was so funny. Was that when he realized he needed a woman with some passion? He’d remarked that he loved her coming to bed naked these days and she’d firmly told him not to get any ideas. They were too tired at night, too rushed in the mornings, had too many kids around the house on the weekends and never, absolutely never got away alone. And then there was the fact that she was hot-flashing her brains out and her vagina felt like sandpaper. The things people don’t tell you about menopause... But five years ago, seven years ago, she hadn’t had any of those symptoms. She had been so content.
He had asked her if she wanted to get away for a weekend, if only to the city. Just the two of them. When was that? He hadn’t asked in a long time and she had never suggested it. They hadn’t escaped—there were always too many family and work obligations. She asked herself if she had driven him to her by being so unlike a mistress, and that made her want to kill him on the spot.
“I never had an affair,” she said.
“I know,” he said.
“No! You don’t know! You don’t know any more than I knew about yours, but I’m telling you, I had just as many kids, just as little sex, just as much pressure and I never had an affair!”
“Gerri—”
“Phil, I don’t think I can live with you now, knowing.”
“Let’s not do that,” he said calmly. “Let’s work through it if we can, go to counseling if you want to, do whatever it takes. But let’s not throw in the towel now, after almost twenty-five years and one terrible mistake that I’ll do anything I can to make amends for.”
She shook her head and wiped the moisture off her cheeks. “I don’t know if I can do it,” she said with a hiccup of emotion.
“After everything you’ve seen in families—the abuse, addiction, crime, neglect—Gerri, please keep your head. We can weather this. We love each other.”
“We’re not like those families.” She sniffed. “You and I—we were always different. We always played as a team. Fuck you, you asshole, you played on another team!”
“All right, listen to me. If you decide you can’t live with it, if you can’t forgive me, we’ll deal with that—but first, you have to give it a little time, some effort. You obviously just learned of this and you’re hot as a pistol. If you feel the same way after we’ve tried to get beyond my crimes, we’ll make a plan that’s best for the family. But not the very day you find out. It’s reactionary.”
“Weren’t you reactionary? Falling into bed with her like that? Not even sure why?”
“Absolutely,” he said with a nod. “And trust me, the price was high, even without you knowing what I’d done. Give yourself a little time to think. Please.”
“You’ve done some real stupid, lame-ass, highly punishable things in our marriage,” she said. “I was with my dying mother and you were supposed to pick up the kids and bring them, but you lost track of time and left them standing around outside the school, waiting, while it was getting dark. And they were so little!” He nodded solemnly. She didn’t add that she’d fired a hospital water jug at him when they’d finally shown up and despite the fact she’d left a nice purple bruise on his head, he’d held her close while she cried. For a long time. “I was about to go into labor with Matthew and you went on a fishing trip, because the mayor asked you to go, to represent the prosecutor’s office.” She’d been so angry with him for that. She was so afraid she’d have to have the baby all on her own. But Matthew waited for his father. “You drank too much at the neighborhood block party and peed in the clothes hamper in the middle of the night.” A slight smile threatened his lips. “You don’t deserve for me to think it over.”
“I know. But I won’t leave the house without telling the kids why.”
“You’re not serious!”
“I’m completely serious. It was my mistake, I’ll fess up, take my medicine. I hope we don’t come to that, Gerri. You know the best counselors in the business. Pick one out, set us up. If that doesn’t help, at least we will have tried.”
“See, right now you’re just too goddamn calm,” she said. “Like you’ve been ready for this day for a long time and had it all planned, what you were going to say, how you were going to play it. You lawyered up—you strategized it.”
“You’re partially right,” he admitted. “I’ve had years to think about what I’d say if you found out, if you came at me. I decided a long time ago, I wasn’t going to lie or make excuses.” He shook his head. “I’m so sorry.”
She wished he’d have spent that time coming up with a good story to refute what she’d heard—she didn’t want to know what she knew. “Please don’t sleep in my bed tonight.”
He gave a resigned nod.
She rose to go to their room, but stopped before entering the house. Pulling her jacket tighter around herself, without looking at him, she asked, “Did you love her?”
“I loved you. Always.”
“But her? Did you also love her?” She turned to look at him.
He stood up and faced her, his hands in his pockets. “I wasn’t using her. She was a nice woman, I was fond of her. I was attracted to her and I cared about her. You know I’d have to have some feelings, that I’m not the kind of man who fucks around. But from the first time we were together, even before we were together, I told her I had a good marriage, that I loved my wife, that I didn’t want a divorce. I feel as bad about what I did to her as what I’ve done to you.”
“So. You loved her. In your way.”
“I never weighed it, honey. I knew how much I loved you, but I wasn’t thinking with the right head. I was all steamed up and driven. I wish I’d known how to stop that, but... Gerri, I wasn’t done with my sex life. I was still interested. Responsive. I can’t undo it. I can tell you one thing—I might’ve thought that’s what I wanted at the time, but it didn’t make me happy. It made me miserable.”
She shook her head in equal parts disgust and pity, then turned and went to the bedroom. Wasn’t done? She couldn’t remember a time he’d let her know something was missing for him. The bigger ache came from knowing there hadn’t been anything missing for her! She’d thought they had the perfect marriage, the perfect family.
If he’d been beside her in their bed, she would have kicked him every time she turned over. But having him on the family room couch left her feeling so alone, she cried. In every crisis of her life, she’d turned to Phil, and now he was the crisis in her life. She wanted him to feel more pain for her, yet if he’d come to their bed and tried to hold her through her tears, she would have torn his eyes out. If he apologized one more time, she might stab him in his sleep.
The next morning, she went for her walk and she wore sunglasses. Of course Sonja and Andy could tell something was wrong. “There’s a dreadful situation at work I can’t talk about yet,” she said. “I’ll tell you when it’s okay to.”
* * *
Andy called Bryce once she had his things packed up—it had only taken a couple of days. She got his voice mail and left him a detailed message: she was filing for divorce, would be canceling credit cards, closing the joint accounts and would have copies of the statements for him, a final accounting. She knew he had a company credit card he could use, but still she asked if he needed money.
He came for his things that very night. He told her, in a very subdued, boyish way, that he’d be fine financially. She knew in that instant that he was relieved to be free of her—she cramped his style. He was not the kind of man ready to have serious ties. She didn’t bring up the house—there was already a divorce lien on its proceeds of sale from her first husband. It appeared Bryce was going to take his belongings and go away quietly, content to have the ball and chain removed from his life. There was something about the simplicity of it that hurt more than the screaming fights. He was so easily done. Finished. Why couldn’t she have made the break long ago? She knew why—it was embarrassing to be so foolish, so wrong, at her age.
When Bryce came, he was with one of his closest friends, using his truck to load the big screen, sound system and speakers, boxes of clothes and books, toiletries and miscellany. Bryce rode away behind his possessions on his motorcycle and all the while Bob, working in the kitchen, managed to stay very busy and very quiet. It was completely over in an hour and Bryce would never be back. He hadn’t even waved goodbye.
The trash was full of Sonja’s concoctions, the entire house was filled with dust from Bob’s construction in the kitchen plus the odor of burnt sage from Sonja’s cleansing voodoo. Gerri, who was Andy’s rock, was distracted by some heavy work problem and felt terrible about her lack of support, but Andy reassured her that she was getting along pretty well. She’d gone back to work the morning after the boy toys disappeared from her life.
While there was a part of her that wished for quiet and solitude in the evenings, there was another part grateful that Bob was in her kitchen, pleasantly working away as the sun set. She sat on her bed with the news on, there being no TV in the family room anymore, and took odd comfort in the humming, whistling and construction noise.
She wandered into the kitchen. “How’s it going?” she asked him.
“Good,” he said. The crowbar was being used to pry the old, chipped ceramic tiles off the floor. “Very good.”
“I’m going to have a glass of wine,” she said. “What can I give you?”
“Oh, I’m just fine with water.”
“I didn’t mean I was going to get you liquored up,” she laughed. “I realize you use power tools. But how about a cola or something?”
He looked up from his work, smiling. He wiped a rag across his sweating bald head. “That would sure be nice, thanks.”
She went for a glass in the laundry room where she kept the few dishes she needed since the kitchen cupboards had been torn out and carried away. The refrigerator was purring along in the garage now. She couldn’t actually cook anything but she could get ice and keep things cold. As she looked inside she said, “Hey, have you eaten?”
“I have,” he said. “Had something on my way over.”
“How about Beau?” she asked, and as she did so, the yellow Lab lifted his head and looked at her with those sad eyes that suggested he hadn’t been fed in days, lying eyes that made her laugh.
“Don’t believe a word he says. I always take care of Beau first,” Bob said.
She poured his cola, her white wine. She settled at the table in the nook, still undisturbed and covered with dust. “Could I ask you a personal question?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Sure. If I get confused by it, I’ll make up an answer.”
“Funny,” she said. “Why did you and your wife separate?”
