BJ took Sonja’s hands and looked into her eyes. “Listen to me. I can’t. I can’t be on charity. I have to earn my way, take care of my family. It’s important, Sonja. It’s about building some self-esteem, letting my kids see me working hard and doing it the right way—on my own. They’ll remember that. I appreciate your offer, but really, it would be more for you than for me. If I want free board, I can get that from any one of my brothers. I’m not going to let our friendship go that way. You have enough work to do, getting your life back.”
“But—”
“You know I’m right,” BJ said. “You know it. I’ll be nearby for a while. I’ll drive over and run with you. Until I have to—”
“We’ll work on this,” Andy said. “We’ll find you something good, something safe. Hopefully not too far away.”
“I’m sorry,” BJ said again. “I didn’t mean for it to go like this. But it’s important. I remember when I was the one with nowhere to go, scared to death.”
The four friends stood there in silence for a second, then Gerri reached for BJ’s hand and Sonja’s. Sonja took Andy’s, Andy took BJ’s other hand. The four of them stood there holding hands in a small circle.
“I’m going to go home and get dressed,” Gerri said. “Then I’m coming over here to help you pack and clean the place up.”
“What about work?”
“I’ll go in late, or not at all. Some things have to be done and done right.”
“Me, too,” Andy said. “I’ll get dressed and be right back.”
“I don’t have to dress,” Sonja said. “I’ll get started right now.”
* * *
BJ had been gone one week. It was only another week until the block party and she promised she’d come back for one last hurrah. Gerri met Andy in her open garage at 10:00 a.m. Sonja was just leaving her house, carrying a large platter covered with plastic wrap. She juggled the platter to lock up, then crossed the street to meet her friends.
“Whatcha got there?” Andy asked.
“Muffins. Chocolate chip muffins,” she said. “I figured we could use all the ammunition we could get.”
Andy ran a hand along Sonja’s shiny mahogany hair. “Now, try not to say too much,” she advised Sonja. “Try not to swear.”
“I’m not a child, you know. Well, I mean, I am in a way—I have to go all the way back to thirteen years old and start growing up all over again, but even a thirteen-year-old can manage not to swear.”
Gerri lifted the wrap and inhaled. “And apparently a thirteen-year-old can really bake up a storm.”
“You want to follow us to Connie’s?” Andy asked Gerri.
“Yes, and I’ll go on to work from there. All set?”
“All set,” Andy said, taking a deep breath.
“Now remember—no expectations. It’s a shot in the dark.”
“Gotcha.”
“And I have some other ideas for BJ, so this isn’t the only possibility,” Andy said.
“Gotcha. Let’s just do it,” Gerri replied.
Less than fifteen minutes later, the three women were knocking on the front door of Connie’s massive house. Sonja carried the muffins, Gerri held her briefcase. Connie opened the door with a bright smile. “Well, isn’t this nice,” she said. “I put coffee and some cups on the patio table, if that’s all right.”
“It’s very nice of you, Connie,” Andy said. “Please meet my best friends, Sonja and Gerri.”
The women all shook hands, greeted each other. “I can’t wait to hear about your special project, Andy.”
“You’re going to think we’re crazy—but I’m the only one who’s crazy,” Sonja said. Andy glared at her and Sonja continued. “They asked me to try not to say too much, and not to swear,” Sonja explained. “I made these,” she said, presenting the platter.
“Well, now,” Connie said. “Don’t you worry. I know how it is—sometimes those little words just slip out. If you have to swear, I promise not to blush if you swear with passion!”
Sonja grinned and flashed her eyes at Andy. “I like her!”
“Come on.” Connie laughed. “Let’s get some coffee to go with these muffins.”
As Connie led the way through the house, Sonja looked around and muttered, “Holy shit.” Andy elbowed her while Connie looked over her shoulder and laughed.
When they got to the patio, Connie put Sonja’s platter on the table. “Go ahead and pour the coffee. I’ll be right back.”
