Four Friends (42 page)

June evaporated like so much summer fog, July came and went, August arrived and signaled the end of a perfect summer. Sonja had a small pond installed in her backyard with a trickling fountain and fish. She stopped there. She was running with BJ every morning and on some days they did five miles, on rare days they did eight, just to see if they could do it. Sonja had the lean but muscular body of a runner and had signed up for a 10k race in San Francisco without BJ because BJ didn’t want to commit.

As the end-of-summer block party approached, Sonja got up for her run with BJ but was stopped at the edge of her walk by the sight of a truck in front of BJ’s house. She stared openmouthed as she saw a couple of guys carry a piece of furniture out of the house, onto the truck. “Oh, God,” she said. “Oh, God. Oh, God.”

She ran to Gerri’s house and pounded on the door. Phil was up, showered and in his pants and shirt, almost but not quite ready for work. “Phil,” Sonja said in a near cry. “Oh, Phil. Oh, God! Get Gerri! Please get Gerri!”

Phil instantly grabbed hold of Sonja’s upper arms. “What is it? Are you okay?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “My best friend—look!” She pointed down the street to what was obviously a moving truck, or at least a truck being used for moving.

Gerri appeared in the doorway, pulling on a ratty plaid robe over some black pajama pants that came to just below the knee. “What’s going on?”

“Look!” Sonja said. “Look!”

“Oh, God, she said she’d have notice. This doesn’t look like notice. Sonja, go get Andy up, right away. I’ll get some shoes and meet you across the street.”

Sonja jogged off in the direction of Andy’s house while Gerri went back inside to grab a pair of flip-flops. As she made to follow her friend, Phil grabbed her arm and pulled her back to him. He held her briefly and closely against him, smiling against her lips. “Thanks,” he said. “Sleeping with you is better than I remember it.”

“I agree. And I think I should apologize for costing us so much time. I didn’t know, Phil. I thought that’s what happened after so many years of marriage.”

“I know, honey. And I was afraid you were right.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, giving him a quick kiss. “I should never have left you out in the cold like that. I shouldn’t have left myself alone like that.”

“Tell you what—we don’t have to go over what you did with those years if we can just forget about what I did.”

“I think we understand each other now.”

“I have to get to the office. Kiss me.”

She planted a quick and deep one on his lips. “I can’t play with you now. I have a girlfriend crisis.”

“Play with me later?”

“Absolutely. I better make sure they’re okay.”

“Sure,” he said. And when she turned to go, he gave her a smack on the butt and she took off down the walk. She turned back to him, smiling. Then she hurried over to Andy’s.

By the time Gerri got there, Andy was at the door in her pajamas, looking where Sonja was pointing. The three of them trudged down the block—Sonja in her running gear, Gerri in her flannel robe that had been rejected by Phil years ago, Andy in pink-and-yellow-striped pajamas and slippers, Bob’s truck still parked in her driveway. As they approached, they passed a couple of guys carrying the TV. The women slipped into the house.

BJ was in the kitchen, standing at the counter, looking over a list of things to do. “Hey,” Sonja said, surprising her. BJ turned, and when she saw them, tears came to her eyes.

“There’s a woman,” BJ said. “Nowhere to go. A couple of little kids. I don’t know her story, so you don’t, okay?”

“Okay,” they said in unison.

“If I could do something quickly, she could have the house instead of some shelter...”

“But the shelters in Marin are so good!” Sonja objected.

“Sonja,” BJ said, grabbing her hand. “Honey, she’s not in Marin County. I don’t know where she is, but I guarantee she’s scared to death. Honest to God, I don’t know anything about her. I don’t know if she’s on the run, if she’s just getting out of prison. I don’t know anything except it’s down to a shelter or this house. So I can stay at my brother’s for a while. I’ll put my stuff in his garage and—” She stopped when a man came into the kitchen. “Oh, Tony,” she said. “These are my friends, my neighbors—Gerri, Sonja, Andy. This is my brother Tony. My other two brothers are also helping me move.”

“I’m going to take apart the bed,” Tony said after giving the women a brief and serious nod. Then he turned and disappeared.

“I’ll stay with Brian—he’s the closest to Mill Valley. He has the business. But I’ll try not to impose on him for too long. I know how bad that can turn. I’ll be looking for my next job, my next town.”