“Oh, that,” he chuckled. “It’s real simple, actually. She left me. She’s gay.”
Andy actually choked on her first swallow of wine. “Gay?” she echoed.
He laughed. “Don’t ask me the chronology of that, okay? I mean, since birth, I assume, but of course, I had no idea. We weren’t exactly kids when we got married. I was over forty, she was over thirty. It was something she struggled with, spent a lot of time at church, trying to get the cure. I think she just wanted to be like everyone else—live an average life and have children. But that’s really not the way to go.”
“Holy shit, Bob,” Andy said.
“Life’s not easy if you’re gay, even in San Francisco. If your family thinks you’re just being difficult people keep trying to impress that all you have to do is concentrate and you’ll stop being gay. It’s a little more complicated than that.”
“Well, I’ll say,” Andy said, taking a gulp. She wanted to know everything, right now. How’d that work? What made her choose him? How was sex? And the one she couldn’t help, “You didn’t have the first idea? Going in?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “That was stupid of me and wrong of her, I guess. But I understand. I think she was really trying. She had high hopes.”
“Oh, man,” she said, overwhelmed. “I gotta know— How long did it last?”
“The time we were together? A couple of years from the time we met. She’s such a sweet girl. We were good friends first, then decided to get married. I admit, when she first told me she just couldn’t pretend to be straight anymore, I was mad. But I couldn’t stay mad at her, you know? Her life was more of a struggle than mine, so I learned a little tolerance. For a long time there I’d been worried she was sick or something, but finally she just told me the truth, she’d thought she could stop being a lesbian and could be married with children, but it just wasn’t going to happen.” He lifted his head and looked upward as if remembering. “She asked me if it would be okay if she left. And I said of course. What was I going to say? No?”
“But did it... Well, you know... Did it damage your masculinity?”
He laughed. “I didn’t have that much experience with my masculinity,” he said.
“But you were an older guy and—”
She stopped. I’m having this conversation with my kitchen carpenter, she thought, internally appalled. Yet she couldn’t help it. His take on this was fascinating.
“Nah,” was all he said.
“Did you ever hear from her again?” she asked.
“Oh, yes, all the time,” he said. “Once or twice a year now, at least. She’s with someone now, very happy. They’ve been together quite a while. They’d like to have a child together. In fact, I was offered the job, but I declined. They both like me,” he said with a lovable, almost mischievous grin. “She’s still just the nicest, sweetest girl. She always thinks to ask me how I am. And I’m the same as before.”
“Wow,” Andy said. And I thought he was an ordinary workman with an ordinary life. But there was something about him that, in all its simplicity, was deep. Thoughtful.
“Doesn’t she want a divorce?” Andy heard herself ask.
“I think it’s kind of irrelevant,” he said.
“Well, how do you know? You might meet someone someday.”
“Aw, I sort of doubt that. A little late in the game for me. But I have her phone number. If I called her and said something about that, there wouldn’t be a problem. We had an agreement when she left—real simple and nonlegal, you know. The date of the split, the assets—which were as close to zero as you can get. I scrounged up a couple thousand dollars to help her get on her feet and she was so grateful for that. We’re good.”
“You gave her money, too?” Andy asked.
“Well, she had to have some walking-around money. It’s not easy to start over, especially around here.”
“Bob, I think you’re pure gold.”
“Me? Nah, anyone would’ve done that. Like I said, she’s a real sweet girl. I’m just so glad to know she’s okay.” He looked at her closely. “Understand?”
All she could think was, I want to be like you. That pure. So undamaged even though he’d gone through a potentially devastating experience. “Sounds like you’ve completely forgiven her. For lying to you, for trying to have a straight life at your expense.”
“Mrs....Andy, it didn’t cost me anything to forgive her for that. I just assume everyone is doing the best they can. Besides, she’s a good person.” He looked at her and asked. “How are you getting along since...you know.”
“Since the TV and motorcycle went away?” she asked with a laugh. “I’m still kind of numb, I guess, because I haven’t had much of a reaction. My son was relieved—he hadn’t been getting along with my husband too well the past couple of years. And I know this is going to sound kind of silly, but it’s nice you’re working here. Makes me feel less alone.”
“Yeah, that’s the hard part. All of a sudden, alone. My wife, she might’ve been a lesbian, but she was, most of all, a great friend. We had a lot to talk about every day.”
“Well, I’m used to being alone. Bryce traveled in his job so he was gone several nights a week, anyway. And when he was in town, he wasn’t the homebody type—he was more the party-boy type. Thus the divorce.”
“I’m awful sorry, Andy.”
“Thanks,” she said. She got herself a refill of wine. “I’m going back to my room to watch TV—holler if you need me. In fact, I’m going to invite Beau if that’s all right?”
“He’s probably got sawdust and stuff on him.”
“I’ll ask him to shake. Beau. Wanna watch some CNN for a while?” Beau got to his feet and wagged his tail. “That’ll be nice,” she said to Bob. “A guy I can trust on the bed, watching TV with me.”
“You enjoy him. He can be a real good friend.”
“You can come and find him when you’re done. I’m not going to bed or anything. I’m only in the bedroom because it’s quiet...and there’s no TV in the family room.”
Three hours later Bob knocked softly on the bedroom door, which stood ajar about an inch, and Andy sat up with a start. Beau was sitting upright on the bed, wagging and making a noise that was a combination whine and moan. “Come in,” she called.
Bob gingerly pushed the door open and Beau bolted off the bed to go to him. “He make a good TV buddy?”
“He put me to sleep,” she said. She stretched. “That was great.”
“It’s his best trick. See you tomorrow night.”
“Thanks,” she said. That might be one of the kindest men I’ve ever known, she thought. Too bad he’s...Bob.
three
GERRI BOOKED HERSELF and Phil for three emergency sessions with a crisis counselor. She chose a woman she’d used through CPS, a woman she thought was very good even though her instincts said if her heart was in it, she’d have selected a man who could understand Phil. But she didn’t want Phil to get understanding—she wanted his head on a pike. And at this point, Phil would’ve taken counseling from Gerri’s mother had she been alive, he was that accommodating, that beaten down with guilt and remorse...and hope. He would do anything to make this go away.
She scheduled them for three evenings running, from two days following his apologetic admission. They told the kids they had meetings. She had no idea what he had to say at the prosecutor’s office to leave work on time for a change. She secretly hoped he had to say, “I cheated on my wife and if I don’t go to counseling with her right now, I’m getting thrown out of the house.” She wanted him to feel her pain. His claims of great guilt and remorse weren’t doing much for her.
But he made it home on time to go with her. They held it together pretty well during the session. Phil seemed to struggle but tried to answer the counselor’s questions. Gerri thought, for a prosecutor, he’d make a lousy witness. Judges wouldn’t accept answers like, “I don’t know what I was thinking, what I was looking for,” or, “There wasn’t anything missing in my marriage that I was trying to make up for, I was just extremely tempted and I failed.”
As was typical of marriage counseling, the real bloodletting and fireworks came later, after the session. Usually in the car on the way home, probably to the great entertainment of cars passing by.
“She’s trying to get me to fight it out with you, take shots at your choice of sleepwear as the thing that drove me to it,” Phil said.
“She’s just saying it wasn’t the affair, it’s what was going on in our marriage,” Gerri fired back.
“Bullshit! There wasn’t anything going on in our marriage that hasn’t been going on for over ten years! It was the same! It’s always been a busy marriage, one full of pressure, stressful jobs, kids, horrible schedules, tight budgets. And you’re not asking me if the marriage has been satisfactory lately. It’s been the same!”
“If I asked, you’d say whatever you had to because now you’re scared you’re going to lose everything!”
“I was always afraid of losing everything! She’s trying to get me to say I’m just a little boy who wanted to come my brains out!”
“Well, didn’t you say as much? Isn’t that what ‘extremely tempted’ means?” Gerri railed.
“I’m saying I don’t know why! Seven years ago, for whatever reason, I didn’t have much willpower, much restraint. I never once thought, ‘Gerri’s not putting out so this is okay.’ I had accepted how we were.”
“Accepted how we were? You’re blaming me!”
“Jesus, I’m blaming us! I knew this was going to come back and bite me in the ass, but I couldn’t help myself—I was tempted because it felt too goddamn good to have someone actually tempted by me! You and the counselor want to hear me claim you’re a frigid wife, that I’m just an irresponsible asshole! Goddamn it, Gerri, I’m not a player. I have never been a player.”
“You son of a bitch,” she blustered at him. “Like it was my fault! Not wanting you enough!”
“Come on, don’t go there,” he said meanly. “You know as well as I do that for the past ten years, sex in our bed is rare at best. We’d have to get sex therapy to get up to once a month!”
“I know it’s real rare for you to make any effort!”
“How many no, thank yous do you think a husband can get before he figures out that’s not on the agenda?”
“Oh—so that’s your story now? That I said ‘no, thank you’ too often and damaged your frail little libido? That I drove you to the other woman?”