As they took seats around the table, Sonja saw the guesthouse. “There it is!” she exclaimed.
“Now listen. This is a very big thing we’re suggesting. This is their home! Try to be a little—”
“Patient, I know,” Sonja said. “I know!”
Gerri just shook her head. Years of experience had rendered her fearless when it came to asking for things—fund-raising was always a huge aspect of any public servant’s way of life. Tax dollars just never got them up to speed.
Connie brought small plates and napkins to the patio. “Connie, do you ever get just plain intimidated by this house?” Sonja asked her.
“Not anymore.” Connie laughed. “As hard as we had to work to get this place presentable, I feel like it’s my blood, sweat and tears in here.” She passed the plates and sat down, lifting her coffee cup. “We don’t need this kind of room, of course. But we have four grown, married children and nine grandchildren right in the area. We’re a formidable crowd when we’re all together. Plus, I have Bob and two married sisters with families and Frank has a large extended family. Everyone visits. We’re not likely to let this monster slip out of our family—I can’t think of a better gathering place. When it’s just Frank and I we kind of live in the master bedroom. We fix small, lazy dinners, take them on trays to the bedroom and watch TV. The house isn’t for us,” she said. “It’s for everyone around us.”
“Connie, I’d like to tell you something,” Andy said. “Before this special project we’d like to share with you even came to mind, I asked Bob if he’d consider moving in with me sometime in the future. He said, whenever I was ready, he was ready. He also said he wouldn’t have any trouble looking after your property—after all, I live so close.”
“Well, this is getting serious,” Connie said.
“Oh, Connie, it started serious. I’m so crazy about Bob, you just can’t imagine. He’s the best thing that ever happened to me. I wish I’d found him ten years ago. And he’s been so good for Noel.”
“Bob has a lot of experience with youngsters. He has a ton of nieces and nephews.”
“So,” Gerri said, directing the conversation where it needed to go. “Andy says you and your husband are very involved in community service.”
“Partly true. Usually Frank gets involved, then can’t keep up and I step in.”
“Have any local pet projects of your own?” Gerri asked.
“I’m afraid not in Marin County,” she said, plucking a muffin off the platter and transferring it to her plate. “In Marin I concentrate on the arts, in a small way. I support the library system and a couple of children’s literacy programs. But Marin is rich in many ways—there’s lots of endowment money here. I find myself more often in the city where the needs are more immediate. Grittier. Primarily AIDS research, babies born addicted to drugs and the Gospel Mission. I’ve always thought, you’ve probably just about reached bottom if you’re eating and sleeping at the mission. They need help constantly. And there’s a food bank...”
“Any women’s work?”
“Women’s work?” she asked, biting her muffin. “The rape crisis center gets some money and I sit on the board, but I couldn’t cut it as a counselor. I’m afraid that’s about it—I keep thinking about the kids.”
“Gerri’s a counselor,” Andy said. “Child Protective Services. And her husband is Phil Gilbert—running for D.A. in San Francisco.”
“That’s your husband?” Connie asked. “Congratulations. The press likes him.”
“Today,”
Gerri said, laughing. “Listen—this is a wild card, Connie. We have a neighbor who’s been the victim of domestic abuse and is having a hard time getting on her feet. She’s a good woman with a couple of nice kids. Her past is very provocative. No, it’s worse than that—it’s downright shocking. But as we’ve gotten to know her, the three of us agree she’s a stellar woman, a devoted mother, a loyal friend. Right now she’s basically homeless. Some nameless philanthropist who tries to help women coming out of terrible ordeals like hers let her use a rental property for a year. That’s how we got to know her. But that year is up and there’s another woman with children who needs a hand and our friend BJ has to move on. She’s staying with her brother while she looks for her next job, her next home.”
“Really? Someone just gave her a house?” Connie said.
“It’s a transition home, a stepping-stone,” Gerri said. “I hope someday I get to meet this person.”
