Four Friends (17 page)

Looking around carefully she saw little tufts of hair on the sofa, the floor, the coffee table.
Holy Jesus.
She picked one up and rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger.
Sonja’s hair. What the hell?

She went through the kitchen to the garage. Everything looked to be in order. The work bench was tidy, Sonja’s car was immaculate, the lawn mower and yard tools stored neatly in the corner. And there were a few boxes, taped and stacked. There was nothing written on them and Gerri knew Sonja was an obsessive labeler. She pulled back the tape and opened the top box. “Oh. Oh,” she said. She moved it off the stack and opened another. “Oh, God,” she said. She didn’t bother with the third and fourth.

When she got back to the kitchen, she noticed the answering machine light was blinking. She pressed Play. “You have fifty-seven new messages,” the mechanical voice said. Gerri’s lips silently repeated the number, stunned. The first message played. “Sonja, we missed you at your meditation class and the center’s director said you hadn’t called in. Let us know if you’re going to have class on Friday...”

The second message was similar. “Sonja, hi, Patty James—Um, have you stopped teaching yoga on Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings? No one got a message. Are you out of town? Call me.”

Gerri listened to a few more and then heard: “Sonja, it’s Bev Sorenson—I was just wondering how long you’re going to be on leave of absence, I want to sign up for your next class.” Gerri stopped the machine. Sonja wasn’t taking or returning calls; she’d dropped out. Fifty-seven messages?
Yikes.

She phoned Andy. “I need you at Sonja’s,” she said.

“Everything all right?”

“No,” Gerri said. “Can you come?”

“Be right there.”

Gerri opened the cupboard just above the phone. There, neatly taped to the inside of the door was a list of phone numbers, beginning with George’s cell phone number. “Good girl, Sonja,” Gerri said.

George answered on the third ring. “Hi, it’s Gerri Gilbert. I’m at your house—Sonja’s house. Have you been here since you left?”

“Sure. I pick her up for her counseling appointments, why?”

“Didn’t you notice what’s going on here? What’s happening to her?”

“Yeah, I noticed. She’s very depressed. The doctor said—”

“George, did you look around the house? Did you notice
her?
”

“I noticed Sonja, yes, but I just waited inside the door for her to get her purse. I just can’t stand hanging around there. And, there didn’t seem to be anything I could do except make sure she attended counseling sessions. I hoped in time—”

“George,” she said, cutting him off, exasperated. “She hasn’t cleaned a thing since you left, including herself. She hasn’t washed a dish, done a load of laundry, changed the sheets or showered. She packed up all her fountains, candles, chimes, books, relaxation DVDs and CDs—everything that
defines
her. She’s filthy, sitting in front of the shopping channel, hardly eating. I’ve only taken a glance, but I think there’s nothing but rotten food in the house. And who knows if she’s sleeping too little or too much. She’s sick, George. Really sick.”

“Hello?” she heard Andy call from the front door.

“She sees the counselor three times a week and she’s on medication,” George said.

“Well, maybe it isn’t working, and the counselor obviously hasn’t picked up on these signals. We’ve been coming over here weekday mornings to get her walking a little bit—we get her up and dressed and out the door, but I don’t see any evidence that she’s brushing her teeth, combing her hair or anything. Is there a psychiatrist on her case?”

George gave her the name and phone number. Andy stood in the kitchen, watching Gerri on the phone. By the time Gerri had written down the psychiatrist’s details, BJ was standing next to Andy, both opposite Gerri across the breakfast bar. “All right, George, thanks,” she said. Then, “Sure, I’ll let you know.”

Gerri hung up and looked at the other two women. “Okay, we’ve got a problem. Sonja’s in bad shape. She’s dangerously depressed, filthy, lethargic and she got rid of all her woo-woo stuff. I’m calling her doctor and then I’m taking her to the hospital. She can’t be left alone in this condition. She might be suicidal.”

“Well, holy shit,” Andy said. “You sure?”

“Of course not, but I’m not going to take any chances or one of these mornings we’re going to come over here to get her out of bed and she’s not going to wake up.” She swallowed and pinched her eyes closed. “She’s pulling out her hair,” she said softly. She dialed a phone number, got a recording and scribbled down the emergency number.

“What should we do?” BJ asked.

Gerri whirled around, picked up a couple of pill bottles from the windowsill over the kitchen sink. “Count these,” she said, handing them each a bottle.

“You don’t think if we get her cleaned up, she’ll feel better?” Andy asked.