“Listen, the most love I feel in that house is when you hand me my list of chores and praise me like a puppy for doing as I was told. Aw, Jesus, we don’t need a therapist to help us say cruel things like this to each other! Christ!”
“Well, maybe if you’d fucking hold up your end, I wouldn’t be so tired at the end of the day!”
“See what I mean? Why don’t we just rent a cabin in the woods and fire insults and accusations at each other? It would be cheaper than a hundred bucks an hour! And it sure as hell isn’t helping put us back together! You want to know all the ways you were a less-than-perfect wife? Wanna tell me all the ways I failed as a husband? Because I’m sure the list is long and ugly for both of us!”
When they got home, they separated in silence, holding back the rage in front of the kids. Given they were teenagers, they were mostly oblivious. Jessie asked Gerri, “You mad about something?”
“Just worn out from a problem at work, honey,” she said. “Be patient with me.”
“It’s not, you know, that menopause thing?”
“No! It’s not that menopause thing!”
By the end of the week, a mere five days after the affair came to light, Gerri told Phil, “It’s time. I need to go to counseling alone, you need to find your own counselor, and we have to separate.”
“You’re giving up?”
“I don’t know. If I can stop hating you, maybe we can work it out. But right now, I’m just in too much pain.”
“Where do you expect me to go? Our finances can’t withstand another residence.”
“I don’t care. Stay in the city, come out for dinner, visit on weekends, whatever. But I can’t fight about it anymore. There’s just no explanation for what you did and I can’t get past the betrayal. You just have to give me some space and time.”
“If that’s what you want,” he said. “But I still love you.”
“Well, I don’t love you right now. I want to, but I can’t love a man who can do what you did without even knowing why. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel safe again.”
“Fine,” he said. “This weekend we’ll tell the kids.”
“I don’t agree with that,” she told him.
“We tell them what they’re old enough to understand. That’s what we do in this family. In fact, you wrote that rule. You’re the social worker.”
“I don’t think they’re old enough to understand,” she said.
“Yes, they are. They’re not old enough to sympathize and it’s not in their experience, but they’ll know what we’re talking about. They’ll know that what I did was wrong, that you being out of your mind angry is reasonable.”
She shook her head and a large tear escaped. “Why did you do this to us, Phil?” she asked in a desperate whisper.
“I can’t explain. I’ve had nightmares about this for over five years. If we’re not stronger than one indiscretion, then I completely misjudged us. I thought, given all we’ve had to handle, both personally and professionally, if it came to this, we’d find a way. We’ve seen families through murder that didn’t give up this fast.”
“One two-year indiscretion!”
“Do you have any idea how many times, during those two years, I put my arms around you and held you? How many times you told me not to get any ideas? God, Gerri, I remember when the kids were little and we were both exhausted from work, the house was collapsing, everyone was screaming they needed something, and we still snuck away from them, locked ourselves in the bathroom and—” He shook his head. “I don’t know when that stopped happening for us, but it stopped.”
“Why didn’t you say anything? Before it was too late?”
“I thought I had.” He looked down for a long moment, then looked up again. “Never mind. It wasn’t because of you. It was me. I should have found a way. But then, I didn’t know it was going to be too late...”
There was a very small part of her, remembering those days so long ago, that wanted to say, It was me, too, let’s see if we can get it back. But she said, “I’ll tell Jessie if you’ll tell the boys.”
He gave a nod. “Sunday,” he said. “Then I’ll go to the city.”
“You’re going to drop it on them and leave them with me?”
“No, of course not. We’ll tell them, separately. I’ll stay through the evening and when the house quiets down, I’ll head out. I’ll handle as much of this as I can, but it’s your decision for us to live apart and we don’t do that to our kids without them knowing the reasons.”
* * *
At five o’clock on Sunday, Phil knocked on Jed’s bedroom door and said, “Hey, bud, I have to talk to you about something. Can you come with me?”
“Where?” he asked, getting up from his reclining position on the bed.
“We have to go somewhere away from the house so I can talk to you in private. Just come on, you’ll have the details soon enough.”
They walked a couple of short blocks to the neighborhood park. Phil sat on the top of a picnic table, his feet on the bench, elbows on his knees, head down. Jed stood in front of him. “Come on, man,” Jed said impatiently. “What the hell’s going on?”
“Your mom and I are having some problems,” Phil said. He felt his eyes begin to water, his throat threaten to close. “Serious problems. Oh, Jesus, this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
“Come on, Dad! You getting divorced or something?”
“I hope not,” Phil said, and watched his son deflate, as if all the air had just been sucked out of him. “It’s my fault. I want to tell you why, and I need your help with Matt. He needs to know the facts, but he’s kind of young to understand.”
“You’re shitting me,” Jed said in a panicked breath. “Oh, man, you’re shitting me.”
“Several years ago—over five—I broke the oath. I cheated. I don’t have an excuse—it was wrong. I never wanted to lose your mom, lose my family. I never wanted another woman, but I guess I was weaker than my hormones or something, because I cheated. Your mom just found out and she really wants to kill me right now. She’d like us to be able to work things out, but she’ll need some time to decide if she can forgive me.”
“What?” Jed asked, though he’d heard clearly. “What? You wouldn’t do that to Mom.”
“I hear ya, buddy. I never thought I’d be that stupid or that wrong, but I was. When she found out—and I still don’t know how, though I have a few ideas—it just hurt her so bad, she got us right into counseling. We’re going to keep going, but she’s too angry to live with me right now.” He reached out and put a strong hand on Jed’s shoulder. “Doesn’t mean I won’t be around. I promise I’ll be around plenty. I want to spend time with you guys, plus I have to hang close in case your mom wants to talk about it. Or yell at me about it some more,” he added with a lame smile.
“Why?” Jed asked.
“Why what, son?”
“Why can’t you work it out with you home? You guys fight all the time. You always work it out.”
“We don’t fight all the time,” he said. “We argue about little shit sometimes. This is different.”
“Well, did you say you’re sorry?”
“Of course,” Phil said. “I didn’t just say it, Jed. I mean it. I’ve never been so sorry about anything. But there’s all that trust—you count on it. You stake your lives on it, depend on it. And when the trust is broken, you can’t just say sorry. You know? You have to pay penance. You have to work hard to put the trust back in the relationship.”
“Oh, man, she isn’t going to give in easy,” Jed said, running a nervous hand through his short, spiky hair. “This is Mom we’re talking about.”
Phil wanted to laugh. At least smile. Boy, did they both know Gerri. She was brilliant, classy, strong and stubborn. There was that little male bonding thing going on with Jed and Phil was in a position to appreciate it more than his son knew. But he kept a straight face. “Here’s what I want you to know. This is very important. I want you to know I’m willing to do anything for her forgiveness. Anything. I’ll try to get her trust back, I swear. While we’re working on that—if I’m not around the house and you need me for something, need to talk to me, you call my cell phone anytime. It’ll be turned off for court, but I’ll answer any other time—day or night. With me, bud?”
“Yeah. Yeah. You going off with some other woman?” Jed asked.
“No. Absolutely not. I love your mother, I don’t even know where that woman is. I’ll do whatever I can, son. I’ll try my best to get our marriage back. Our family. Jed, I’m so sorry.”
“You mad at Mom for this? For saying she doesn’t want to live with you?”
“Nah. But I’ll be honest with you—this whole thing has caused us to say a lot of real nasty things to each other. We have things to get over. You’re going to have to be mature. Patient. Give us a chance to work it out. This wouldn’t be the best time to be the badass we both know you can be.”
“When was this? When did you say?”
“Over five years ago,” Phil said.
“Jesus. You haven’t done that since, have you?”
Phil just shook his head.
“Well, then, what the fuck? ”
“Listen, son, I didn’t take the other woman out for a soda. I was intimate with her. That’s the betrayal that sticks, that hurts. I’d love your mom to say, ‘Oh, well, I hope you learned your lesson,’ but it’s not going to be that easy. And it’s up to her. She’s the one who was wronged, so give her a break. You understand, Jed?”
He thought for a long moment. Then he said, “I understand life around our house is going to suck big-time.”
They talked awhile longer. Jed had questions that Phil answered a little differently than he had with his wife. He still couldn’t say why, but he did relent that the woman was pretty, nice, smelled good, made herself available. Jed was nineteen and had been with his girlfriend, Tracy, for about a year. They’d had many father-son talks about Jed’s responsibilities as a man. Phil knew the boy was sexually active and understood feelings of lust. He hoped he wouldn’t follow in his father’s footsteps and stray just because he was a little bored, a little needy or whatever the hell it was. “I thought I was a bigger man,” Phil said. “I hope to God you learn from this. You have a problem with your girl, your wife, your frickin’ hormones, you better find a way to communicate that. Find a better way to deal with things than I did.”
“Man, you always seemed so perfect,” Jed said. “But when you fuck up, you fuck up big.”
