Four Friends (30 page)

“Huh?” Sonja asked. “What rest of it? That’s when I went nuts. What more could you possibly want?”

“Well,” Paul said, “you were faced with some choices. You could’ve concentrated on taking his money or his kids, or finding yourself a better man—I mean, you’re young and beautiful. Or you could’ve shot him or poisoned him or something, but you turned all that rage on yourself. So, what else went down?”

“Nothing else, and he doesn’t have kids,” she said. “I mean, there were little things—George said he was peeing so much he thought he had prostatitis. It turned out to be all the little fountains in the house. All that trickling water made him want to pee all the time. When I’d ask him what he had for lunch he’d always say he had a plate of grass. He said he wanted less candlelight, more flavor, loud annoying, aggressive sports on TV instead of all that relaxing in serenity...” She hiccupped. “I don’t like to admit that I wasn’t listening to those things. I thought I knew what was best.”

“For you,” Paul said.

“No. No.”

“For you,” he repeated. “You were clear on what worked for you. But it made him think he had prostatitis. Did you ever think he might be okay eating and drinking what he wants to?”

“But everyone knows that’s unhealthy.” Sonja turned to Blythe pleadingly. “Doesn’t everyone know that’s unhealthy?” she asked. She didn’t allow herself to say what she really thought.
Even you?

“Well, sometimes it’s just as unhealthy to live rigidly, in denial, in deprivation. I mean, I don’t make any argument for cocaine—so don’t work me over here. But really, if I’d stuck to red meat and Scotch, I wouldn’t be here in group.”

“Sonja—is there anything you can tell us about before you were married that might factor in?” Martin asked. “What about your parents? Your home life?”

“It was just average,” she said with a shrug. “I mean, they weren’t ever into this health regimen of mine, but they were just ordinary people.”

“You have brothers and sisters?”

“I had an older brother,” she said, tearing up again. “He died in a car crash when he was seventeen. My parents never got over it. It was so hard on them. I was four years younger. They kind of locked down the house for a few years.”

“And you stayed there until you were thirty? Did you talk about his death much?” Martin asked.

“That has nothing to do with—”

“Could we just look at that a minute?” Martin interrupted. “Did you? Talk about his death much?”

She was too exhausted to fight it. So it came out. Todd was killed in a freak accident when he was seventeen and she was thirteen. Her parents tightened the leash on her to keep her alive through her high school years, removing her from the mainstream of a typical adolescent social life, but they never talked about their pain, their grief. She didn’t go to college, never—unremarkably—had a normal social life. By the time she was twenty-four, undereducated for a young woman in her age-group or economic status, her father was starting to treat her as if she were some kind of weirdo living in her strange world of spiritual balance and inner peace. When she met and married George, her parents were relieved someone responsible and capable was taking her off their hands.

“When did the dependence on these tools appear?” Martin asked. “How old were you when you started meditating, or whatever came first?”

Sonja shrugged. “I stopped eating meat at fourteen or so. I’m not sure I was meditating, but I taught myself how to rest my body and get in a trancelike place, thinking nice thoughts. It kind of started there and grew. They were just things that felt better than what was happening in my life.”

“And did your parents get any kind of help for their pain?” Paul asked.

She shook her head and explained. The minister suggested a grief group, but instead, they stopped going to church. They were like a couple of zombies for at least four years, growing old fast, so worn-out and tired all the time. So silent. They didn’t talk to her or each other. They looked like they were dying. She didn’t want to be like that. She knew her brother wouldn’t have wanted that. She missed him horribly but found a way to feel at peace. If there was anything as difficult as watching her parents wither in their pain, it was feeling fine in the midst of it. Or at least insisting to herself that she had to be fine and not crazy like them.

By the time she got to the end of the brief synopsis of her life, she was sobbing again; snot was running again. It was as if she had never spent any emotion on her brother before.

“He shouldn’t have died, you know,” she whimpered.

“Sonja,” Susan said. “If your parents hadn’t fallen apart like that, would it have given you permission to be less stoic? Less strong in the face of the greatest loss of your young life? You were only thirteen.”

All Sonja could do was nod wearily. She didn’t even look up.

