Four Friends. Robyn Carr

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      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—”

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