* * *
If trying to tell her kids was horrible, preparing to tell Andy and Sonja was torture, and Gerri had no idea what she was going to say to her coworkers at CPS. She pinched the fat gathering below her waist and knew it was impossible to say she needed time to see her counselor twice a week for anorexia. On Monday morning when she was to meet her friends for their walk, Sonja was at her door five minutes early. Gerri came out with her coffee cup and led her to Andy’s. When Andy opened the door Gerri said, “Got the coffeepot on?”
“Sure.”
“I have to tell you both something. Let’s go inside. We’ll walk tomorrow.”
When they were seated at Andy’s sawdust-covered table, Gerri went through the chronology of events, from the encounter with Kelly in the elevator to the confrontation with Phil, the three disastrous counseling sessions and brutal arguments that followed. And then she described telling the kids he was sleeping elsewhere for the time being and why.
“Couldn’t you have come up with some story?” Andy asked, horrified.
“Believe me, I wanted to,” Gerri said. “Don’t tell him I said this, but Phil was right—they’re not preschoolers, they have to know why. My husband had an affair and I’m too angry to live with him right now.”
“How’d it go?” Andy asked.
“As bad as possible. Jed was silent and brooding, disillusioned, actually more angry with me than Phil, but Jessie fell apart. She sobbed almost uncontrollably. And Matt shrugged and asked something like, “How long will this take?” And then he asked if it was all right to go pitch a few balls with a couple of friends. Baseball season’s starting. At dinner, it was quiet as a tomb except for questions about their routine—rides, takeout orders for dinner, chores. Matt asked if there was going to be child support—they know about those problems from friends—moms who are suddenly unable to pay for school trips, that sort of thing. Then before the plates were cleared, Jessie lost it, threw a glass across the room and screamed at us both, asking how we could do this to her. She’s sixteen so it’s all about her. When the house was finally under control and quiet, Phil and I had another fight in the garage as he was leaving with his suitcase.”
“What did you fight about?” Sonja asked.
She laughed weakly. “Our routine. Child support.”
“What’s up with the routine? The child support?”
“He’s going to stay in the city. He’ll come out to Mill Valley as much as possible, when he’s not working till nine or ten. If he’s not around as much, can’t car pool, he also can’t be expected to drive all the way out here just to bring home dinner or help with homework. It’ll be a major adjustment. Before, if I was going to be late, he was on time and vice versa. And he said he’d take care of the bills, but I’ve been paying the bills for over twenty years—he just gets his cash out of the instant teller or my purse. Now he’s going to have his check payrolled to him rather than direct deposited and give me money. He needs money to pay for a place to stay. Oh, forget about it,” she said, waving her hand. “It’s just logistics. We don’t know who does what. We always used to know who does what.”
They’d also fought about him leaving, though she asked him to leave, so they fought about the fact that he made her make him. And she cried half the night again.
“I can’t believe it,” Andy said, resting her head in her hand. “I never even imagined this possible.”
“Me, either,” Gerri said. “I never knew anything was wrong with us.”
“But it was five years ago,” Andy said. “You sure you want to separate over something that’s been over that long? Five years doesn’t give you some peace of mind?”
“I can’t just forget about it,” Gerri said. “He said he tried but couldn’t get my attention. I’ll tell you one thing he never tried, though. He never said, ‘I’m tempted by a pretty woman at work and I need us to have more sex.’ He never came clean with me. Instead, he got involved, knowing the risk. Apparently we were worth the risk. I just can’t go through that again.”
* * *
There was a little lie in Gerri’s memory. She couldn’t exactly remember Phil romancing her, letting her know he was feeling needy. But she could remember their sex life dwindling, all but disappearing and not being sorry. It was so gradual she couldn’t put a time marker on it. She remembered when Andy met Bryce and was flushed and floating because of all the erotic sex and Gerri had just laughed at the absurdity of it. “Better you than me,” Gerri had said. “I don’t think I could handle the stress at this point in my life. And God knows, I can’t spare the sleep.”
There was one truth—she hadn’t realized it was just her. She thought it was both of them, their libidos beaten down by everything else. And, she didn’t think he minded, either. She thought he’d gone as dry as she had. She did remember times he snuggled her, pressed up against her, tried fondling. Most of the time she said, “Aww, Phil...” Honestly, she couldn’t remember when they’d last had sex. Months ago. And she had no memory of whether they were doing it more or less than that seven years ago.
But then along came a woman—a small, young blonde with fluffy hair in Gerri’s imagination—to awaken him. Stir him. What was so unfair in that image was that Gerri couldn’t possibly compete—not with her stretch-marked stomach, saggy boobs, torn sweats, her tired eyes, her menopausal mood swings.
What she did have, from the day they met to the day before she heard about the affair, was the ability to communicate with him about anything and everything else. Their professional lives had so much more in common, they used each other for sounding boards all the time. When it came to family, they shored each other up, at least one of them always being there for the kids. And they were unfailingly there for each other, whether it was a work problem or personal crisis, obsessively interested in each other’s lives. They worked together like synchronized swimmers to keep everything running as smoothly as possible. And they didn’t just have meaningful conversations sometimes—it was all the time.
And on those evenings they were both at home and could relax with a glass of wine or sit in front of a fire on cold winter nights, their time wasn’t consumed by passion or even that unhurried, gentle love she remembered from younger days. It was companionship that filled the hours—conversation, laughter, empathy, advice for each other. Maybe a movie or quiet time when they both read. Companionship. Partnership. Perfect symbiosis.
She didn’t know when or how the lovemaking disappeared. She had always thought it was normal for the sex drive to relax, to become better friends than lovers. She thought his libido was exactly like hers—no longer urgent. It simply went to sleep. When she thought about growing older with him, she never thought of sex being a part of their lives. Their lives were so good, their relationship so strong, it never once occurred to her they needed anything more, except maybe time.
Honestly, if he’d said, ‘I need a good, hard, sweaty roll in the hay before I lose my mind,’ she would have laughed at him.
They argued, yes. But they had laughed a lot, too. Their chemistry was good. She kept telling herself the marriage had such value, such depth, it just couldn’t have been all about sex. Sex was something they could’ve fixed. She wasn’t sure how but something could have been done.
Their first week of separation was difficult at best. The kids were angry and quieter than usual until they had regular short flare-ups, outbursts that had nothing and yet everything to do with their parents living apart. Gerri watched them carefully, fully aware that few people understood how closely depression and anger were linked. Jed was absent a lot, typical for a nineteen-year-old in college with a steady girl, but when he was around he held his tongue, a feat for him. Matt, on the other hand, acted as if nothing had happened; his conversation was all about baseball.
Jessie was in the worst shape, snotty and disrespectful, sneering sarcastically when answering her mother, muttering under her breath. “You probably didn’t notice there weren’t any chips or Cokes since you’re hardly ever here.” And “Why do I always have to stay home just because you and Daddy have this thing going on?” Once in a while Gerri heard what sounded suspiciously like the b-word directed at her. She was so awful that Gerri wanted to smack her. But then Jessie got out the photo albums, looking through the family pictures as if someone had died. As if trying to remember how they’d been before this.
A second week passed, Gerri seeing her counselor twice a week, whole sessions during which she did little talking and a great deal of crying. She slept poorly and wondered often if Phil was finding comfort somewhere else, angry because she wasn’t finding comfort anywhere. Angrier still because she had no desire to seek out any other form of comfort. It wasn’t that she was bored with Phil sexually, there just wasn’t so much as a spark in her. How long can I do this before I say uncle? she wondered. Is it better with you as a cheater than without you as a partner?
Then Gerri looked through the photo albums herself, left on the coffee table by Jessie. She studied their faces, hers and Phil’s, twenty years ago, fifteen, ten, five. Two years ago. He was a good-looking man who had seasoned with age and experience. She looked at herself in the pictures very critically, but she had photographed well. She had probably never qualified as beautiful, but she was handsome—five-nine, slender, long neck, high cheekbones, engaging smile. She knew she was fortunate. Tall, slim women tended to look decent in everything from shorts and jeans to cocktail dresses. She marveled at the frequency of so many shots being captured while she smiled into the camera and Phil gazed at her. And in every goddamn one of them—from twenty years ago to two, even through the time it was happening for him with someone else, they looked happy and loving. How was that possible?
Gerri soldiered on. Walking in the early morning, driving kids to school, going to work, coming home in the evening to manage her home and family, sometimes finding Phil there using the computer in his home office after having spent time with the kids. Then she’d lie in bed at night feeling so robbed, so alone, every expectation shattered.
* * *
Sonja was having a really hard time with Gerri and Phil’s separation. She was trained to intuitively know when intimates were in trouble. A hundred seminars and retreats had helped her to develop these skills. She tried not to say anything when she noticed small things, like a person’s chakra auras or the balance in their homes being out of whack, but truthfully, except for the usual disruption of a busy household, she had always judged the Gilberts to have the stuff of a solid, unbreakable family. This troubled her because she loved Gerri; she should have paid closer attention.