“Whoa,” Blythe said. “More breakthrough.”

“Kind of sounds like the conflict for you goes back further than a couple of months ago with George,” someone said.

“Maybe,” Sonja said. She felt weak, worn down to a nub. “But back then, way back then, I never hurt myself. I wasn’t crazy. I didn’t tear my hair out or bite my nails.”

“Or want to kill yourself?” Paul asked.

She shook her head.

“Sonja,” someone said. “Sonja, way back then—were you hanging on for dear life? Holding back the pain?”

“Maybe,” she said in a voice so soft she could hardly be heard. “But if I was, I never knew it....”

“Right below the surface,” Paul said in a voice that was uncharacteristically gentle for him. “All those years. Right below the surface.”

It was quiet for a moment. Sonja could barely lift her head. Then Martin spoke. “Well, folks, this has been an emotional session. I think we’ll call it a night. We can’t do all our work in one session. How about an early out?”

Several people voiced their agreement. Blythe put her hand over Sonja’s. “You okay, girlfriend?”

“Okay,” Sonja said weakly. She felt as if she should lie down right away and sleep for a year or so.

Everyone rose to file out, but several of them brushed by her to give her a pat on the shoulder or a word of encouragement or praise before leaving. Paul paused while she was collecting herself. “Let me give you a lift home,” he said.

“No. I’m fine.”

“Actually, I think you might be emotionally exhausted. You worked very hard tonight. I’d be happy to drive you.”

“No,” she said again, rising. But then she wavered on her feet and he caught her elbow.

“Listen, if you’re worried about leaving your car here, I could pick you up in the morning to ferry it home again. Unless you can arrange that easily, but it’s no trouble for me. I don’t go to work all that early. By morning, you’ll feel rested.” He cracked a smile. “You’re going to sleep pretty well tonight.”

“I don’t know...I don’t trust you so much....”

He surprised her with a laugh. “I know. It’s perfectly safe, though. They check us nutjobs out pretty thoroughly before letting us in a group like this. Even Blythe. Besides, we’ll let Martin know I’m driving you tonight.”

“I really am kind of worn-out...”

“Yeah, of course. I went through a similar thing in this group. I thought I’d been filleted. It was like there were no bones left in my body. Like my brain had been sucked out through my ear.”

“Really? When was that? What was that about?”

“Sorry,” he said, smiling kindly. “No inside stuff outside of group. You want to ask me about that, it happens when everyone is around. Right now, it’s just a ride. That’s all. No ulterior motives.”

Sonja was a little shocked. “That’s very nice of you.”

“We usually look out for each other when we can,” he said with a shrug. “Helping gets you helped sometimes.”

“You weren’t all that helpful,” she said with a scowl. “I wanted you to leave me alone. You especially.”

He chuckled. “I know. It’s a dirty job.”

eleven

BOB DIDN’T WANT to get in the way of mother-son business, so he made himself pretty scarce in case Noel showed up at Andy’s. He checked in by phone to be sure she was holding up all right, to see if Noel had come out of hiding, if they had talked, if there was anything he could do. Then, thanks to her neighbor’s son, they finally made phone contact and met at her house later the same night. According to Andy, Noel was pretty upset by his dad’s reaction but had known all along it would be like that. At least mother and son had talked it out, were back in touch.

And then Andy did something that thrilled Bob. She called him and said, “Are you available tonight? Because I really need to be with you. I’ve missed you so much!” Nothing in the world could have given Bob more pleasure, more deep down joy. So he took her out to her favorite Mexican restaurant, bought her a very large margarita, held her hand on the patio under the starlight for a long time while she talked about it and then they went back to Andy’s house, to the bedroom. She was feeling a lot of distress, worried about what Noel was going through, how difficult it would be coming out, facing people like Rick who could judge him so harshly, with such blistering rage. Bob had known from his sisters, it doesn’t matter how old your kids are, when they hurt, you hurt. And this had to be so rough on the kid, to be disowned like that, separated from not only his dad, but from his younger brothers, as though he’d give them some kind of disease. So Bob held Andy until she fell asleep. He cradled her against him as gently as he could.