“It’s not that simple,” Gerri said. “It’s medical. She’s way around the bend.”

When she got the emergency answering service for the doctor, she knew exactly what to say for the quickest possible response. “Hi, I’m Gerry Gilbert, calling about Sonja Johanson. I’m a clinical psychologist and I’m her neighbor and friend. I’m here at her house and I believe she may be suicidal. I need to talk to the doctor immediately. It’s an emergency.”

After she hung up, she faced Andy and BJ. BJ held the bottle toward Gerri and said, “Fifty-eight of sixty.”

“Sixty,” Andy said, holding out her bottle. “She isn’t taking them. What made her so groggy and sleepy?”

“Depression. Black, dangerous depression. Look, I’m sorry to leave you two with the mess—just see if you can throw out the garbage, maybe wash a load or two, get it presentable and make the smell go away.” The phone rang and she picked it up, looking at the caller ID. “I like that—he’s right on it.”

It wasn’t a he—Dr. Sydney Kalay was a woman. Gerri explained who she was and what she’d found and Dr. Kalay told Gerri to bring Sonja to the mental health clinic at the hospital as soon as she could get her ready. When she hung up, Andy and BJ were still standing by, waiting. “I’m taking her in. Oh, God,” she said, running her hand through her short, cropped hair. “Oh, man, I hope she doesn’t give me any trouble.”

“You want help?” BJ asked.

“No, I want to do this alone. I’ve done it before, but never for a good friend. Jesus, how did I not notice? Is it because I’m such a miserable wreck at six in the morning? Crap!” She started toward the master bedroom, then she turned. “BJ, once again, if you hadn’t said something, this could have been so much worse!”

BJ shrugged. “Just take care of her.”

When Gerri got to the master bedroom, Sonja was sitting on the edge of her unmade bed wrapped in a towel, looking at her knees. Her hair was dripping onto her lap; she hadn’t gotten all the soap out of her hair. “Okay, my little La-La,” she crooned. “I’m going to help you with your hair. Come back to the bathroom.”

“Oh, just never mind it,” Sonja said. “I should probably just lie down for a while.”

“No, honey,” Gerri said, pulling her hand. “We have things to do. Come on.”

She led Sonja to the bathroom and let her sit on the closed toilet lid while she brushed and dried her hair. Gerri could see bald, scabby spots here and there on Sonja’s scalp, and before she could finish, tears were streaming down her cheeks. But Sonja, so catatonic, didn’t notice.

As Sonja continued to sit passively, Gerri went in search of clean clothes. There was a big pile of dirty clothes right in the middle of the bedroom floor, but fortunately Gerri was able to dig out some clean underwear from a drawer, and she found a fresh smelling and comfortable sweat suit. It was probably the only reason they hadn’t noticed how badly Sonja was falling apart—maybe she wasn’t showering, but she was putting on clean clothes now and then. Once dressed, she stood Sonja in front of the mirror. “Want a little lip gloss or something?” Gerri asked.

“Naw, forget it,” Sonja said. “I should probably—”

“We have to talk now,” Gerri said. She sat Sonja back on the closed toilet seat and knelt on the bathroom floor in front of her. She held her hands. “Sonja, you’ve been feeling pretty awful for the past couple of weeks, haven’t you?”

Sonja shrugged. “I’m fine,” she said, looking down.

“You’re not fine,” Gerri said. “You’re pretty sick right now. You haven’t been taking your medicine, you’ve been pulling out your hair,” she added, her voice cracking. She felt the tears well up in her eyes and her throat ached. “You need a little help to get back to your old self. I’m going to take you to see the doctor.”

Sonja looked up. Her face contorted. “No,” she said in a barely audible breath. “No, I go to the counselor. I go all the time....”

“I know, baby, I know. It isn’t counseling you need right now. The doctor has to talk to you, check you over. You have a chemical imbalance, that’s all. But we have to get it straightened out before it gets worse. I want you to come with me and I want you to let the doctor help you.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head, and her face twisted in a painful and miserable grimace as she squeezed Gerri’s hands. “Please, no. Just let me be. I’ll be okay, just let me be.” And then her shoulders shook as she began to weep.

Gerri was frankly glad to see a little emotion, but hoped she wouldn’t have to hog-tie Sonja. She shook her head and ran a gentle hand over her shiny clean hair. “No, honey. If I let you be now, it would just get worse. I want you to come with me. I want you to trust me. I’ll stay with you until the doctor decides what’s best. Okay?”

