Four Friends

  “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.

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sp; “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!”

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; 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.