“She was okay with that, but when I offered to have her move in with me, rent-free, she wouldn’t do it,” Sonja blurted. “She said she has to build self-esteem, support herself and her kids, that they’d remember that.”
“She’s right about that,” Connie said. “Kids. They won’t listen to a word you say, but they’ll end up acting like you acted while they were growing up. As a result I have two sons who are buying dilapidated real estate and working themselves to death to fix everything up. You’d think they’d have looked at our years of labor on this house, our bitter fights over what to do and how to do it, and choose another path.”
“Well, BJ is adamant,” Gerri said. “She doesn’t want any more charity. She has a decent job with her brother, who’s an electrician with a small company in Mill Valley, but there’s no way she can afford to rent here. I’ve been looking for another town somewhere around here where she can afford the rent and get a job.”
“Do you need a donation?” Connie asked.
There was silence for a moment. Gerri knew there was no point dragging things out. “No, Connie—it’s something much more personal. We wondered if you’d consider offering her a position as your property caretaker, with perhaps a break on the rental price of your guesthouse.” She shrugged. “Andy’s got her talons in Bob—she’s going to snatch him away from you. I understand that wouldn’t leave you without help, and I guess you’ve got lots of other family who could step in if you needed someone to look after the place—but that little house could take on BJ and her two kids for a good, long time. She could do it and keep her job with her brother—she could make sure your big house is tip-top, do whatever your caretaker routinely does. Any number of chores could be accomplished in the mornings, after work and school, on weekends. She could probably handle some housekeeping or errands or outside work, whatever is necessary. She’s young—thirty-five—energetic and tenderhearted. A real find. She’s doing a good job of turning her life around.”
There was a long silence. “My,” Connie said, clearly surprised, probably overwhelmed.
Gerri reached into her briefcase and withdrew a large envelope. “Don’t look at this until we leave, please. I printed out some newspaper articles and miscellaneous information about her that you’ll have to take into consideration. Her history is so shocking, we’ve all taken an oath not to share it—for the kids, of course. The kids should be free to have a normal life if they can. One thing that’s not in there that I’d like to point out—she has no ties to dangerous or felonious persons from her past. She comes from a solid, stable family, the only girl with three older brothers, all decent, law-abiding, hardworking and very supportive of her.”
“Her parents can’t help her?”
Gerri shook her head. “She can’t live in the same area as her abuser’s family and friends. I think you’ll understand when you graze through this stuff. One brother is here, the one with the business that employs her. The other two are still back in Fresno, but they come here often, whenever she needs a hand. It’s very important to her to earn her own way. She even has a fantasy that one day, when the kids are older, she’ll finish her education. Go to college.”
“How old are the kids?”
“A nine-year-old daughter, an eleven-year-old son.”
“But this is crazy. I shouldn’t consider something this bold without talking to Bob. Bob does know this woman, right?” Connie asked.
“He’s met BJ,” Andy said. “But he doesn’t know anything about her history. I honored the promise to keep it all quiet. But, Connie, Bob’s the last person I’d hesitate to tell. I’ve never known anyone like him when it comes to understanding and acceptance.”
“We shouldn’t say anything more, except that there are also references in this packet, people you can call to discuss her. And we vouch for her. We’d be willing to help if she’d take our help and we realize this is a real long shot. I mean, that guesthouse isn’t even empty yet!”
“Well, it is most nights,” Connie said with a sly smile, peering at Andy. “That makes me very happy, by the way. But are you two really ready to live together so soon?”
“Didn’t he tell you? He didn’t say it was a secret, so I guess it’s okay. He and Wendy have divorced now. He’s so thoughtful—he didn’t want me to feel he had any unfinished business. I swear, I didn’t ask him to do that.”
Connie’s mouth hung open slightly. She filled it with a bite of muffin. After she chewed and swallowed she spoke again. “I’ve been asking him for ten years if he was ever going to take care of that!”