“No. No. No,” she cried, great tears rolling down her cheeks. “No, please.”

“It’s going to be all right, Sonja. You have to trust me, come with me. The doctor is waiting for us.” She wiped the tears off her friend’s face. “You’ll be safe. I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

Gerri stood and pulled Sonja up. She put an arm around her shoulders and led her out of the bathroom, through the family room. She grabbed her purse off the counter and said, “We’ll take Sonja’s car. Sonja, where are your keys?”

BJ and Andy exchanged looks, standing back. Sonja didn’t even acknowledge them. She was completely focused on either Gerri or the floor. Andy reached over to the hook mounted on the wall by the back door and handed Gerri the keys. Then she hugged Sonja. Sonja hugged her weakly.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Sonja said, crying.

“Nothing to be sorry about, honey,” Andy said.

Gerri pulled Sonja out the door. “Let’s go now. I’ll take care of you—everything will be all right.”

“Need help?” Andy asked.

“No, we’ll be fine. I’ll call when I can. I’ll come back when I can.”

Gerri put Sonja in the passenger seat and backed out of the garage. Then she held her hand all the way to the hospital, steering with the other hand. When they got to the hospital, they took the elevator up to the clinic where Dr. Kalay was meeting them. When they were out of the elevator, Gerri stopped and, with her hands on Sonja’s upper arms, looked into her eyes. “Sonja, listen to me. I love you. I want you back in my life. You tell the doctor everything she wants to know. Tell her about eating, sleeping, how you’ve been feeling. I want you to get better. Sonja, promise me?”

Sonja nodded weakly and Gerri pulled her into her arms, holding her for a moment. “Please, baby—please tell the doctor.”

When Gerri pushed open the clinic doors, the place was dark and deserted. They didn’t have clinic hours on Sunday, of course. But an attractive and smiling Pakistani woman in a pair of khaki slacks and a lightweight sweater was standing in the dimly lit reception area, waiting.

“Ah, Sonja, hello,” she said. “Not feeling so well at the moment? How can I help?” she asked, taking her out of Gerri’s care, leading her away to an office.

Gerri sat in the waiting room, in the semidarkness. It was several long minutes before it occurred to her that Dr. Kalay could have met them in emergency where there was always a crowd, always fast movement and a lot of action, usually tough to find a bed. But the doctor had used a personal key to open up the mental-health clinic, saving Sonja the stress of all that. She must have done that because she took Gerri’s description of the situation very seriously, and for that she was so grateful.

During the first hour, sitting in the quiet, dimly lit room, Gerri couldn’t help but picture what the past two weeks must have been like for Sonja, the nightmare of not being able to cope, feel nothing but darkness and pain. She’d been completely self-destructive, possibly there were bad dreams or even hallucinations.

During her second hour of waiting, Gerri thought about her husband, her kids. And her friends—all in such transition, all in danger of collapsing around her. Yet, she was not falling apart. Oh, she was crying too much, lonely too much, furious too much, but even with a twenty-five-year marriage on the ropes and three teenagers testing her sanity, she was somehow hanging on.
You can never tell about a person.
Gerri didn’t think of herself as strong. Sonja, on the other hand, who seemed to know every trick—how to calm nerves, listen to her body’s messages, alleviate depression, help sleep, stimulate herself, how to level out and maintain serenity—was coming apart. Sonja—who always seemed to have an answer, a cure—was losing it.

Two full hours and change passed before Dr. Kalay came into the darkened reception area. Her expression was serious. “Thank you for bringing your friend to the hospital,” she said with just a slight accent. “Sonja is going to be admitted to Glendale Psychiatric for a little while. At least a couple of weeks, perhaps a month. You were right, of course. She’s clinically depressed and needs treatment.”

Gerri’s eyes flashed. “Her husband walked out on her a couple of weeks ago.”

“I know this. But of course, that’s not the cause of her depression. A trigger, perhaps, but the cause is medical and we may or may not get to the bottom of that. You’re a psychologist, you say?”

“I’m a social worker with CPS. But I have a master’s in clinical psychology.”

“Ah, well you’re very smart and we’re so lucky you noticed. But please don’t suggest to Mr. Johanson that he caused his wife’s depression.” Then she reached out and put a hand over Gerri’s. “I’d like you to go now. I’ve given her a very heavy sedative and will have her transported as soon as arrangements with the insurance company are complete. It won’t take long and I won’t leave her in the meantime.”