by Robyn Carr
Clay was standing in front of his windows, hands in his pockets, gazing out at the Golden Gate Bridge. He turned slowly toward Phil. “How do you like that view?”
“I’ve always liked that view.”
“Well, it’s going to be yours soon. It’s time, Phil. I’m not going to run again. I’m leaving for private practice and you’re the heir apparent. They want you to run, of course.”
What should have been the best news in his career, hit Phil in the pit of his stomach like a boulder. He tried not to let anything resembling panic show on his face. “I’ll have to talk to Gerri. The kids.”
“Fait accompli,” Clay said, waving it off. “You’ve been slated for this job for at least ten years. Tell her you’re finally running. She’ll be thrilled.”
Phil thought if one more thing appeared to be going right for him in the middle of Gerri’s breakdown, she might actually dig up some electrodes. He thought about explaining that the opportunity he’d always wanted couldn’t have come at a worse time, but instead, he said, “Private practice?”
“A transitional phase. I have my eye on the attorney general position. Public office tends to get into your blood.” He picked up a folder. “The committee for my reelection would like to meet with you as early as next week. You have the option of putting your own people in place, but I can vouch for these folks. At least hear what they have to say.”
“Really, Clay, I haven’t made my decision yet.”
“Meet with them, anyway. You have some time before you make the commitment, but I can’t see you turning your nose up at this. You’re ready, the prosecutor’s office is ready, the mayor will endorse you. It has your scent all over it.”
Phil took the folder. “Thanks, Clay. It’s an honor to be asked.”
* * *
Sonja was released from the hospital after two days. She was given a prescription for an antidepressant and a schedule of appointments for counseling, but her breakdown caused a one-hundred-eighty-degree turn in her behavior. She was lethargic and morose and it was hard for Gerri and Andy to know if it was the antidepressant slowing her down, if the medication just wasn’t working yet or if it was simply how a woman feels when her husband walks out on her.
George had taken Sonja to the psychologist for daily appointments the first week and three visits in her second week, but she was still extremely sluggish and hard to motivate.
Gerri and Andy met in the street in front of Sonja’s house at 6:00 a.m., each holding their coffee cups. For the past couple of days they’d been rousting Sonja out of bed to walk with them. If they didn’t, they feared she might lie there until she got bedsores.
“Ready?” Gerri asked.
“Are you sure this is the right thing to do? It makes me uncomfortable,” Andy said.
“We have to. She has to get up, get moving, get some exercise, work off the side effects of the antidepressant, or of George—who knows which. Give her another week, she’ll start making her way back. Besides—” Gerri grinned “—think of it as tit for tat.”
They went to Sonja’s door, unlocked it and entered. The house was different now after just two weeks. It was no longer like walking into a pristine health spa—light, airy and calm with gurgling waterfalls, aroma therapies from spices and herbs to lavender. Now it was musty and dark, blinds drawn, dishes stacked in the sink, shoes kicked off anywhere, clothes tossed over chairs or sofas. In the bedroom, dirty clothes were left on the floor where they’d been dropped, and there was Sonja, a lump in the rumpled bed that looked suspiciously as though it hadn’t been made in forever.
“Jeez, it’s starting to look like my house,” Gerri said. She opened the blinds in the bedroom, though it was just beginning to get light outside. She pulled back the covers and tugged on Sonja’s arm. “Come on, La-La. Time to walk.”
“Humph,” Sonja said, limp. “I think I’ll have a day off.”
“No days off while the happy drug is moving through your veins. You have to get up. It’s time to walk! Come on! You’ll feel better, I promise!”
Sonja achieved a sitting position, skinny legs dangling, head down, her snarly hair canopying her face.
Andy was digging around on the floor for some sweats and a T-shirt. She found some wrinkled clothes and held them out to Gerri. They were the pretty salmon-colored sweats, but were definitely not clean.
Gerri reached for the sweatpants and Sonja flopped backward on the bed. “Humph,” she muttered. “Maybe later, huh?”