“I’ll get right on that,” Gerri said. “I’ll see what I can find for you—maybe not too far away. There are some good little towns up the coast. I’ll vouch for you, give you a recommendation for a job and a lease. Where are the kids?”

“At Brian’s. When I heard about this yesterday, I took them over there and spent the night packing. Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do it like this. I had a fantasy about us having a bottle of wine on your deck, Gerri, talking about the move, that kind of thing. Saying a proper goodbye. You guys...” She hiccupped and a tear spilled over. “You girls,” she corrected. “Man, I never saw it coming. You were so good for me. In such a totally bizarre way!”

“You can live with me!” Sonja said. “Really! I have room! You can keep your job with your brother and stay in the neighborhood.”

BJ took Sonja’s hands and looked into her eyes. “Listen to me. I can’t. I can’t be on charity. I have to earn my way, take care of my family. It’s important, Sonja. It’s about building some self-esteem, letting my kids see me working hard and doing it the right way—on my own. They’ll remember that. I appreciate your offer, but really, it would be more for you than for me. If I want free board, I can get that from any one of my brothers. I’m not going to let our friendship go that way. You have enough work to do, getting your life back.”

“But—”

“You know I’m right,” BJ said. “You know it. I’ll be nearby for a while. I’ll drive over and run with you. Until I have to—”

“We’ll work on this,” Andy said. “We’ll find you something good, something safe. Hopefully not too far away.”

“I’m sorry,” BJ said again. “I didn’t mean for it to go like this. But it’s important. I remember when I was the one with nowhere to go, scared to death.”

The four friends stood there in silence for a second, then Gerri reached for BJ’s hand and Sonja’s. Sonja took Andy’s, Andy took BJ’s other hand. The four of them stood there holding hands in a small circle.

“I’m going to go home and get dressed,” Gerri said. “Then I’m coming over here to help you pack and clean the place up.”

“What about work?”

“I’ll go in late, or not at all. Some things have to be done and done right.”

“Me, too,” Andy said. “I’ll get dressed and be right back.”

“I don’t have to dress,” Sonja said. “I’ll get started right now.”

* * *

BJ had been gone one week. It was only another week until the block party and she promised she’d come back for one last hurrah. Gerri met Andy in her open garage at 10:00 a.m. Sonja was just leaving her house, carrying a large platter covered with plastic wrap. She juggled the platter to lock up, then crossed the street to meet her friends.

“Whatcha got there?” Andy asked.

“Muffins. Chocolate chip muffins,” she said. “I figured we could use all the ammunition we could get.”

Andy ran a hand along Sonja’s shiny mahogany hair. “Now, try not to say too much,” she advised Sonja. “Try not to swear.”

“I’m not a child, you know. Well, I mean, I am in a way—I have to go all the way back to thirteen years old and start growing up all over again, but even a thirteen-year-old can manage not to swear.”

Gerri lifted the wrap and inhaled. “And apparently a thirteen-year-old can really bake up a storm.”

“You want to follow us to Connie’s?” Andy asked Gerri.

“Yes, and I’ll go on to work from there. All set?”

“All set,” Andy said, taking a deep breath.

“Now remember—no expectations. It’s a shot in the dark.”

“Gotcha.”

“And I have some other ideas for BJ, so this isn’t the only possibility,” Andy said.

“Gotcha. Let’s just do it,” Gerri replied.

Less than fifteen minutes later, the three women were knocking on the front door of Connie’s massive house. Sonja carried the muffins, Gerri held her briefcase. Connie opened the door with a bright smile. “Well, isn’t this nice,” she said. “I put coffee and some cups on the patio table, if that’s all right.”

“It’s very nice of you, Connie,” Andy said. “Please meet my best friends, Sonja and Gerri.”

The women all shook hands, greeted each other. “I can’t wait to hear about your special project, Andy.”

“You’re going to think we’re crazy—but I’m the only one who’s crazy,” Sonja said. Andy glared at her and Sonja continued. “They asked me to try not to say too much, and not to swear,” Sonja explained. “I made these,” she said, presenting the platter.

“Well, now,” Connie said. “Don’t you worry. I know how it is—sometimes those little words just slip out. If you have to swear, I promise not to blush if you swear with passion!”

Sonja grinned and flashed her eyes at Andy. “I
like
her!”

“Come on.” Connie laughed. “Let’s get some coffee to go with these muffins.”

