Four Friends (18 page)

“But I didn’t pack a bag for her. I didn’t even bring her purse.”

“Perfect,” Dr. Kalay said. “She doesn’t need anything and the purse would be taken away from her during admission, anyway. I’m going to suggest she not have visitors for about ten days, then we’ll reassess, but you’re welcome to call me to inquire about her progress any time you like.”

“Is she going to be all right?” Gerri asked. She’d had clients admitted to psychiatric hospitals before, but this felt so personal, so emotional, it left her shaken.

“I’m optimistic. Sonja is forty and has been functional for many years. I believe once she benefits from medication and therapy, she’ll be functional again.”

“And happy?” Gerri asked. “Because she was always happy.”

Dr. Kalay smiled kindly. “I’m counting on that. But please be patient. It’s a process that takes some time. And so much is up to Sonja.”

“I know,” Gerri said in a breath, afraid she had seen Sonja giving up. “Did I tell you everything? About her packing up all her feng shui and meditation and natural food stuff? Her relaxation CDs? Her little fountains and—”

“Yes, Gerri. You told me.”

“And that she hadn’t bathed? That she was pulling...pulling out her hair?”

Dr. Kalay nodded, that soft smile still in place. “Can you please leave her in my hands now?”

“Yeah,” she said, running her hand through her hair again. “But I did promise her I wouldn’t leave her....”

Dr. Kalay shook her head patiently. “She’s not aware of any promises right now, it’s all right. You can go. I can take it from here. She’s safe with me. Trust me.”

“I asked her to trust
me,
” Gerri said softly, hanging her head. She turned to go, but at the door she turned back. “Thank you. Please take good care of her.”

“I’ll do everything I can,” the doctor said.

“Will you call her husband? I understand it’s not really his fault, but I don’t want to call him. I don’t think I can talk to him.”

“I’ve already spoken with him twice. The insurance, you know. He’s aware. If it’s any consolation to you, he’s being extremely helpful.”

“He’d better be. Because it might not be his fault, but she was fine before he—”

“It’s so much harder to be objective when it’s a loved one,” Dr. Kalay said, cutting her off. “I know you understand how this often works. If not the separation, perhaps an accident, an illness, a death in the family, a financial crisis. There is so often a precipitating factor that is not the cause. I think I should get back to Sonja now.”

“Yes. Of course, yes,” Gerri said, though it was very hard to leave. She heard the lock on the clinic door slide into place behind her and it sounded so like the crashing closure of prison-cell doors.

Gerri drove back to Sonja’s house and parked the car in the garage. She found Andy and BJ just finishing up and they’d done far more than surface clean—they had the place just about up to the old Sonja standards in record time. She filled them in while they worked together to fold a final load of laundry and run the vacuum around the master bedroom. She reassured them—Dr. Kalay was very kind, very sensitive, and Sonja was safe and could begin healing. In fact, Gerri was more convincing to them than she was to herself. Gerri kept having visions of Sonja sitting on the couch, blankly staring at the TV while biting off her nails and tugging on her hair for two long weeks while her friends assumed she was simply responding to new medication with grogginess, lethargy. It must have been such a lonely, frightening time for her.

Finally Gerri went home, emotionally depleted.

When she walked in the front door, she was met with complete silence. She walked farther into the house—no one seemed to be around. She went through the kitchen and found Phil in the office he’d only visited for the past several weeks. He was using the computer rather than his laptop. He swiveled his chair around to face her as she stood in the doorway. “Where is everyone?” she asked him.

“Jed’s at Tracy’s for a while. We talked for an hour this morning—he’s repentant and maybe one degree smarter. Jessie was up for a while, had something to eat and went back to bed, and Matt’s down the street playing ball with his friends. You get everything taken care of at Sonja’s?”

“Not really,” she said, shaking her head. “Oh, the house is clean now. Laundry done. But I had to take Sonja to the hospital. They’re admitting her for a couple of weeks, maybe a month. She’s...she’s...” Gerri dropped her chin, looking down.

Phil stood and came toward her. “What happened?”