Gerri squatted and began working Sonja’s feet into the sweats. She started to laugh in spite of herself. “Oh, man, there was a time I would’ve paid to see this. Come on, my little La-La lamb, up you come. Don’t make me slap you.”
“You wouldn’t slap me,” she muttered, slowly pulling herself upright. Then she just stood there, the sweats around her ankles.
Gerri gave her a second, then resigned, she stooped, grabbed the waist of the sweats and pulled them up, tying them around Sonja’s middle. She pulled the nightshirt over Sonja’s head and watched as her arms just flopped back to her sides. “I could use a little help here, Sonja,” Gerri said. Sonja slowly opened her eyes into mean little slits.
Gerri laughed at her. “Want a bra? Or are you free-boobin’ it today?”
“Bra,” Sonja said miserably.
Andy handed Gerri a sports bra plucked out of the pile of dirty clothes and Gerri handed it to Sonja. “Get with the program, Sonja. You know I can’t get you in this thing.”
Sonja took it, put it over her head and wiggled her arms through the holes, pulling it down tight over her small breasts. Next were the T-shirt and shoes. Then Gerri grabbed Sonja’s hand and said, “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”
On the way through the living room, Gerri grabbed a sweatshirt off the back of the sofa and held it for Sonja to shrug into. Then they went out the front door.
Standing in the street at the end of Sonja’s sidewalk was BJ. “Morning,” she said. “I thought maybe I’d walk with you today. If that’s all right.”
“Well, this is a nice surprise,” Gerri said. “Isn’t this a nice surprise, Sonja?”
“Leave her alone,” Sonja said meanly. “She needs her run.”
BJ surprised them by laughing. “Getting a little feisty, aren’t ya, girlfriend? Well, you wait, I’ll have you running right alongside me before you know it.”
five
ANDY HAD MEETINGS after school and was late getting home. She didn’t bother stopping for a take-out dinner. When she walked into her kitchen from the garage, she saw Bob sitting at the new breakfast bar. He stood immediately, grinning. He wasn’t wearing his overalls, but a knit shirt and jeans, all spruced up. He threw his chest out, lifted his chin. When he did that, Andy thought he looked so confident and in charge, patriarchal. With that pose, he looked as if he should be standing in a photo behind a wife and seven sons, the proud leader of a strong clan.
Andy looked around. Blond oak cabinets, granite countertops, gleaming ceramic floor, shiny appliances, new stainless-steel sink, freshly painted trim. It was flawless and stunning. She shook her head, looked down at her feet and sniffed. A couple of tears spilled from her eyes and she gave a hiccup of emotion.
“Oh, you don’t like it,” he said, deflating in disappointment.
She lifted her head, the tracks of tears glistening on her cheeks. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “It’s more beautiful than I imagined it could be.”
“I hardly ever do a good enough job to make someone cry.”
“I don’t want it to be finished,” she said.
“But it took two weeks longer than my estimate,” he said. “The sooner the better, you said. I should probably give you a discount.”
Beau was sitting right in front of the kitchen sink, alert, wagging his tail expectantly. Andy walked toward him and reached into the jar of dog cookies she’d been keeping for weeks. Whenever she came home, he got a cookie and a pat. Then he’d lie back down, content, polite.
> “I just don’t know what I’ll do without you,” she sniffed. “I couldn’t have gotten through the past month if you hadn’t been here almost every day.”
He gave her a sweet smile. “Come over here and sit down,” he said. “Let’s talk this through.”
She sat across from him at the breakfast bar. There in front of him was his final invoice, the balance due, her house key sitting on top of it, and it nearly made her crumble. He reached his hands across the short space and took both of hers. His fingers were thick, his nails clean and trim, calluses on his fingers and palms. It was the first time they’d actually touched and she loved the feel of his hands.
He gave hers a little squeeze. “You did get through it, Andy. You’re going to be fine. You rise again and again, remember?”