As Connie led the way through the house, Sonja looked around and muttered, “Holy shit.” Andy elbowed her while Connie looked over her shoulder and laughed.

When they got to the patio, Connie put Sonja’s platter on the table. “Go ahead and pour the coffee. I’ll be right back.”

As they took seats around the table, Sonja saw the guesthouse. “There it is!” she exclaimed.

“Now listen. This is a very big thing we’re suggesting. This is their home! Try to be a little—”

“Patient, I know,” Sonja said. “I
know!
”

Gerri just shook her head. Years of experience had rendered her fearless when it came to asking for things—fund-raising was always a huge aspect of any public servant’s way of life. Tax dollars just never got them up to speed.

Connie brought small plates and napkins to the patio. “Connie, do you ever get just plain intimidated by this house?” Sonja asked her.

“Not anymore.” Connie laughed. “As hard as we had to work to get this place presentable, I feel like it’s my blood, sweat and tears in here.” She passed the plates and sat down, lifting her coffee cup. “We don’t need this kind of room, of course. But we have four grown, married children and nine grandchildren right in the area. We’re a formidable crowd when we’re all together. Plus, I have Bob and two married sisters with families and Frank has a large extended family. Everyone visits. We’re not likely to let this monster slip out of our family—I can’t think of a better gathering place. When it’s just Frank and I we kind of live in the master bedroom. We fix small, lazy dinners, take them on trays to the bedroom and watch TV. The house isn’t for us,” she said. “It’s for everyone around us.”

“Connie, I’d like to tell you something,” Andy said. “Before this special project we’d like to share with you even came to mind, I asked Bob if he’d consider moving in with me sometime in the future. He said, whenever I was ready, he was ready. He also said he wouldn’t have any trouble looking after your property—after all, I live so close.”

“Well, this is getting serious,” Connie said.

“Oh, Connie, it started serious. I’m so crazy about Bob, you just can’t imagine. He’s the best thing that ever happened to me. I wish I’d found him ten years ago. And he’s been so good for Noel.”

“Bob has a lot of experience with youngsters. He has a ton of nieces and nephews.”

“So,” Gerri said, directing the conversation where it needed to go. “Andy says you and your husband are very involved in community service.”

“Partly true. Usually Frank gets involved, then can’t keep up and I step in.”

“Have any local pet projects of your own?” Gerri asked.

“I’m afraid not in Marin County,” she said, plucking a muffin off the platter and transferring it to her plate. “In Marin I concentrate on the arts, in a small way. I support the library system and a couple of children’s literacy programs. But Marin is rich in many ways—there’s lots of endowment money here. I find myself more often in the city where the needs are more immediate. Grittier. Primarily AIDS research, babies born addicted to drugs and the Gospel Mission. I’ve always thought, you’ve probably just about reached bottom if you’re eating and sleeping at the mission. They need help constantly. And there’s a food bank...”

“Any women’s work?”

“Women’s work?” she asked, biting her muffin. “The rape crisis center gets some money and I sit on the board, but I couldn’t cut it as a counselor. I’m afraid that’s about it—I keep thinking about the kids.”

“Gerri’s a counselor,” Andy said. “Child Protective Services. And her husband is Phil Gilbert—running for D.A. in San Francisco.”

“That’s your husband?” Connie asked. “Congratulations. The press likes him.”

“Today,” Gerri said, laughing. “Listen—this is a wild card, Connie. We have a neighbor who’s been the victim of domestic abuse and is having a hard time getting on her feet. She’s a good woman with a couple of nice kids. Her past is very provocative. No, it’s worse than that—it’s downright shocking. But as we’ve gotten to know her, the three of us agree she’s a stellar woman, a devoted mother, a loyal friend. Right now she’s basically homeless. Some nameless philanthropist who tries to help women coming out of terrible ordeals like hers let her use a rental property for a year. That’s how we got to know her. But that year is up and there’s another woman with children who needs a hand and our friend BJ has to move on. She’s staying with her brother while she looks for her next job, her next home.”

“Really? Someone just gave her a house?” Connie said.

“It’s a transition home, a stepping-stone,” Gerri said. “I hope someday I get to meet this person.”

“She was okay with that, but when I offered to have her move in with me, rent-free, she wouldn’t do it,” Sonja blurted. “She said she has to build self-esteem, support herself and her kids, that they’d remember that.”