She lifted her eyes and a large tear spilled over. “She cracked. Went completely over the edge when George... God, Phil.” She gasped with sobs that begged to be torn free, that when facing the best friend she’d had in her lifetime she could no longer rein in. “She was tearing out big hunks of her
hair.
”

“Oh, honey,” he said, pulling her into his arms.

She leaned against him and cried hard tears and he pulled her back into the room and down onto his lap. He held her and for a few minutes all she did was cry against his shoulder, his arms around her, reminding her so painfully that this was where she’d always found safety and ballast. Because of that, she started to wrestle free. “I can’t do this, I can’t.”

But he pulled her back. “It’s okay, Gerri. It’s okay to do this. It doesn’t commit you to anything to let me comfort you a little.”

“Oh, God,” she said, crumbling against him. “Oh, God, you’ll just confuse me.”

“Stop it,” he said, holding her. “You were never confused about this. I come to you when things are bad, you come to me. That’s how it is with us, no matter what else is happening.”

“No,” she said. “It’s not the same as it was.”

“Stop it,” he said. “
This
is the same as it was. Honey, I’m so sorry about your friend.” She felt his hand stroking her back while she cried and she remembered. She had always depended on him in her very worst moments. And he’d never let her down. Even when there had been someone else.

But she forced that out of her mind and stayed right where she was, burying her face into his neck, smelling him, feeling him. And he did what he’d always known how to do—made her feel that everything was going to be all right. Given her state, she decided the illusion was worth the risk.

seven

AFTER SPENDING MOST of the day at Sonja’s house Andy had to rush around. She’d done her own housecleaning, but not her primping and cooking. She felt strangely nervous and the whole time she was showering, choosing clothes, fixing her makeup and hair, she had one thought. It’s
just Bob.

But it was also Beau. Surely he’d know it was okay to bring Beau. And while it hadn’t been very long since she’d seen Bob, she was positively elated that he was coming back to take pictures and join her for dinner. They would tell stories and laugh and hopefully he’d be in no rush to leave.

She couldn’t quite figure out what it was that had her so completely enchanted by him—he certainly wasn’t her usual type of man. But, she hadn’t had a real male friend in longer than she could remember. There was something about a man’s perspective on things. Not just any man’s perspective, but Bob’s. He was so deeply honest and guileless. He seemed innocent, but he was not. He’d certainly shouldered some of life’s harsher blows—he’d lost a woman he loved. Yet he was the most understanding and forgiving man she’d ever known. Conversations with him were soothing and warm and exactly what she needed. But there was something she couldn’t put her finger on—spirit, maybe. Or soul. He was so right with himself. He was alone with only that one brief relationship to report and had every reason to be grumpy, bitter, but he actually appeared grateful he’d had his wife in his life. Anyone else would’ve been hurt and angry. Andy wanted to know how he did that. How did he turn his heartaches into blessings?

She was very careful with how she staged the evening. Casual place settings, plenty of light and no candles, hearty food for a hearty man. She didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. She was absolutely going to make a play for him—but for his friendship, nothing more. This was Bob, just an ordinary guy and not some young stud. She wanted to keep him in her life because he made her feel so full when he was around, but it would be cruel to mislead him, have him question her motives. He must not feel seduced. If that happened, they’d have to talk it out, get their boundaries back and she knew she might lose him in the process.

But when she opened the door to him, she
hugged
him. She was so startled by her own reaction, she jumped back before he could return the hug. “Well,” he said, grinning, “wasn’t that nice.”

“I’m sorry. I think I really missed having you around.”

“Don’t be sorry. Been a while since a pretty young girl hugged me.”

“Bob.” She laughed. “I’m not a young girl. I hate to admit it but I’m actually a middle-aged woman.” She crouched down to give Beau a proper welcome, scratching behind his ears. “Oh, thank goodness, I was afraid you might not bring him.”

“I thought about leaving him home. But then, he pouts when he’s left behind and he does like it here. He’s had dinner.”

“I’d have been so disappointed if you hadn’t brought him.” She straightened. “Hurry up—take your pictures so we can just relax.”

He came in, saw that the kitchen table—not the formal dining room table—was set for two. “Aw, you couldn’t get an appointment with your boy?”

“Oh, I started out with a commitment from him, but his life went to hell in one night and he ran scared,” Andy said.