She refused to offer to clear the presence of Phil out of the house with sage and feathers. She hoped this was just an altercation that would mend. She didn’t offer healthy meals or special herbal drinks because while Andy would become annoyed and throw her offerings in the trash, Gerri was just testy enough to shake her till her teeth rattled. So she remained positive, urging Gerri to listen to her body’s messages and use her instincts in getting through the rough patch with a goal of emerging stronger, better. And Gerri snarled at her.
Then she came home from a yoga class to find George was home early. She found his car in the garage and she went into the house and called out to him. He was in their bedroom, packing.
“George,” she said, surprised. “Do you have to leave town?”
He turned slowly. Gravely. “No, Sonja. I’m leaving. I’ve rented a place. I’m sorry, Sonja. I’m moving out. I just can’t do this anymore.”
“Do? This?”
“The candles. The tinkling music. The little waterfalls. The bland meals. The way-out-there philosophies on destinies being altered by where people put the goddamn red candle. I just want a normal life.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head, laughing nervously. “You’re just teasing me again...”
He took a breath. “This is no joke. I can’t take it. I feel like a fucking Chia Pet, constantly fed and groomed. I don’t want you in charge of my sleep patterns, my cholesterol. I take goddamn pills for my cholesterol. It’s not necessary for me to eat grass. My home life is intolerable. Seriously, Sonja—if you want to do this for a living, have at it. Knock yourself out. But I’m through.”
“But where will you go? What will you do?”
“What will I do? Spill food on my shirt and let the dry cleaner get it out. We haven’t had an adult conversation in years. It’s all you telling me what to eat, what to wear, scolding if I want a drink, going on and on about my fucking chakras. I managed fine never knowing I had chakras!”
“But we have sex at least twice a week,” she said, remembering everything Gerri had said about her deteriorating sex life with Phil.
“We have sex exactly twice a week. Tuesday night and Saturday morning. And you want the truth? I couldn’t care less. Sex isn’t the problem, and frankly, it never was. Not even before I met you. But I can’t be in this kind of relationship. It’s loony. I want to come home and turn on the football or baseball game, eat bloody red meat on a TV tray, spill on my shirt, fall asleep on the couch, wake up tired and hungover once in a while.”
“George—”
“You’ll be taken care of, don’t worry. I’m sure your heart’s in the right place, but if I come home to candlelight and spa music one more time, I’m going to snap. We’re not right for each other, Sonja. We’re not. I don’t want you to make me last so that every day of my life feels like an eternity. I’m miserable.”
“But you’ll be alone! No one will care about you!”
He thought about that for a moment and said, “I know.” Then he zipped his bag, hefted it and walked out of the room. He turned at the door. “If you need me, just call my cell. I won’t abandon you, but I have to stop this now. Before I go totally crazy.”
“But, George,” she cried, running to him, grabbing his shirtsleeve. “You want me to change? I can make changes! We’ll compromise!”
He just looked at her. “Sonja, you can’t change this. And you haven’t heard a thing I’ve said in ten years. You need to just carry on, be yourself and let me go.”
And then he left.
* * *
Gerri walked out of her house at the crack of dawn, holding her coffee cup. Andy emerged from across the street at about the same time. Sonja had not been early; Gerri made a mental note to thank her for that. Sonja was go, go, go all the time; she seemed to see it as her mission to keep her friends in shape, moving all the time. Gerri and Andy met in the middle of the street. “Where’s little Mary Sunshine?” Andy asked.
“Sleeping in?” Gerri asked with a short laugh.
BJ came out of her house down the street and the women waved at each other. BJ began stretching for her run while the other women wandered up Sonja’s walk.
“We could sit on the planter box, finish our coffee,” Andy suggested.
“Yeah, but I’d rather get this over with,” Gerri said.
“You doing okay?” Andy asked.
“Ach,” she said with a noncommittal shrug. “I think I’m doing what all women in this position do. Half the time I want him killed, half the time I just want him back.”
“Bryce must be a real loser,” Andy said. “I’m pretty miserable, but I don’t want him back. I just want the kitchen finished and some energetic young stud to come over a least a couple of times a week, then leave quietly.”
“You’re disgusting.”
Andy laughed at her. “Really? You’re just bitter. Not that I blame you, but I hope you can work this out. I love Phil. I know he has to be punished, but I love him. If I didn’t love you more, I’d take him off your hands.”
They approached the door. “He watches himself brush his big, beautiful teeth, splatters all over the mirror and everywhere. He snores like a locomotive and farts in his sleep. He blows his nose in the shower and poops three times a day.”
“Oh, he’s regular, that’s good. That’s one of the things I’ll be looking for in a man,” Andy said with a laugh. Then she knocked on Sonja’s door.
“Knowing what you know, you could not have a man like Phil.”
“Sister, if I could get a man down to one infidelity per twenty-five-year marriage, I’d think I was queen of the universe.” Andy knocked again.
“I’m not ready to laugh about this yet,” Gerri informed her. “Where the hell is she? She’s usually pacing outside my door at least five minutes early. Hit the bell.”
“I don’t want to wake George. He doesn’t get up before six.”
“I wonder how he gets away with that, being married to the hyper one. Ring it, anyway.” When there was still no answer, Gerri pounded on the door. “What the heck,” she muttered. “Andy, see if you can see in the garage windows, see if there’s a car in there.”
Andy handed off her coffee cup and jogged to the front of the garage. She had to jump up and down to get her eyes up to the windows in the garage door. Then she stopped and turned toward Gerri. “Just her car,” she said. “You think they went out for a whole night somewhere?”
“She would’ve scheduled that with us three weeks in advance,” Gerri said. Then she pounded again and yelled, “Hey, Sonja! Sonja, come on!”
“They’re not home,” Andy said.
“She would’ve called. You know her—she’d pull herself off the operating table and call to say she’s running a little late because of major surgery.” She pounded and yelled again.
“You’d better get in there,” a voice said from behind them. They turned to find BJ standing on the front walk. BJ shrugged. “She’s never missed a morning. She’d never be a no-show. She’s relentless.”
Andy and Gerri exchanged looks, knowing how true that statement was, wondering for only a split second how BJ, who didn’t know them at all, would read the situation so accurately. So quickly.
“Don’t you women have keys to each other’s houses? Because something’s gotta be wrong. If she’s not in there, maybe she is in the hospital. But you’d better find out.”
“What could be wrong?” Gerri asked herself as much as the others.
BJ shrugged. “I don’t know. But she’s wound a little tight.”
Again, Gerri and Andy exchanged glances. Then Andy bolted across the street to get the key to Sonja’s house that she kept in her desk. She ran back across the street, leaving her front door standing open.
Gerri opened the door slowly, peeking in. The house was still. Quiet and dark, all the blinds drawn. She stuck her head in and called, softly, “Sonja? George?” Then turning she said, “I don’t think anyone is home.”
Suddenly BJ was there, brushing past them and striding purposefully into the house. She paused in the great room, looked right and then left, then headed down the hall toward the bedrooms. Gerri and Andy followed a bit more slowly, unsure if searching the house was the right thing to do, even under these circumstances. Then BJ yelled, “In here!”
Whatever visions Gerri and Andy might’ve had as they raced to the master bedroom, nothing could have prepared them for what they found. Sonja sat on the floor between the bed and the bureau, her back against the wall. She wasn’t wearing her usual perfect, colorful walking togs but rather a skimpy little outfit, the type she’d wear to her yoga class. BJ was kneeling in front of her, then backed away as the other women came closer, letting them in. Sonja’s hair was limp and stringy, her face red and damp as if she was sweating, her eyes glassy. Her breath was rapid and shallow; she was hyperventilating. She almost smiled when she saw her friends, but instead, put one of her hands out toward them, showing nails gnawed down so severely they were nipped into the skin, pink and sore. “I bit them all off,” she said weakly.
“Sonja! What’s the matter?” Gerri asked. “Are you sick?”
“I’m okay,” she said. “I just need to move pretty soon. I have to get up,” she said, yet made no effort to rise.
“Maybe she had a seizure or something,” Andy said.
“Ask her if she took anything,” BJ said from behind them.
“Sonja, did you take something? Medicine? Maybe a whole bunch of your magic herbs?”
She shook her head, remaining against the wall.
“Where’s George, Sonja? Has he gone to work?”
“George,” she said, shaking her head. “Poor George.”
“Sonja, what? What about George?” Gerri demanded.
“Get her to the hospital,” BJ said from behind them. “She’s having some kind of psychotic break.”
Gerri turned and looked at BJ. She was shocked that BJ would catch this before her, with her master’s in psych. But looking back at Sonja, it was obvious. Everything was all wrong—she wouldn’t have put on yoga clothes to walk in the morning, but she did have an afternoon class three days a week. She might’ve been like this since yesterday. But where was George? And the torn-up nails, the sweating face and greasy hair...