“I guess he didn’t think it mattered. It was a complete surprise to me. But, he promised her they’d always be good friends. Isn’t that just so Bob?”
Connie nodded. “It’s so nice to have someone appreciate him as much as I do.”
“Well,” Gerri said, “I have to get to work. Listen, if you’d like a chance to meet BJ before you seriously consider this proposition, we’re having a neighborhood party next weekend and she promised to come back for it. She doesn’t know anything about this idea. We didn’t run it by her.” Gerri stood.
“Wait a minute? What about all these muffins?” Connie said.
“They freeze,” Gerri said with a smile. “And hopefully, you’ll have us back for coffee when we don’t have such an alarming agenda.” She put her hand out. “It was a real pleasure to meet you, Connie. Thanks for letting us knock you off your feet. No matter what comes of this, you’re a very good sport to even listen to us.”
A little reluctantly, Andy and Sonja also stood. Sonja reached across the table and tapped the envelope. “There’s something that isn’t in all those reports and articles. She saved my life twice. And she jogs with me every morning because it’s good for me. She doesn’t need me to go for a run—she’s been doing it for years. She drags me along because it’s good for me. She’s one of the best people in the world.”
“I’ll remember that,” Connie said, smiling.
“Listen, we understand it’s just not possible to ask you to consider anything more personal,” Andy said. “No matter what you decide, I’m going to try to take Bob off your hands, and I can’t wait to meet the rest of the family. I just hope you understand when it comes to a good friend, we have to step outside boundaries sometimes, take a risk, ask the unaskable.” She shrugged. “It’s just what you have to do if you believe in someone.”
Connie smiled gently. “I understand. Even if I can’t invite your friend to my home, I might think of something.”
“We’re up a creek,” Andy said. “She’s so proud. But—I guess that’s what got her through the worst of it.”
“Aren’t we all so lucky?” Connie said. “When you think about it? I mean, everyone has problems, but really we’ve all ended up being so lucky.”
“Well,” Sonja said, “square-footage-wise, I think you win.”
* * *
The block party came together nicely, even though it had depended almost entirely on Gerri and Andy making phone calls. The neighbors did all the work, but at least it was their usual w
ork, divided equitably. There was an enormous amount of food, activities were planned out, prizes for winners were displayed and the neighborhood children were kept busy and happy.
There was one new feature this year. A booth under a huge banner—Phil Gilbert for San Francisco County District Attorney. Although it was another county, many residents of Mill Valley commuted to San Francisco to work and word about him could spread. Plus, it was one of their own moving up in the world. Phil spent much of the day accepting congratulations and taking campaign donations from people he’d known for years.
BJ and her kids showed up, ate, played, ran a few races, hung out with Sonja, Andy and Bob most of the time. George—who really didn’t enjoy gatherings with a lot of people—came around and stayed much longer than anyone expected. Sonja didn’t seem in any way uncomfortable with him there. In fact, he had his arm casually draped over her shoulders or around her waist quite often. Noel attended, though he hadn’t brought his good friends, apparently not quite ready for that. But he was very chummy with Bob. They ran an egg relay together and although they did miserably, they seemed to find it hilarious.
It was getting a little late in the afternoon, close to five, when Phil found Gerri and pulled her against him. “Sneaky,” he said. “You found a way to keep me from drinking too much at the block party. Turn it into a campaign rally.”
“I had nothing to do with that,” she insisted. “It was them. God, I already hate them, your committee. They’re so damned bossy.”
“I know.” He laughed. “But I don’t have anyone better in mind and I guess they get the job done. After all, they got Clay elected and re-elected I don’t know how many times. And we both know...what we know,” he said.
“Are you going to put on the Velcro suit and let them throw you against the dartboard?” she asked, grinning. “You know that’s my favorite part of the whole party.”
“I was hoping to skip that this year. Since I’m not half-tanked and stupid.”
“Aww. Would you do it for me? Because I really love that.”
“You have a mean streak.”