That same night, late, after they had fallen asleep, the phone rang. It was Noel asking if it would be all right if he slept there that night. He heard Andy say, “Of course, honey. Bob is here. Will you have a problem with that?” And then she said, “Good, because I want him to be here. I don’t want to send him home.”

When the key slipped in the lock at eleven-thirty, Andy rose, put on her robe and left the bedroom. It was only about ten minutes before she was back, crawling in bed, curling up next to Bob. “He looks all right,” she whispered. “Maybe we’ll get through this.”

“Sure you will,” he said, pulling her to him, giving her the comfort of his arms.

In the morning, Bob rose quietly at dawn—some habits were hard to break. He dressed, let Beau out and set up the coffeemaker. He fed Beau while it perked. Andy had purchased a couple of bowls and a bag of dog food for Beau, something that made Bob feel so welcome in her home. He took Beau and a cup of coffee onto the patio and watched the sun rising. He wondered if Andy fully appreciated the value of her lifestyle, the solid, pretty little house in a nice neighborhood, so quiet all the time. His sister and brother-in-law lived in a much grander house with a guard at the gate in their neighborhood, but he preferred this.

He’d been out there about fifteen minutes when Noel appeared at the back door. He looked scruffy, his curly black hair all crazy. He was wearing last night’s clothes, hadn’t showered or shaved. The kid had a rugged beard; all that black Greek hair from Andy’s side. “Morning,” he said. “I’m going to shove off.”

“Aw, don’t be in such a rush,” Bob said. “I’ve never known a nineteen-year-old with plans this early. Grab a cup. Come outside and take a look at this morning.”

“Naw, I’ll just—”

“I don’t bite, Noel. Give yourself a break. At least stay till your mom gets up.”

He shook his curly mop of hair, but in a minute he was back with coffee and he grabbed a chair. Beau lumbered up and put his head in Noel’s lap and Noel stroked it, almost unconsciously. “So, you want to ask me questions or something?”

Bob shot him a surprised look. “Questions? Me? I don’t have any questions, son. Maybe you want to ask a few?”

“Well, how about— How’d you get hooked up with my mom?”

“Well, you know I was here working when she split up with her husband. I think she was upset, maybe lonely, maybe worried about things—I gather it had been rough for them for a while. I think because of that we did a lot of talking while I worked and she ate her dinner. For about a month we talked, got into some real serious and personal issues as well as some just plain old ordinary stuff. I guess you could say we became good friends. Then the kitchen was done,” he said with a shrug. “But we weren’t done with the friendship. We’d gotten pretty close by then.”

Noel leaned back in his chair, holding his cup of coffee in both hands. “Don’t you think it’s a little strange? You and my mom?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said with a laugh, shaking his head. “Pretty strange. Sure nothing I thought would ever come my way, but I have to say—I’m grateful. Your mom is awful special. What a great person. What a beautiful lady.”

“Little too young for you, wouldn’t you say?” Noel asked.

“I little too much of everything for me, son. She’s too beautiful, too smart, too compassionate and honest and funny—just the best of everything. Too young? Probably. She keeps claiming to be forty-seven, but doesn’t she just look more like twenty-seven to you?”

“I don’t know about that,” Noel said, scoffing. He snapped his fingers to bring the dog back and Beau obliged, laying his head in Noel’s lap. “So. This is serious?”

“You might have to be more specific,” Bob said.

“You have serious intentions?”

Bob laughed. It was kind of a kick being asked questions like this by a nineteen-year-old. “Well, Noel, to tell the truth, I’m trying my hardest not to have any intentions at all. Intentions or expectations. I figure your mom is way more than I deserve. I’m not going to take that for granted, believe me. But it sure is nice, spending time with her. As long as it makes her happy, I’m more than willing to go along with that.”

“Sounds like you don’t expect it to last long. Huh?”

Bob thought for a second, then sat forward, placing his coffee cup on the ground beside his chair. “There’s that word again. Expect. The thing is, Andy’s young and beautiful. There’s no telling how long she might be happy with someone like me. That’s why I want to be real flexible with her—you know? If it turns out this isn’t exactly right for her, I’d never make her feel bad about that. You understand, Noel?”

Noel was quiet a moment. “I’m not sure I do,” he said.