Bob looked at her, lifted his eyebrows and waited.

“He was here last night, got together with his best friend and they smoked a couple of joints in the park. The police cited them and Noel came home stoned with a ticket in his pocket.”

“Oh, boy,” Bob said. “He’s nineteen, right? Isn’t it amazing that nineteen doesn’t make them all that much smarter than seventeen?”

“Or fifteen,” she said. “I made us a brisket.” She looked over at Beau, sitting patiently in front of the sink, waiting for his biscuit. “Oh, did I forget something?” she asked, going to him.

Bob pulled a small digital camera out of his pocket and began snapping pictures quickly, from various angles. “You’re spoiling him, and you’re going to make him fat like me.”

“You’re not fat,” she said. “You’re perfect. Generous.”

“
You’re
generous.” He laughed. “It smells pretty good in here.”

“It is good. I know how to make about three things. And if you eat all your dinner, I bought dessert.”

“Oh, Beau,” he said, bending to the dog. “Andy likes to spoil us.” Then he turned to Andy. “I’m sorry Noel isn’t here. I’d looked forward to getting to know him a little. He seems like such a nice kid.”

“He’s a great kid. When I think about what I put him through, I shudder. And he’s been so good. It was nice of him not to get completely screwed up.”

“
You
put him through?” Bob said, still snapping his pictures.

“Well, it was the two of us for a long time after Rick left. Until Rick got himself resettled with the new wife. And a baby—they had a baby right away and another child right after that. Then later, I dated a lot—that can’t be very easy on a young boy, although I was careful about it. No one spent the night if Noel was here. But then I brought Bryce into his life, and I think Bryce was less mature than my son. There were so many fights, mine and Bryce’s, and Bryce’s fights with Noel...the poor kid.”

Bob slipped his camera into his pocket. “You taking the blame for that, Andy?”

“Well, he’s my son,” she said with a shrug. “It’s my job to protect him, to do my best by him. You know.”

“He’s a nice kid, Andy. I’d say you did just fine.”

“Except for the pot,” she added.

“I smoked a little pot in college. I mean, I didn’t want to—but it was Berkeley, it was the law.” Then he grinned. “God that was a long time ago. Kind of makes me nostalgic.”

“Don’t get any ideas about getting high with my son,” she teased.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’m so dull, I don’t have a vice left.”

“How about alcohol? You hang on to that vice? Because I have cold beer and a nice bottle of red wine.”

“I admit, I’m weak when it comes to a cold beer,” he said.

“Let’s take one out to the patio,” she said. “The weather’s so perfect. Chilled glass?”

“Bottle or can, Andy. I’m pretty low maintenance. By the way, this is awful special, you cooking. I must’ve done okay on the kitchen.”

She pulled a couple of bottles out of the new fridge. “Yeah,” she said, smiling to herself. “You did a good job on the kitchen.”

They sat outside and talked about his growing up outside Santa Rosa on a farm, and her growing up south, in San Louis Obispo, an only child like Noel. Her mother passed when she was only twenty-five; that was especially hard. But her father was alive and well and in excellent health. Bob asked about Noel as a baby and young boy; she asked about his sisters—there were three, only one of whom stayed in California. They talked so long the brisket almost burned. The mashed potatoes were packaged, the vegetables frozen, the rolls from the bakery, but Bob seemed thrilled. He dug right in. Of course, Bob also seemed like the kind of guy who’d have been honored if she served him up a charred briquette.

She poured glasses of Cabernet to go with the red meat and sat. “I want to hear more about you and your wife,” she said.

“There’s not too much to tell, Andy. I think we were just friends. Literally.”

“Were you in love with her?” she asked.

“Oh, yes,” he said. “I adored her, still do. It was over ten years ago I met her, through a dating service, if you can believe that. My sister made me do it—in fact, she filled out the forms.” He laughed and shook his head. “I guess she knew I’d never do anything under my own power. She was probably afraid of being stuck with me for life. So, I met Wendy and she was young, pretty, incredibly smart—and she liked me. All the blood rushed out of my head and didn’t reoxygenate my brain for two years. I’ll probably always love that girl. But, that’s pretty much beside the point.”