Four Friends. Robyn Carr

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      “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 СКАЧАТЬ