“No, I suppose not.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
“It’s all right. I understand. You’re upset.”
“Yeah.” I took a couple of deep breaths and found a sandbar of calm. It wasn’t an island, but it would have to do. “I told them she had a gallery trip,” I said to Anne. “I don’t even care about the fight. I just want her to come home.” I heard the desperation in my voice and didn’t care.
“I know, and she will,” Anne said. “In the meantime, we love you both. The girls too. We’ll call you in the morning. Well, later in the morning.”
“Thanks, Anne.”
“Mmm. Get some sleep.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Well, try your best. Goodnight, dear.”
I stabbed the End button and simply dropped the handset to the floor. What the hell was I supposed to do now?
* * *
My cell phone rang the next afternoon. I didn’t recognize the number, a 760 area code, but I answered immediately.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Paul, it’s Anne.” She sounded as exhausted as I felt. “I’m calling from Betty Ford. The clinic, I mean. Christine’s here. She’s going to stay for a while.”
“Thank you.” I inhaled through my nose and breathed out slowly. “Did she tell you what happened?”
“Enough. She was a little incoherent when she arrived. She’d been drinking. That was our second clue. Last night. Or this morning. Whichever.”
“Do I need to fly out? My parents can watch the girls.”
“Not yet. I think she needs some time alone.”
“So… she doesn’t want to come back?”
“No, no!” Anne said immediately. “Not at all. She needs to know what she’s losing. I tried to tell her, but…” Anne sighed. “She’s so stubborn.”
“No fucking kidding,” I muttered.
Anne pretended she hadn’t heard. “I gave the clinic your phone numbers, and Christine herself can call you once they finish admitting her.”
“Do you think she will?”
“I hope so. Only, she’s very angry right now.”
“I understand.” My own anger had faded, although a growing sense of dread had replaced it.
“Richard’s here with us,” Anne continued, “but he’s going to fly back tomorrow. To Atlanta, I mean.”
“Atlanta? Here?” My voice rose with alarm. Did she really mean to have me killed?
“Oh my gosh,” Anne laughed, “not that. And shame on you for thinking it.”
“Thinking what?” I lied.
“Do you really think I’d do that?”
“No?”
“Richard can help with the girls,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “And then with Christine. When she comes home, I mean.”
“Comes home?”
“Honestly, dear, stop making everything sound like a question. Of course she’s coming home. Only, it might be a while.”
* * *
Rich moved into the pool guest house and told the girls that he wanted to help with the household chores. He asked them about their own chores and then made a chart. He was surprisingly domestic, probably because he’d lived alone for most of his adult life. I asked him to include me in the assignments.
“Sure. What do you do now?”
“Normally? Pay the bills. Take out the trash. Take the girls to school. Tuck them in. And… uh… that’s about it.”
“I see,” he said, very diplomatically.
“Yeah, I know,” I snapped in response. “That’s part of the problem. I thought I was more egalitarian, but I guess I’m a male chauvinist after all. Happy?”
“Chill out. I’m not pointing any fingers. ‘Mistakes were made.’ Let’s move on.”
I recoiled in surprise. That wasn’t the reaction I’d been expecting, especially from a guy who put the “over” in overprotective.
“Um… thanks?” I said.
“You’re welcome. Now, what do you want to do?”
“I’ll start doing the grocery shopping. And I can cook dinner.”
He shook his head. “I’ll do the cooking. It’s relaxing. And it’ll be easier if I do the shopping too. Laurie can go with me, at least until I learn what they like to eat.”
“Okay. I can help with the laundry.”
“That’s Laurie’s new job,” he said.
“Vacuuming? Dusting?”
“Emily. Little Miss Clean.”
“The dogs?”
“Susie.”
“Okay,” I said slowly, “then what should I do?”
“Taking care of the pool is a big one. The girls said Birdy did it before.”
“Got it. What else?”
“Keep her business and studio running,” he said. “We can handle everything else.”
* * *
The next evening my cell phone rang with a 760 area code.
“Hi, it’s me,” Christy said.
She sounded resigned, but I had to stop myself from biting her head off. She’d been at the clinic for days, and this was the first time she’d called. I understood why—she’d been upset, embarrassed, and probably overwhelmed—but that didn’t change how I felt. Besides, she hadn’t even apologized.
I told myself I was being selfish. Plus irrational. And rude, especially as I let the silence drag out in a fit of pique. I still loved her, even if I didn’t like her very much at the moment. I adjusted my attitude and put a smile in my tone, although it still came across as tired.
“Hi, me. It’s good to hear your voice. Are you okay?”
“Yes? No? I don’t know.” She told me her room number and gave me a phone number where I could reach her. “They’re still evaluating me,” she said bitterly, “so they won’t tell me how long I’ll be here.”
I nodded and felt my anger fade. “Is there anything I can do? What can I bring you?”
“Maybe some clothes. I only have what I came here with.”
“Will do. What about your cell phone? And your sketchbook?”
“My sketchbook, please. Not the cell phone. I can’t use it while I’m here. Have the girls said anything? What did you tell them?”
“That you’re in LA, at the gallery.”
“The gallery,” she snorted softly. “I don’t know if they’ll ever work with me again.”
“I’m sure they will,” I said. “Every artist has… issues.”
“Issues? Oh, boy. That’s a polite way to put it.”
“We’ll get through this.”
“I’m glad one of us thinks so.”
“We will,” I insisted. “I love you, and we’ll do whatever it takes.”
“I love you too. Only… I’ve made a mess of things, haven’t I?”
“Nothing we can’t fix.”
“I suppose.”
“Trust me,” I said.
“You’re always Mr. Positive.” She sighed, and I didn’t feel the need to fill the silence between us. Maybe my resentment hadn’t subsided after all. “I need to go,” she said at last. “It’s time for dinner. We’re on a strict schedule here. Another thing I hate.”
“You’ll survive,” I said.
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“That’s my Sunshine,” I chuckled. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“If I’m still alive.”
I flew to California the next morning and rented a car when I arrived in Palm Springs. I drove straight to the clinic. Christy looked downcast when I saw her. She was wearing the same clothes as when she’d stormed out, which seemed like a lifetime ago.
We went for a walk around the lake and then found a bench. We didn’t talk about the argument or anything else that had happened. We mostly talked about her daily routine. It was a safe topic.
“Have they given you any idea how long you’ll be here?” I asked.
“Treatment isn’t defined by a number of days,” she parroted dully. “Besides, I’m supposed to take things one day at a time.”
“Okay. So… what do you want me to tell people? I mean, about why you’re gone.”
She shrugged.
“Well, I talked to Wren and Leah. I told them where you are. And I gave them your phone number. I hope that’s okay. If not, too bad.”