The Family Gathering. Robyn Carr

through Thursday but was willing to fill in here and there when needed. And, of course, her brother being the owner, she had good benefits.

      The bar had saved her life. Well, Rob had saved her. And now she was schlepping drinks and meals and everyone was her friend. From introverted mathematician to gregarious barkeep. She didn’t know she could be this happy.

      The new guy, Dakota, was a cocky one. He knew he was good-looking; she’d seen his type before and stayed far away from them. He downplayed it even though he had women crawling all over him. What was he doing? Playing hard to get? Letting the women make fools of themselves while he enjoyed the attention? If she could trust any man she might take the time to understand him. But she would only get to know as much of Dakota as could be learned with a nice big bar separating them.

      She trusted one man only—her brother. Rob was the strongest, most genuine man she knew. When she was about to die of a broken heart, he came for her.

      It had been a dark, desolate time. Without warning, her husband left her for another woman. They’d been together seven years; she’d put him through medical school and supported him through his residency, and when he was done, he left her. He’d been with the other woman for two years, he’d said. She had never suspected.

      That wasn’t how it was supposed to be. They’d had plans. After residency he’d study for his boards, and right after passing the boards, they were going to have a baby. They hoped to have three. She thought they were in love, but while he was intimate with Sid, he was making promises to another woman. She knew they didn’t have sex very often, but wasn’t that how marriage and familiarity worked out? They talked about their future family. Was she remembering right? Was it just Sid who’d talked about their future? With her brain constantly riddled with equations, she often missed things happening right in front of her. Friends called her the absentminded professor. When David left, he had no lingering med school debt—no debt of any kind. That course of events had happened often enough that it was considered an old story—one spouse supports the other through a tough program like med school, then they divorce. It was such a cliché.

      But Sid hadn’t had a clue. She should have known he didn’t love her. She should have felt it. But she herself was overworked, putting in long, long hours at the lab, drowning in data to be analyzed and sorted. She’d only been married seven years and was already grateful when David just left her alone so she could either work or rest.

      She was in shock for a few months. Paralyzed with disbelief. Rob was her only family and he was struggling to raise two beautiful boys alone. They were getting by; she was so proud of them. As far as she knew, Rob didn’t date at all. But Rob had the boys. Sid had no one.

      She didn’t tell anyone at work, but then her work friends weren’t social friends. They’d go out for a late-night drink sometimes after putting in a particularly grueling week; sometimes they’d have a meeting over breakfast or lunch. There was no girlfriend to call and cry to. It was different for a bunch of brainiacs. They were mostly introverts. Sid was one of the few who had a slightly social side to her personality but she could be content focusing on her work, living inside her head. Her husband had been so busy with residency she hadn’t expected much of a social life, anyway. Once he left her, she realized they rarely went out with friends, and when they did, they were usually doctors or hospital staff.

      She moved through her days in a fog, going to work, writing papers, delivering lectures on quantum computing, managing a specially trained staff on UCLA’s DNA computing analysis. It seemed they were always close to a breakthrough—no time to relax, no time to play around—a quantum computer that sorted and analyzed DNA in a split second and made chromosome projections could change the world, eliminate birth defects, cure diseases. They worked off several huge government grants and contributions from foundations and patrons. They worked on tight deadline after tight deadline.

      She was pretty far up the chain, on the top rung of a notable research team with only two PhDs above her. People brought their problems to her. She could hardly go to Dr. Faraday and have a breakdown and get personal advice. He was grooming his work for a Nobel Prize.

      She had been very well compensated, of course. She made enough money to pay for their medium-size LA home, David’s medical school, five years of residency, her own advanced education, living expenses and, in seven years, two vacations.

      She didn’t talk about her marriage, or rather her divorce. Throw a bunch of computer programmers and analysts in a room and they don’t tend to talk about their feelings.

      One of the interns, a woman, noticed Sid was losing weight and seemed tired. Dr. Faraday asked her if she was getting sick. “Because we can’t afford to have you get sick.” She told him she was having some personal issues with her marriage, but she wasn’t specific and he dropped it like a hot potato.

      Sidney began to suspect David had never loved her, had never been faithful, and she was too busy and too inexperienced in things like romance and relationships to see the signs. She remembered his opening line to her. “I saw an article about you in the LA Times—young physicist making waves in quantum computing.” He probably thought cha-ching. Meal ticket.

      David began the divorce proceedings immediately. After all she’d done to support him he wanted half of everything they had accrued—half the savings, half the house, half of her pension! He was going to take everything she had and she’d be forced to start over. She should have found her own attorney at once but Sidney couldn’t move. She couldn’t function. She couldn’t get out of bed. Her students and coworkers emailed but she didn’t open the computer. They called her but she didn’t answer the phone. She didn’t answer the door. It was her elderly neighbor who had watched the house once when she visited Rob who’d unearthed his phone number and called him.

      “Is Sidney there with you?” she had asked.

      “With me? No! I’ve left her a couple of messages and she hasn’t returned my calls, but Sidney gets like that sometimes. If she gets really busy at the university, she just doesn’t pay attention.”

      “Ever since David left her—”

      “What?” Rob had shouted into the phone.

      “You didn’t know? She didn’t want to talk about it but I’m so worried now. She’s been getting so thin, looking so wounded. I haven’t seen her in days and she won’t answer the door. I’m afraid she’s done something to herself. Her husband hasn’t been around. And she didn’t say she was going away.”

      “Good God, call the police! Break down the door. Please make sure she’s in there, that she’s all right. I’ll be on the next plane.”

      By the time Rob arrived Sid had been taken to the hospital by ambulance. An IV replaced fluids so she wasn’t dehydrated any longer, and she’d been medicated. But mentally and emotionally, she was ruined. Rob sat on the edge of her bed, took her hand in his and said, “Sid, what were you trying to do?”

      It took her a very long time to speak. At long last, she said, “I don’t know. I didn’t know what to do.”

      She felt she had failed so monumentally she couldn’t move. It wasn’t just that her marriage didn’t work; it was that she could be so successful in her field and not even notice her marriage didn’t work.

      He pulled her into his arms and they wept.

      Her doctors wanted to keep her in the hospital—in the psych ward. But Rob worked with them to find a good facility in Colorado. She needed medication and therapy. Rob brought Sid into his home after a brief and healing stint in the hospital, got her set up with a therapist. He hired a lawyer to represent Sid and helped her work through her divorce. Day by day, hour by hour, she got back on her feet. It wasn’t easy; it wasn’t quick.

      Sidney had never been very emotional and she certainly wasn’t a romantic. She was a scientist, a pragmatist, living in a world of equations and computations. But now she knew how dangerous a broken heart could be. And she learned how awful having no family, no real emotional bonds, could be.

      She had had an emotional meltdown