Instead of asking any more questions, she said to Andy, “Get your car. Pull into her drive. Let’s go.”
“Maybe an ambulance?” Andy asked.
“Get the car. Right now!” Then to BJ she said, “Help me here,” and they each took one arm and slowly lifted Sonja to her feet, urging her to walk. “You’re going to be okay now,” she murmured to Sonja, leading her out of the house. “It’s going to be okay—just come with me.”
BJ left them to take their friend to the hospital. Gerri sat in the back with a Sonja she couldn’t even recognize. She asked her questions all the way to the hospital, but didn’t get any answers. Sonja would sigh softly or whisper, “Poor George,” or just shake her head and turn unfocused eyes toward Gerri.
It took quite a lot of confusing explanations at the emergency room before they put Sonja in an exam room. Gerri called her house and Jed answered. “Listen, I didn’t walk this morning, I’m—”
“I know, Mom,” he said. “Some lady came to the door and said you had to rush Sonja to the hospital. But she didn’t say what was wrong. What’s wrong?”
“We don’t know, she hasn’t seen the doctor yet. It’s like she’s drugged or something. I have to find George. Get my address book out of the kitchen drawer and see if his cell number is there. Look under Johanson. I know I don’t have it in my phone.”
“Sure,” he said. “Want me to get Jessie and Matt to school? I can be late for class.”
“Please. I should stay here until—”
“Here it is,” Jed interrupted, reciting the numbers.
“Thanks, honey. You’re in charge. I don’t know when I’ll be back, but I won’t go anywhere else without calling your cell or leaving a note at home.”
“Want me to run your purse and phone by the emergency room?”
“Could you? That would help.”
It was a long, tense hour before George entered the E.R. and went directly to the nurses’ station. He produced his insurance information, asked questions, answered, nodded solemnly. Gerri crept closer to listen, but it didn’t take long for the nurse to pull George away from the desk just as a doctor was exiting Sonja’s exam room. Gerri would have liked to sidle up to them and eavesdrop, but the doctor was speaking in low, private tones, so she shrank back.
“Mom?”
She turned to see Jed standing there, holding her purse. “Oh, honey,” she said. “This is so good of you.”
He shrugged it off. “You know anything yet? Like what’s wrong with her?”
“No, we—” She stopped talking as George approached them, his head down. She turned her attention on him, touching his arm. “George, what’s wrong? What happened to her?”
He took a breath. “It’s a little complicated. The doctor has called for a psych consult. They’re going to be keeping her for a while. I’ll go see her in a minute. They’ve given her something to calm her down, but—”
“Calm her down? She was almost catatonic!”
“Not on the inside,” he said. “Her brain was on overdrive. She needs medication.”
“She won’t like that. Maybe they should tell her it’s herbs. George, where were you? Aren’t you usually home in the mornings?”
“Yeah, well that’s the complicated part. Sonja and I have separated. I left our home yesterday. It must have come as more of a shock than I anticipated.”
“What?”
“I imagine we’ll divorce, Gerri. Don’t worry—I’ll take care of her. It was never my intention to abandon her. I just can’t live in that loony bin any longer.”
Gerri got in his face. “You left her?” She felt Andy and Jed each grab hold of one of her arms, keeping her back before she launched on him physically. “Did you talk it over with her first? Air your...your... Did she know?”
“Oh, I talked, but Sonja never listened. Do you have any idea what it’s like, living in a temple? I thought I had prostatitis, I was peeing so much—but it was just all the goddamn fountains and waterfalls in the house. The candles, the meditation music, the herb-infested meals that tasted like lawn clippings...”
“She did all that for you!”
“I’m sure she thought so, but I asked her not to. There’s more stimulation on a mountaintop monastery in Tibet,” he said. “Really, I did my best. Sonja’s kind of nuts.”
Gerri was straining against the hold Andy and Jed had on her. “You know she can’t take that sort of thing! You should have given her a list to work from or a date to deal with! You can’t just leave her! She’s too fragile for that!”
“Mom,” Jed said, pulling on her arm. “Jeez, Mom. There are people...”
“I have to make arrangements for her,” George said. “Maybe we’ll talk later.” And he turned away from them.
“Jesus, Mom!” Jed admonished. “Calm down. People are watching.”
Gerri turned abruptly and sat down on one of the chairs against the wall. Her cheeks were flushed. She threaded her fingers into the short hair on top of her head, kneading a little wildly. How could George know so little about his own wife? Didn’t he realize Sonja clung to all that stuff to keep her steady? She had to have her bag of tricks to get through the days. It was her life raft. And organization, planning, they were her religion. She couldn’t cope with a shock like suddenly losing her husband, her marriage.
And then Gerri realized it was she who couldn’t cope with that. Her reaction to George was more about Gerri feeling her own marriage was gone, suddenly and without warning. Just as Sonja relied on all her woo-woo stuff, Gerri had always relied on Phil, on their marriage. “God,” she said. “I’ll apologize. I was emotional. Scared.”
She took a few deep breaths and put her hand on her son’s knee. “Go on to school, honey,” she said. “I’m not leaving till I see her.”
“Maybe I should hang around in case you...you know...”
“Nah, I’m fine. I’m not going to lose it. If I go berserk, I’m sure they can give me something.”
“You sure?” Jed asked. “I mean, you’ve been a little rocky lately.”
A huff of laughter escaped her. “Ya think?” she asked. Not only was her life falling apart, the whole neighborhood was hitting the skids. “It’s been a rocky few weeks. But we’ll be okay.”
“Okay, then. Andy, keep an eye on her.” Then he leaned over and gave his mother a kiss, something he never did in public and was loath to do in private.
“Whew,” was all Gerri could say, leaning back in her chair to wait.
Two hours later, the nurse let them in to see Sonja. She was lying back in the bed with her eyes closed, her arms relaxed at her sides. They stood there for a second, looking down at her. She looked fifteen, lying there. Small and vulnerable, weak and pale. Not their perky Sonja. While her energy and zeal drove them both crazy, this image was far more unsettling.
Sonja opened her eyes, saw them, but didn’t move a muscle. Gerri picked up one of her limp hands and said, “Oh, honey.”
A tear gathered and ran slowly down Sonja’s temple into her hair. She whispered something and Gerri leaned closer to hear. She whispered again. “He said I made him feel like a Chia Pet.”
four
GERRI AND ANDY left Sonja in the late morning, went home and then to their respective jobs. Sonja was going to spend at least a night, maybe two in the hospital, but she was becoming more lucid by the minute, back in reality again. Still, a break like hers was going to require supervision at the least, medication and psychiatric follow-up at the most.
Paperwork had been piling up on Gerri’s desk, with the distractions and crises in her personal life, and she called Jed’s cell phone to ask if he could get the kids home from school so she could stay late to tackle some of it. She was more than a little conscious that if she didn’t have her oldest son stepping in to help so agreeably right now, she’d be completely lost. She also took note that he was coddling her, trying to warm her up, get her more reasonable toward his father, as though all this inconvenience was her doing, not Phil’s.
By the time she got home, it was nearly eight. Phil’s car was in the drive and when she walked in, the first thing she saw was his briefcase and laptop on the table in the nook. Then he walked into the kitchen from the family room.
“What are you doing here? Did the kids call you?” she asked.
“Jed called, said you had a really bad day,” he said. “Is Sonja all right?”
“She scared me pretty good, but I guess she’ll be okay. You got the story?”
“I did,” he said. “Kind of feels like the whole neighborhood is coming apart at the seams. You okay?”
“I’ve been better,” she said, going straight to the refrigerator. “Kids eat?”
“Jed took care of that. He got takeout—their choice. I reimbursed him and gave him an extra forty bucks in case he has to do that again. Listen, it’s not working out, me staying in the city. I’m going to find something around here, closer to home, in case there’s some emergency. I don’t want to be so far away through the dark hours, when the goblins come out.”
She felt a smile threaten. The goblins, they called them—the problems kids had. The last-minute school assignment that was already late, a fight with a girlfriend or boyfriend, a ride that didn’t show up to bring them home, a disaster of any flavor. “Is that in their DNA?” she asked Phil. “Our children have never had any problem in their lives before ten o’clock at night.” She pulled out a bottle of cold white wine.
“Probably your DNA. You used to stay up late, get yourself all worked up over some problem with a coworker or family at risk and poke me at about three in the morning to work it out with you.”
“I’ll take the blame for that one,” she said. “Are you leaving right away?”
He eyed the wine and said hopefully, “I don’t have to.”
“Good,” she said. She grabbed two wineglasses out of the cupboard and headed for the door. “Hang out here for them if you can. If they ask, tell them I’m home, but had an errand. I shouldn’t be long.”
“Andy’s?” he wanted to know.
“Actually, no. A neighbor I barely know helped us with Sonja today. It’s reasonable to say that if she hadn’t stepped in, we might have left Sonja alone there, out of her head, for days. I think I should say thank-you, maybe try to get to know her better. If you have to go...”
“I can wait around awhile.”
