Robyn Carr - Four Friends

“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—”

“I thought you’d want to know about Sonja,” Gerri said. She put the wine and glasses on the table, reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a corkscrew. She went after the cork.

“I’ve been wondering about her,” BJ said. “Um...I very rarely drink alcohol.”

“Have a little sip of this, it’s good stuff. Unless you’re in recovery or something?”

“Just not much of a drinker. How is she?” BJ asked.

“Very unstable, but leveled out at the moment, thanks to drugs. They’re keeping her at least overnight to decide if she needs psychiatric intervention, medication, counseling, whatever. It turns out her husband left her yesterday. She went into a tailspin. Meltdown. You don’t know this about Sonja,” Gerri said, pouring, making sure BJ’s was just a small amount, a taste. “She’s the neighborhood health nut. She has a little business—she consults on all kinds of stuff—from feng shui to something she calls life patterning. She sells inner peace and tranquility, but she’s really always searching, always trying to find the answers. Herbs, exercise, meditation, holistic cures. She thought she had everything figured out. And yet—never saw it coming—he walked out on her without warning. She went down like a torpedo.”

“Wow. I thought she was just another suburban princess.”

“Yeah, that’s how she looks. Very superficial. But she’s the best person I know. She’d do anything for anyone. A few years ago, when she was still new on the block, I had a hemorrhoidectomy that just wiped me out. The pain was indescribable. My husband ran for his life, my best friend got weak in the knees and almost passed out just looking at me, but Sonja was there, giving me every kind of comfort she could pull out of her hat. Without her I don’t know what I would have done, and we were practically strangers. She removed the packing from my...” She stopped and shot BJ a look to find her smiling. BJ took a sip from her glass. “Well, suffice it to say, if not for Sonja, I wouldn’t have had a bowel movement in the past three years. She’s weird, but sincere. She believes all that shit.” Gerri sipped. “If it wasn’t for you today, we wouldn’t have rescued her. We would have left, waited for her to call.”

“I just thought the situation was strange. I’ve been watching you three for almost a year. She’d drive me crazy.”

“Yeah, she drives us crazy,” Gerri smiled. “Still...it is what it is.”

“You mind if I ask what you do? I know you work.”

“I work for Child Protective Services. Psychologist. I was a case worker for years and now, a supervisor.”

“No kidding? You’ve seen some stuff, then.”

“I’d venture to say I’m pretty desensitized. Life’s rough out there.”

“And you couldn’t see something was all screwed up with Sonja?” BJ asked, confused.

“I would have in a second,” Gerri said, defending herself. “But man, you got it right away.” She clinked BJ’s glass. “What do you do?”

“Nothing much. I work for my brother, an electrician with his own small business. I answer the phones, schedule for him and his guys, invoice. It’s not a big job, but it’s flexible and gets me by. I can cover the kids’ schedules.”

“Divorced?” Gerri asked.

BJ looked down. “Their father is dead.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly, not making eye contact. Then she lifted her eyes and said, “I haven’t had a glass of wine in so long. You’re right. I think it’s very good. I don’t know anything about wine, but I like it. This was nice of you.”

“It was the least I could do.”

“Listen, I know I haven’t been exactly...well, outgoing.”

“Hey, don’t apologize. I figured you for on the private side, which is fine. Maybe if I knock once in a great while, you’ll let me in. No obligation, of course. You should know—not that it matters to you—but the three of us, the power walkers, we’re all separated from our husbands. Within three weeks of each other. It’s brutal. I’m not here to dump, but just so you know. My husband’s trying to carry his part of the load, but I’m relying on my son Jed. He’s nineteen.”

BJ took a sip. “I’m sorry about that,” she said.

“Well, these things happen.” Something told her BJ didn’t want the details. She picked up the cork, shoved it back in the bottle and stood. “This is for you. Thanks for sharing it. I’ll let you get back to your evening.”

“It was nice of you to drop by,” BJ said, standing also. “I hope Sonja’s going to be all right.”

“She’ll be all right, we’ll look after her. Do you have my number, in case you ever need anything?”

“Need anything?” BJ asked.

“We’re a bunch of women without men around,” Gerri said. “At least I have a nineteen-year-old around much of the time. Yours are still so young. I’m right down the street. You never know when something might happen in the middle of the night—a fright or something. Emergencies, I mean. I’m not recruiting you for the neighborhood bake sale, I swear,” she added, smiling. “But I am on a first name basis with a lot of Mill Valley cops—CPS work and all.”

BJ went to the kitchen and got a pad of paper. “Wanna write it down for me?”

Gerri did so, then turned away from the table to go home. “Want mine?” BJ asked. “Even though I’m not much good in emergencies.”

Gerri went back to the table. “Looked to me like you’re great in emergencies. I wanted to be sure to say, I’m grateful that you got involved this morning. I suspect it was a very big step for you. It’s pretty easy to tell, you aren’t quite ready to get too involved.” BJ handed her a scrap of paper with a phone number. It said BJ above it, no last name. “Thanks for everything.”

“You’re welcome. Thanks for dropping by. For the wine.”

Gerri was all the way home before she realized she’d left the wineglasses on the table, two of her nicest. Well, there would come a time to get them. If she was any judge of BJ, she’d make it a point to return them so she’d have no ties. This was a woman nervous about attachments.