“Because of you,” she said. “You helped with everything.”
He shook his head. “Nah, that’s not true. You’ve been through a rough time. You’re a little vulnerable, that’s all. Just talking about things probably helped—it usually does. But you’re young, beautiful, you have good friends, that son of yours—he seems like a fine boy. I can’t help thinking what a comfort it must be to have a son—you’ll never be alone.”
“I’m not young, Bob. Or beautiful...” She sniffed.
He laughed. “I guess it all depends on where you’re standing. That’s how you seem to me. Really, if you’ll just think about it, you have every reason to be happy, have a nice life.”
She grabbed a tissue off the gleaming new counter. But then she immediately took his hand again, not wanting to let go.
“What is it now? You’ve always been so positive,” he said. “In the worst of it, you haven’t been this emotional. I don’t even remember you getting upset when the TV and stereo went away.”
She chuckled through her tears and shrugged. “Because I was never so happy to see anything go away in my life!”
“There you go,” he said. “You’re about to start a whole new life.” He grinned. “With a whole new kitchen!”
“Why’d I have to do the kitchen?” she said. “I live alone. Noel’s hardly ever here and I sure don’t cook for myself. I don’t even like to cook very much.”
“But don’t you just have the slickest counter, the prettiest wallpaper to look at while you’re eating your takeout?” He laughed and pulled his hands back. “I’ve enjoyed it, too, Andy. We were lucky—we had a good working relationship. Doing this kitchen was pure joy for me.”
“It was?” she asked.
“It was indeed. I don’t know when I’ve had so much fun. But I have a favor to ask. Would it be all right to come back on the weekend, when it’s nice and sunny in the kitchen, and get a few pictures of the finished job? It’s for the book I showed you, the one I use to show potential clients.” He lifted his chin and looked around. “I’m especially proud of this one. I owe it to you—you let me have my way about some things I’ve wanted to do for a while now.”
She glanced over her shoulder. He’d talked her into the wine rack right in the breakfast bar, the paint trim around the wallpaper, the black granite with the blond wood, the smoky glass in the cupboard doors, scalloped trim underneath. She looked back at him. “It’s awesome.” She stood and went to the cupboard for two wineglasses. “We’re going to toast it,” she said. She pulled a bottle of wine out of the new rack. “Pinot Noir okay with you?”
“Fantastic,” he said.
She removed the cork, poured them each a small amount and watched as Bob swirled, sniffed, tasted, gave a nod. She poured them a little more and lifted her glass. “To your amazing talent,” she said, composed once again.
“To your trust, patience and money,” he replied with a laugh, touching her glass.
“Money!” she said. “I have to write you a check.”
“After the wine, Andy. Nothing better than enjoying a job well done.”
“You really put your heart into it, Bob. And cleaned up so nicely.”
“I’m afraid the rest of the house is probably a disaster from all the construction dust. It’s the nature of the beast.”
“I’ll give it a good cleaning on Saturday. Why don’t you come over on Sunday? Hey, how about dinner on Sunday, after your pictures are taken?”
“That’s awful nice, Andy, but I probably shouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“You don’t like to cook for one thing.”
“I’ll make an exception for a really good carpenter. Noel might be here, too—of course, I have to schedule an appointment with him.”
“Kids,” he said laughing. “It’s a real busy time of life. All right—what the heck. But only if you promise not to get all weepy on me again. I can’t stand to see you sad about anything.”
“I promise,” she said, smiling. She reached for her purse and got out her checkbook. She wrote a check, tore it out and pushed her purse aside. Bob’s hand was out to accept the payment, but she put it on the counter and slid it away. “No,” she said. “First tell me one more time about growing up on that farm up north. About your dad and your sisters.”
So he told her another story about his dynamic father, the strength in their family, a man of great humor and understanding—probably what had helped her form that image of Bob as the head of a clan of fun, hardworking, life-loving people. When he got to the part where his father died too young—only sixty-four—for a moment Andy identified with Sonja, feeding her husband grass and herbs, lighting candles around him to keep him balanced and healthy and safe for as many years as possible.