“Because if you have to go, just let me tell the kids I’m home and where I’ll be. They stay alone all the time—they’ll be fine.”
“I’ll wait for you,” he said. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Work’s piling up,” she said. “You just can’t get separated, go to counseling, have medical emergencies and all that without some fallout.” She was about to leave, then turned back. “Are you going to counseling?”
“I am,” he said with a nod. He went to the table in the nook, opened his laptop and sat down. If he was staying, he’d get a little work done, she assumed.
“Getting anything out of it?” she asked.
“I’d rather have needles in my eyes,” he said. “I’d rather have another vasectomy. I’d trade two sessions for a colonoscopy.”
She smiled. “Those sound like good alternatives. I’ll think about that.” Once outside in the cold night she thought, that’s what I need—I need that Phil back. But he was damaged now and not the same in her eyes. She had never thought they were so different, but apparently they were. He was vulnerable to sex, she was vulnerable to a mere sixty seconds of understanding, support. Humor. Friendship.
She walked down the street to BJ’s house and knocked on the door. A young girl’s voice asked, “Who’s there?”
“It’s Mrs...it’s Gerri, from down the street.”
“Hang on,” she said.
In a moment a series of locks slid and BJ opened the door. She cocked her head, frowning, and Gerri lifted the wine in one hand, the glasses in the other. “I thought I’d thank you properly.”
BJ held the door open for her and over her shoulder said to a young boy and girl, “Can you go do homework in your rooms, please?”
They picked up books and papers from the dining table and exited quickly, quietly. “Wow,” Gerri said. “That was impressive. What do you have on them to make them obey like that?”
BJ almost smiled. “They’re good kids. Listen, you didn’t have to—”
“I thought you’d want to know about Sonja,” Gerri said. She put the wine and glasses on the table, reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a corkscrew. She went after the cork.
“I’ve been wondering about her,” BJ said. “Um...I very rarely drink alcohol.”
“Have a little sip of this, it’s good stuff. Unless you’re in recovery or something?”
“Just not much of a drinker. How is she?” BJ asked.
“Very unstable, but leveled out at the moment, thanks to drugs. They’re keeping her at least overnight to decide if she needs psychiatric intervention, medication, counseling, whatever. It turns out her husband left her yesterday. She went into a tailspin. Meltdown. You don’t know this about Sonja,” Gerri said, pouring, making sure BJ’s was just a small amount, a taste. “She’s the neighborhood health nut. She has a little business—she consults on all kinds of stuff—from feng shui to something she calls life patterning. She sells inner peace and tranquility, but she’s really always searching, always trying to find the answers. Herbs, exercise, meditation, holistic cures. She thought she had everything figured out. And yet—never saw it coming—he walked out on her without warning. She went down like a torpedo.”
“Wow. I thought she was just another suburban princess.”
“Yeah, that’s how she looks. Very superficial. But she’s the best person I know. She’d do anything for anyone. A few years ago, when she was still new on the block, I had a hemorrhoidectomy that just wiped me out. The pain was indescribable. My husband ran for his life, my best friend got weak in the knees and almost passed out just looking at me, but Sonja was there, giving me every kind of comfort she could pull out of her hat. Without her I don’t know what I would have done, and we were practically strangers. She removed the packing from my...” She stopped and shot BJ a look to find her smiling. BJ took a sip from her glass. “Well, suffice it to say, if not for Sonja, I wouldn’t have had a bowel movement in the past three years. She’s weird, but sincere. She believes all that shit.” Gerri sipped. “If it wasn’t for you today, we wouldn’t have rescued her. We would have left, waited for her to call.”
“I just thought the situation was strange. I’ve been watching you three for almost a year. She’d drive me crazy.”
“Yeah, she drives us crazy,” Gerri smiled. “Still...it is what it is.”
“You mind if I ask what you do? I know you work.”
“I work for Child Protective Services. Psychologist. I was a case worker for years and now, a supervisor.”
“No kidding? You’ve seen some stuff, then.”
“I’d venture to say I’m pretty desensitized. Life’s rough out there.”
“And you couldn’t see something was all screwed up with Sonja?” BJ asked, confused.
“I would have in a second,” Gerri said, defending herself. “But man, you got it right away.” She clinked BJ’s glass. “What do you do?”
“Nothing much. I work for my brother, an electrician with his own small business. I answer the phones, schedule for him and his guys, invoice. It’s not a big job, but it’s flexible and gets me by. I can cover the kids’ schedules.”
“Divorced?” Gerri asked.
BJ looked down. “Their father is dead.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly, not making eye contact. Then she lifted her eyes and said, “I haven’t had a glass of wine in so long. You’re right. I think it’s very good. I don’t know anything about wine, but I like it. This was nice of you.”
“It was the least I could do.”
“Listen, I know I haven’t been exactly...well, outgoing.”
“Hey, don’t apologize. I figured you for on the private side, which is fine. Maybe if I knock once in a great while, you’ll let me in. No obligation, of course. You should know—not that it matters to you—but the three of us, the power walkers, we’re all separated from our husbands. Within three weeks of each other. It’s brutal. I’m not here to dump, but just so you know. My husband’s trying to carry his part of the load, but I’m relying on my son Jed. He’s nineteen.”
BJ took a sip. “I’m sorry about that,” she said.
“Well, these things happen.” Something told her BJ didn’t want the details. She picked up the cork, shoved it back in the bottle and stood. “This is for you. Thanks for sharing it. I’ll let you get back to your evening.”
“It was nice of you to drop by,” BJ said, standing also. “I hope Sonja’s going to be all right.”
“She’ll be all right, we’ll look after her. Do you have my number, in case you ever need anything?”
“Need anything?” BJ asked.
“We’re a bunch of women without men around,” Gerri said. “At least I have a nineteen-year-old around much of the time. Yours are still so young. I’m right down the street. You never know when something might happen in the middle of the night—a fright or something. Emergencies, I mean. I’m not recruiting you for the neighborhood bake sale, I swear,” she added, smiling. “But I am on a first name basis with a lot of Mill Valley cops—CPS work and all.”
BJ went to the kitchen and got a pad of paper. “Wanna write it down for me?”
Gerri did so, then turned away from the table to go home. “Want mine?” BJ asked. “Even though I’m not much good in emergencies.”
Gerri went back to the table. “Looked to me like you’re great in emergencies. I wanted to be sure to say, I’m grateful that you got involved this morning. I suspect it was a very big step for you. It’s pretty easy to tell, you aren’t quite ready to get too involved.” BJ handed her a scrap of paper with a phone number. It said BJ above it, no last name. “Thanks for everything.”
“You’re welcome. Thanks for dropping by. For the wine.”
Gerri was all the way home before she realized she’d left the wineglasses on the table, two of her nicest. Well, there would come a time to get them. If she was any judge of BJ, she’d make it a point to return them so she’d have no ties. This was a woman nervous about attachments.
Phil was still at his laptop in the kitchen. “That was pretty quick,” he said, closing it up.
“Nice woman, but not really interested in finding chums around here,” she said, taking off her coat. She was suddenly so tired.
“I’ll take off. Unless you need me.”
“You can have the couch, if you want it.”
“Thanks, but I have court in the morning. I’ll have to be pretty,” he said, grinning. He shrugged into his jacket and picked up the laptop and briefcase.
“What are you working on?”
“Armed robbery. SOB fired on a cop. It shouldn’t be complicated—it’s a slam dunk. We’ll have a plea agreement before trial. He’s going away.”
“Ew. Cop’s okay?”
“Yeah, he missed.” Phil moved toward the door and Gerri followed him. She walked him out to his car through the garage. He put his stuff on the hood and turned toward her. “I’m really sorry about Sonja.”
“You don’t like Sonja that much,” she reminded him.
“Well, I don’t dislike her, either. It just makes me uncomfortable when she closes her eyes all spooky and reads my aura. Maybe I’m just paranoid, afraid she’s going to see some black squiggly thing that’s gonna kill me.”
She laughed. “Thanks for checking on things.”
“You had a rough day,” he said. Then he pulled her against him and for just a moment, held her.
It was what she needed, to feel him against her in the quiet of the night. It felt so good to have his strength wrapped around her; it had been three weeks since she’d felt the confident power in his arms. Then she pulled back. “I can’t,” she said in a whisper. “This is the hardest part to let go of, you, like this. My friend. My partner.”
“You don’t have to let go of it.”
“But everything is different now,” she said.
“It’s not for me. Come here,” he said, pulling her back. He put his arms around her again and her mind flashed back. Do you know how many times I put my arms around you to hold you? And how many times you told me not to get any ideas? God, Gerri! She allowed herself to be held for a luxurious moment, wondering if it was a mistake to indulge in him, even this safely, this briefly.
“Do you remember when I met you?” he asked softly. “You were my witness in a child molest case that was shaky. The second I met you, you scared the hell out of me.”
“No, I didn’t,” she said.
