Four Friends. Robyn CarrЧитать онлайн книгу.
in recovery, and this was her closest friend. She consoled herself that it was like giving up cigarettes—once the pain of withdrawal was past, Andy would gradually reclaim her stable self. Still, she resented the hours it would eat up, listening to the transgressions of Bryce.
Feeling grateful for her anything but ordinary yet predictable life and her committed spouse, she called Phil’s office. He was in court. His assistant said there was nothing on his calendar for lunch and Gerri, feeling like toasting her wonderful partnership and telling Phil how much she loved and appreciated him, called his cell phone. She knew it would be turned off for court. To his voice mail she said, “Hi. I’m coming into the city. I thought you might like to grab a quick lunch with me. No kids. I’m flying solo. My cell is on.”
* * *
The morning was almost gone and Andy was done crying. She was working on a list—things to do to scrape Bryce Jamison out of her life. Number one was to call Noel and explain. Noel was in his first year of community college and split his time between his mom’s, his dad’s and a couple of friends who had an apartment near the campus, thus he had missed the fireworks early this morning. But he’d witnessed plenty and Andy knew that was the reason he spent less than the majority of his time at her house. The most humiliating part was the knowledge that he reported back to his father and stepmother. Well, maybe that would change now; maybe he’d hang around more.
Empty the closet and drawers into boxes, she added. Call lawyer. Copy tax returns. Print out bank statements and close accounts. Cancel credit cards. As an afterthought she wrote, “Call gyn clinic, get screened.”
The doorbell rang and immediately she heard the sound of a key in the lock. Bob. She had forgotten about Bob. She looked around the dismantled kitchen and wondered how that was possible. Bob was the carpenter who was renovating the kitchen and he would have expected her to be at work as usual. He was slow and careful and had other jobs, so it took him longer, but the inconvenience was reflected in his price. Among Andy’s many regrets right now was that she’d decided to redo the kitchen. She wasn’t sure she could afford it now, without a husband.
Bob was whistling as he walked into the kitchen, carrying his toolbox and accompanied by his Lab, Beau. When he saw her sitting at the table, he shouted out in surprise, jumped back and grabbed at the front of his shirt. For a second he looked as if he might have a heart attack. Beau jumped, as well, but then he wandered over to Andy, tail wagging.
“Lord above,” Bob said in a shaky voice.
“Sorry, Bob,” Andy replied, giving Beau a pat. “I’m home today. It never occurred to me to call and warn you.”
He took a breath. “Whew,” he said, obviously willing his heart to slow. Then he bent a little, peering at her. “Not feeling so good?” he asked.
“I’m okay. Personal family business that needs taking care of. Help yourself to coffee if you like.”
He straightened. “Thanks so much.” He resumed his whistling and hefted his toolbox onto the kitchen counter. He retrieved a crowbar and began prying the baseboards off the walls and lower cupboards. He stopped whistling and asked, “You expecting the Goodwill truck today?”
Andy laughed in spite of herself. “No, Bob. I had a huge fight with my husband and threw his stuff on the lawn. I’ll have to go clean it up.”
“Hmm,” he said, turning back to his work. He didn’t ask any more questions.
After a bit, Andy refilled her coffee cup, which put her in his space for a moment. She leaned against the torn-up cabinet and asked, “Married, Bob?”
“Hmm. In a way,” he said.
Again she couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, gee whiz, you and my husband have something in common. He’s married in a way, too.”
Bob straightened and faced her. There was a sympathetic curve to his lips. He was a few years older than her; he had a sweet face, engaging smile and twinkling eyes. He might be considered a tad overweight, but Andy thought he looked a lot like a college football coach, or maybe a farmer—large and solid. Robust and cheerful. One of the reasons she’d hired him for the job, besides glowing recommendations, was his delightful disposition. She had trusted him to be alone in her house the moment she met him and after spending many hours together during the measuring, selecting and purchasing for the renovation, they almost qualified as friends, though she knew very little about him. He seemed the kind of man who’d give comfort well. She pictured him with a happy grandchild on his knee. “I’ve been separated for a long time,” he told her.
“Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“Nah, it’s okay. It’s been years now. My wife moved out and neither of us has bothered with a divorce.”
“Oh. What if one of you wants to get married?”
“Nah, I doubt it. Well, if she wanted a divorce, I’d be happy to split the cost with her, no problem. So you see, legally I’m married, but not really.”
“Children?” she asked.
“Unfortunately, no. It was a brief marriage, an uncomplicated split.”
Andy held her cup up to her lips. “I guess you must be over the worst of it by now.”
“Oh, yes,” he said, applying the crowbar to the baseboard and with a hearty pull, separating it from the bottom of the cupboard.
“Well,” she said, pushing herself off the counter. “I have things to do.”
“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