The thing about Bob was, even when he got to that part where he lost his father, he could tell it pleasantly, as though that was also an important passage in his life. His memories of the man were stronger than his grief at the loss.
She picked up the wine bottle to pour, but he put a hand over the top of his glass. “I have to go, Andy. Connie is just home from the hospital after her gallbladder surgery.”
“Oh,” she said. “She probably needs your help.”
“No,” he smiled. “She’s all taken care of, but I’d like to visit with her for a little while. I like to make her laugh and watch her grab her fat middle and groan.”
“That’s evil.”
“I know,” he said. “It’s a side of me I just can’t control.” He reached for the check, folded it and slipped it in his pocket. “What time on Sunday? I’d like to come before it’s too late—I want to get pictures while it’s light in here.”
“Is five too late?”
“That should be perfect. I’ll see you then. Come on, Beau. Time to go.”
The dog got up and went directly to the back door, wagging his tail and looking over his shoulder at Bob. I might just have to get a dog, Andy thought.
“Thank you,” he said. “See you Sunday.”
When he was gone, she leaned her forehead against the door and felt the sting of tears again. What in the hell is the matter with me, she wondered. I’m out of my mind!
* * *
Noel and Jed had been inseparable in grade school, played on the same sports teams in middle school, were good buddies who drifted in different directions in high school. While they developed individual interests, they always remained close even when they didn’t spend a lot of time together. After graduation they attended the same community college—each of their mothers had decided they needed a year to mature before going to a large university—but they didn’t have any of the same classes. Jed leaned toward pre-law while Noel was more interested in the arts. Plus, Jed had Tracy—girlfriends took up time.
When they were little they looked as if they could have been brothers, a couple of skinny, freckled blond boys, but as they developed their own personalities, so did they come into unique appearances. Noel was a healthy, strong five-nine with clear, slightly olive skin, dark eyes and dark, curly hair like Andy’s. Jed took after his father. He was tall and lean, just over six feet reaching for Phil’s six-two, with thick, sandy-brown hair.
Despite the fact that they moved in different circles, they remained trusted confidants and the best of friends.
It was a rare Saturday night that neither had any commitments. Noel was trying to spend a little more time at his mother’s house since Bryce had left and Jed’s girlfriend was at some chick thing, leaving him on his own. Noel had called Jed to catch up and when they realized it was a free evening, they met at the park a few blocks from their houses at 10:00 p.m. They sat at a picnic table in the dark under a big tree. They could hear the noise from a raucous volleyball game on a brightly lit sand court not too far away.
Noel fired up a joint, inhaled it greedily and passed it to Jed. He held in the smoke for a moment and then let it out. “So...he around at all? Your dad?”
Jed took a healthy hit, held it. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess they have some kind of deal about who’s picking up Matt and Jess, unless one of ’em calls and tells me to do it. It happened right here, man. He was sitting right here when he told me.”
“How’d he do it?” Noel asked.
“Straight to the point. He cheated on my mom and she went out of her mind. Booted him out.”
Noel sucked on the joint, passed it back. “You think they’re gonna split?”
Jed took his hit. “They are split, man. It’s just up in the air if they stay split. I know I’m supposed to feel sorry for my mom—I mean she got the bad end, right? But my dad... Christ, he almost cried telling me. I almost hugged him, y’know?”
Noel laughed, accepted the joint. “Is this good shit or what?”
“Very good shit. I’m gettin’ high. Startin’ to think about Tracy already.”
Noel giggled. “I’ve got another one. By the time we finish it, you won’t be thinking at all....”
“So...you okay with Bryce leaving?”
“Okay?” he asked. “Okay? Aw, shit, he couldn’t leave fast enough to make me happy. Problem is, my mom thinks I should be at home all the time now.”