“Oh-ho,” he chuckled. “I knew immediately, you would never be uncomplicated, quiet. Manageable. You were on fire. I wasn’t sure putting you on the stand was a good idea.”
She pulled back slightly. “How’d I work out?” she asked.
“You were brilliant. I had to have you.” He pulled her back toward him. “How are we doing here? We making any progress?”
“We’re not screaming at each other, but I have a lot of issues.”
“Any chance we can work on some of those issues under the same roof?” he asked. “I hate not living with you. And the kids need us to be together.”
“Don’t ask me to take responsibility for that.”
“I understand,” he said.
She pulled out of his arms and took a step away from him. “I wonder if you do understand, Phil. The kids—they want us together again, no matter what the cost is to me. They want me to look the other way, get over it. They’re not hating you for what you did to our marriage, they’re mad at me for taking offense that you had another woman in your life for two years. I knew this would be hard, but I never knew that, no matter which way I turned, it would end up being my fault.”
“It’s not.”
“It is,” she said, suddenly hurting all over again. “It’s my fault I can’t live with you because of it, my fault I found out, my fault I got mad about it.... You spent two years boinking some woman from the office, but three weeks is too long for me to be upset about it! What is it with mothers, huh? Why is everything in the whole goddamn world always the mother’s fault?”
“You don’t think they’re just a little pissed at both of us?”
“No, I don’t. I think you’re coming off looking like a good guy who made a little mistake and I look like a stubborn, angry, unforgiving demon.”
“Aw, Jesus, Gerri—come on, let’s not do this. For a minute there we were actually friends.”
“There it is again. It’s like I’m doing it to you.”
“What if I let you hook electrodes to my balls and just fire away until you think I’ve paid? How about that? Huh?” he asked, giving in to his own anger.
She smiled at him and started walking backward. “Tempting, Phil. But I’m just going to try to resolve my problems with the situation. Thanks for helping me out tonight. Talk to you later,” she said. Then she hit the electric garage door button and closed him out.
He’d never get it. It wasn’t just the other woman. It was him needing the other woman. It made her feel not good enough. It bit so deep, she ached with it.
* * *
If it was true that men married their mothers, Gerri would be proud. Muriel Gilbert was on her short list of most admired women.
Phil had two younger brothers, both married. One lived back east, one in San Diego. Muriel and Stan Gilbert kept a small condo in Scottsdale, but they spent much of their time in other locales. They made use of time shares they’d had for years and owned modest investment properties in Boulder, Maui and San Miguel, Mexico, that they leased to vacationers when they weren’t using them. That, and homesteading with each of their sons for weeks at a time.
Having been married as long as she had, Gerri had heard a million stories about the worst mothers-in-law on the planet, but hers was the best. Muriel had embraced Gerri as a daughter the second they met and proved to be a fantastic grandmother who was devoted but didn’t get in the way too much. She was very careful to follow second to Gerri’s mother after the births and never pressured them for visits, for time. They started out as friends, for which Gerri had been so grateful. But then Gerri’s own mother died and had it not been for Muriel, she wouldn’t have gotten through it. Muriel came immediately, skipping her summer in Maui, and stayed on, getting Gerri and the family past that horrendous period, and then came back when Gerri’s father was dying, and again, helped them pull things together. But the time after all that was probably the most significant. Muriel stepped in as the mother Gerri had lost. Friendship yielded to kinship and Gerri adored and respected her.
Muriel and Stan were spending the spring in Mexico and they called every weekend to talk to the kids. Gerri knew it was only a matter of time before someone slipped, mentioned that Mom and Dad weren’t living together at the moment. Gerri was pretty sure Phil hadn’t dealt with his family on this issue—all his energy seemed focused on making it go away. So she called Mexico.
“I have some news that’s going to startle you, so be sure you’re sitting down.”
“I’m sitting,” Muriel said. “What is it?”
“Phil and I have separated. We have some problems.”
Gerri heard a whoosh of air on the line, probably the sound of Muriel sitting down. “Merciful heavens,” she said weakly. “What on earth?”
Gerri took a breath. “The kids know the bare facts, so it’s only reasonable that you do. I just learned that years ago he had an affair, one that lasted two years. He admits it, he’s sorry, he’ll do absolutely anything to atone, but honestly, Muriel...Well, it was me. I asked him to sleep somewhere else for the time being. While we both get a little counseling. That’s the best I can do.”
“An affair?” she asked in a breath. “Phil?”
“That was my exact reaction.”
“Of all my sons... Oh, hell, of all the men I know, I would’ve judged Phil to be the last!”
“I know. Please,” Gerri said earnestly, “please don’t blame me.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, of course not! Listen to me, Geraldine—humans have lapses in judgment and when they do, it’s their own burden. I hope you’re not taking this on. As if there was any way you could’ve headed this off!”
“Maybe if I’d been more...amorous.”
“Right,” Muriel said with a snort. “And you’d have been too damn tired to work, carpool the kids and see everyone fed and clothed. Then he’d have to have found another woman for that! The stupid fool! He made a mistake! Sooner or later you’ll have to let it be his mistake. Lord, I think I might kill him.”
Gerri felt her eyes well up. “Thank you, Muriel,” she said softly.
“Don’t thank me for making sense. I just hope he finds a way to win you back because if he loses you, he will have lost the best thing that ever happened to him. And don’t make it too easy for him.”
“Believe me—”
“All the same, think carefully,” Muriel said. “I know he’s not perfect and now I know he’s also not that intelligent, but do think this through. It will be hard for you to find a man who’s truly your equal and while I don’t know anyone more capable, life alone can be dreary. And sad. Very sad. Punish him as much as you need to, but dear girl, don’t be hasty.” Then she took a breath and muttered, “The ignorant fool!”
“It’s already pretty dreary,” Gerri said. “Muriel, thank you for not blaming me. Thank you for not saying I should just get over it, since it was years ago.”
“All I have to say to you, darling, is thank you for letting the stupid fool live. I hate him at the moment, but he’s still my son. No longer my favorite son, but I think I’ll probably go on loving him even though he apparently doesn’t have a brain in his head.”
“Oh, Muriel, I do love you.”
“Do you need me? Should I come?”
“No. I think we should try to carry on this way for now. He’s spending some time around here, in close touch every day if not always present, and he’s doing everything he can. We should let things simmer awhile. I have things to figure out and I can’t be distracted. But thank you.”
“If you need me, you have only to call. I’ll come at once.”
Gerri laughed into the phone. “That would serve him right,” she said. “His mother and his wife on his case.”
“Yes. I can’t think of anything more likely to make him wish he were dead.”
* * *
Bob was already at work in Andy’s kitchen when she got home from school at five o’clock. She positively sparkled when she saw him. “Hey,” she said brightly. “You’re getting an early start!”
“I’m laying down the ceramic tonight. You’re going to have to stay off it for twenty-four hours. It could slide the grout.”
“Okay. Did you have dinner?”
“I grabbed something on the way over,” he said.
“I’m starting to think you’re afraid I might poison you.” She laughed. “I offer every night, but you’ve always already eaten.”
He stood straight and grinned, patting his firm, round stomach and treating her to that hypnotic grin of his. “Look at me, Andy. You think I’ve missed many meals?”
“You look healthy,” she said.
“That’s not what the doctor says.”
“What? Is your doctor worried about you?”
“Everything seems to be holding, but he’s convinced I’m overweight and headed for a coronary. That’s why I try to stay away from him. I feel fine most of the time.”
“Most of the time?” she asked, suddenly stricken with worry.
“Doing the work I do, my back and knees kick up sometimes. I’m fine. My age, you get aches and pains.”
“Do you mind if I ask—just how old are you?”
“Fifty-three. Getting up there.”
“Well, you’re just a few years older than me,” she said, opening her takeout carton on the dusty table.
“Not possible,” he said, getting down on his knees again. “You look like a young girl.”
“I’m a forty-seven-year-old girl. Can I get a glass of wine before I’m closed out of the kitchen?”
“Sure. You have plenty of time. But it’s going to go real fast now. After the tile, there’s not much to do. Just the appliances, countertops, baseboards, touch up. Do you still like the new cabinets?”
“Gorgeous,” she said. “What am I going to do with myself in the evenings when you and Beau aren’t here?”
“Oh, I’m sure you have plenty to do without someone making noise and messing up your house.”
She’d have to try to remember. This routine had given her so much comfort that she dreaded the kitchen renovation being finished. At first she thought it was just having someone around the house, but soon she noticed it was more than that, it was the quality time they spent together. Bob was there almost every day and she spent at least an hour just talking with him. Then she’d take Beau to her bedroom to lie beside her on the bed and she’d catch up on the day’s paperwork or just relax. Sometimes Beau would curl up next to her and she’d nod off; sometimes he’d roll over on his back and she’d idly scratch his belly while she watched TV. She hadn’t had a dog since she was a child. She realized more attention should be given to the serenity that came with scratching a big old dog’s belly.
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