Four Friends. Robyn Carr

      Sonja actually got tears in her eyes. “I just hate him,” she hissed.

      “Good,” Andy said. “That makes me feel way better than herbs. Let’s all just hate him for a while.”

      Sonja opened her arms. “Let me hug you,” she said.

      Andy dropped the clothing into the box and let herself be drawn into Sonja’s arms. There was something about the way she held her that almost brought tears to Andy’s eyes. Sonja’s remedies and hocus-pocus bored her to sleep, but she had a nurturing spirit underneath it all that was wholly genuine and, in fact, healing. She was small, soft and strong, gentle and comforting. Before letting go, Sonja whispered, “Is there anything I can do for you right now?”

      Andy pulled back and smiled. “Nothing. Just let me finish all this. It will help, believe me.”

      “I’ll be home this afternoon. Call me if you think of anything at all. If I can drive you to the doctor so you won’t be alone, I’d be happy to.”

      Andy laughed softly. “Believe me, I know the drill. This is my second cheating husband and I was single a long time in between. I practically have a standing appointment.”

      Sonja said goodbye to Bob as she left through the kitchen. It crossed her mind that the disaster in there was very bad for relationships, it being the rear right of the house. She had suggested to Andy that they find somewhere else to stay during renovations, but Andy blew her off.

      Ordinarily an afternoon with no classes or appointments for her consulting would make Sonja anxious—it meant she wasn’t getting the word out through referrals from people whose lives had been enhanced, and that wasn’t a good feeling. But today, she needed the time for herself. Even though she hadn’t liked Bryce, she grieved for the marriage. It would upset the balance in the neighborhood. She thought about her friends. Their husbands didn’t have a great deal in common, but on those occasions they socialized as couples, the men found plenty to talk about. They would stand around in a little clot, holding a drink or beer, talk seriously about their work or politics, tell some off-color jokes, pick at their wives behind their backs like men do—pure, simple pleasure for them.

      Sonja met George when she was twenty-eight, he thirty-eight. They dated for two years before marrying and would soon celebrate their tenth anniversary. She hadn’t had many relationships before George and she knew why. She was considered eccentric. But George being mature worked out so well—he was calm, consistent. He might not fully appreciate all her zealous care, but she was keeping him healthy and his home life serene. He didn’t like to argue; he liked stability and predictability, and she liked that he liked that. She could work with that.

      She prepared a small meat loaf for him that was more loaf than meat because his cholesterol was up. She lit a few candles around the house and put on one of her soothing CDs, the kind you would hear in the background at the spa. The effect was very calming. George was a financial planner and his work was fraught with tension as he dealt with clients’ futures and moved people’s money around. She had time for a warm soak in the tub and a brief meditation so that when he walked through the door she’d smell delicious and be perfectly centered.

      When he came in she smiled at him, then her eyes dropped to his shirt. “Oh, George, what did you spill?”

      “I don’t know,” he said, looking down. He brushed at the spot.

      “Don’t worry, I can get it out. Can I fix you a special tea? I have just the thing if you’ve had a hard day.”

      “No, thanks, Sonja. My day calls for a Scotch.”

      She clucked and shook her head. “If you must. I’ll have dinner in just a little while—I have to run a meal over to Andy. She’s under the weather.”

      “She is?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows.

      “I’ll tell you about it over dinner. Just be a minute.”

      She took two containers on a tray across the street to Andy’s. When she saw Noel’s car in the drive she knew she’d just hand them off; she didn’t want to interrupt them. When Andy opened the door, the unmistakable aroma of greasy pizza drifted through and Sonja frowned, then forced a smile. “Trust me,” Sonja said as she passed the tray. “This is better for you.”

      Andy said thank-you and Sonja went back to her own kitchen. She caught George fixing a second Scotch and chose not to comment.

      Once they were settled with their meals—hers was a pasta and greens salad with beans, his was the loaf-meat and vegetables—she said, “Bryce and Andy have split up. They’re getting divorced.”

      “Oh?” he said, looking up from his fork briefly. “Too bad.”

      “It was really dramatic. When Gerri and I went walking this morning, she was throwing his belongings out the front door onto the lawn, and they were screaming obscenities at each other.”

      George smiled. “Is that so?”

      “It’s not funny, George. She has to be tested for venereal diseases. Apparently he hasn’t been faithful.”

      George made a face. “Really—I don’t need to know that.”

      “Some people have pretty complicated, tragic relationships.”

      “I guess that’s true,” he answered. He pushed his plate away.

      “You haven’t eaten much. You’re not upset, are you?”

      “No,” he said. “I had a late lunch.”

      “Not something bad for your cholesterol, I hope.”

      “Of course not, Sonja. I had a plate of grass. It was scrumptious.”

      She smiled patiently. “Oh, you had something bad, I can tell. Well, that’s why I go to so much trouble to make sure you eat well in the evening. No matter how you carry on, I know you appreciate that I look after you as well as I can.”

      “Indeed I do. I just wish that occasionally you could look after me with a spice or two. I’d love to taste my food briefly before it passes through my body.”

      “And I’d like you to last,” she said. “Because I love you so.”

      “You sure you don’t want me to last so you have someone to control into old age?” he returned, lifting a graying brow.

      “George! What a thing to say! Just when one of my best friends is going through a terrible divorce!”

      “And getting tested for venereal diseases,” he added. “You’d better rush her over some grains and herbs.”

      Sonja laughed at him. “You love to do that, don’t you? Pick at my remedies. Well, I guess I’m smart enough to know that I don’t have what she needs for something like that—it’s prescription only. I am going over there first thing tomorrow to burn some sage and smudge the air with Indian feathers just to clear out the negative presence.”

      He stood from the table and shook his head. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

      * * *

      Gerri ordered a pizza for the kids. Once that was devoured, they headed for their evening pastimes—family-room TV, computers, phones, homework, usually in that order.

      Gerri fixed herself a drink instead of dinner, wondering briefly if Sonja had a herb for homicidal tendencies. She was going to confront Phil, of course. She’d been with the man a long time. She thought there was nothing she didn’t know about him. I’ve been getting fart marks out of his underwear for almost twenty-five years for God’s sake.

      Though it was still biting cold in the March night, she bundled up and went out onto the deck, under the starlight. At least she wasn’t hot. She’d been trying to size up her emotions all day long and still didn’t have a handle on whether she was enraged, confused, hurt or completely off base. She went over every day of their marriage—the births of the children,