Eleven-fifteen, Friday morning, Hannah is driving to Kathryn’s office. It’s the last thing she imagined she’d be doing today.
It doesn’t seem possible, what Kathryn said on the phone. Fragments circle, as if they’re outside of her, unable to settle. Sad news. Found on a beach in Gloucester. Almost drowned. In ICU at Beth Israel. She glances at the speedometer. It reads seventy-five. She should slow down. It’s not as if getting there sooner will change things. Details probably won’t help either, yet she feels that’s what she needs. Details and answers.
She takes a sharp left into the small parking lot across from the Victorian house and dashes in. Bridget is already there, her eyes red and swollen. Kathryn’s face is drawn. Her hair is pulled into a ponytail, her bangs pinned up. She looks frail.
Hannah walks in and sits on the couch, where Flavia used to sit. The hard Windsor chair, her usual seat, seems hostile.
“What about Lizzy?” Hannah asks.
“I tried the hotel,” Kathryn replies. “But she checked out yesterday.”
Hannah lays her hand on Lizzy’s empty spot on the couch. “Maybe it was meant to be, that she didn’t have to find out. If she knew, she’d be pacing in the hospital lobby.”
“I can’t fucking believe it.” Bridget stands, then sits again. “I mean … when I saw that picture of her on the news, I thought maybe she had a twin or something.”
“Do you know what happened?” Hannah asks Kathryn.
She fiddles with a paper clip. “I called the hospital. Her husband was there. I spoke to him for a few minutes, but … it wasn’t the time to ask for specifics.”
“Did he reveal anything?” Hannah takes off her blazer, but then feels chilly and puts it back on. She can’t get comfortable.
“He said she was distraught. Not acting like herself. He thought it could have been some sort of breakdown.”
“Yeah, I sure as hell wouldn’t believe anything he said. For one, Gail wouldn’t have had a nervous breakdown. She wouldn’t allow it,” Bridget says.
“It’s very hard to hear distressing news about people we care about.” Kathryn glances from Hannah to Bridget. Her shoulders look bony in the silk blouse she’s wearing.
“You said she was in ICU,” Hannah says. “Do you know any more?” Answers would help her nerves.
“I’m afraid all they could tell me was that they were getting her stabilized.”
Bridget stands. “Then I say we go to the hospital and find out. If he knew she wasn’t okay, and he let her drive…” She faces the door.
“They only allow family into ICU,” Kathryn says. “I think it would be best if you stayed and talked about how you’re feeling.”
Bridget spins around. “How I’m feeling? Seriously. How the hell do you think I’m feeling? Angry, guilty, and fucked-up.”
“That sounds frightening,” Kathryn says.
“Can you not be a therapist for once, and just be human? Gail might be dying, and you’re just doing the talk. Perhaps you should think about how strong you are,” Bridget mimics. “I’m not strong. I feel like my insides are corroding in acid.”
“I’m sorry you’re in so much pain,” Kathryn says.
“Jesus, there you go again, stating the obvious. Maybe it would help us to know how you’re feeling about this.”
“I’m shocked and deeply concerned, as you are. But what’s important in here is how you’re feeling,” Kathryn replies.
“Wow.” Bridget shakes her head. “You really can’t stop.”
“Bridget.” Hannah gets up and walks toward her friend. “She’s trying. She’s upset too.”
“I say we go to the hospital,” Bridget says.
“I don’t know,” Hannah replies. “Maybe we should talk a little more first.” She rests a hand on Bridget’s arm.
“I think we should find out if her husband cheated, and if he did, we should…” Bridget looks ready to fight.
“Let’s stay here for a little longer,” Hannah suggests. Bridget causing a scene in the hospital won’t help anyone.
“Whatever.” Bridget walks to her chair. Hannah takes the seat next to her. When she realizes it’s where Gail usually sits, she feels dizzy, as if the world is spinning the wrong way.
“When you described how you were feeling, one of the words you used was guilt. Can you talk a bit more about that?” Kathryn leans toward Bridget.
“I feel like we should have known more. If we were her friends, like we said, we should have known what was going on in her head. We could have done something. I mean, I kind of made fun of her for her life being so hunky-dory with a sex addict. It’s like we never took her totally seriously. And when she really needed us, she probably didn’t think we’d be there.”
“I think you found a way to connect with her that she really appreciated. Sometimes, when someone isn’t thinking rationally, they don’t make the best choices. I don’t think it has anything to do with her not feeling your support,” Kathryn says.
“Not enough for her to call when she was in trouble.” Bridget runs a hand over her belly.
“I know we’re not supposed to blame ourselves,” Hannah says. “But remember what I said to Gail a couple weeks ago? About how getting letters from her husband’s girlfriend didn’t exactly promote confidence?” Acid rises in her throat. She feels as if she’s going to be sick. “What if she took that to heart, went home, and started questioning Jonah? What if…” She’s warm again, but taking her blazer off would mean she’d have to shift, and right now even small movements would upset her stomach more.
“Doesn’t matter,” Bridget tells her. “If she went home and found out he was a liar, that’s not your fault.”
“She’s right,” Kathryn adds.
“I shouldn’t have said that though.” Hannah stares at the window behind Kathryn as a focal point to settle her nausea. The glass looks as if it’s rippling.
“You can’t go down that path. None of us can. I know I started all the ‘It’s my fault’ shit. But it’s not.” Bridget looks at Kathryn. “And it’s not yours either. You’ve been good at this. At dealing with all of us. I know I just yelled at you, but that wasn’t really about you. You’ve done everything you could for us.”
“Thank you,” Kathryn replies.
Hannah fiddles with the button on her blazer. Right now she would like nothing more than to be out of this room. To never talk about sex addiction, or hope or support or guilt or blame. To never think about what Gail did. But she also knows she can’t keep pushing things away.
“When I was driving here today, I thought about facades.” Hannah’s face feels hotter. “I thought about how Gail seemed more together than the rest of us. God, I hate to say this, but I think I haven’t been far from teetering on the edge of a breakdown of my own, and if I don’t start getting it out there…” She stops. The second hand on Kathryn’s clock ticks.
Bridget places a hand on the arm of Hannah’s chair. “Keep going,” she whispers.
Hannah takes a deep breath and focuses on the window. “I…” she hesitates.
Taut silence follows.
“I hate Adam sometimes. I love him too. I don’t know if it would bother me more or less if his addiction was with women, but I do know that what hurts is that his attention wasn’t on me or the kids. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, and I spend hours imagining all the things he’s done, all the lies he’s told me. I think about stupid things, like the fact that he probably spent ten minutes picking out a birthday present for me, and three hours planning a hookup. Then I tell myself to stop being petty, to get over it and move on. I should be grateful for the things I have. And I am. It’s just that I still get so angry, and I’m afraid I’m going to get old and bitter.”
“Does the anger frighten you?” Kathryn asks.
Hannah takes a moment to think about the question. “I guess. Yes. But it’s more than that. It’s the hurt. Mostly the fear. That just when I get complacent again and think everything is fine, I’ll discover that Adam’s still being unfaithful. That my whole life is a lie. So I keep myself guarded, like I’m afraid to really live, and what kind of life is that?”
“Talking about all these things might help,” Kathryn says.
Hannah chuckles. “Funny, I hear myself tell that to other people all the time. Might be good if I listened to my own advice sometimes.”
“It can be hard to take care of ourselves.” Some color has returned to Kathryn’s cheeks.
Hannah nods. She agrees, but what she’s feeling at the moment is relief that Kathryn looks healthier, sturdier.
“We have to look out for each other, too,” Bridget says. “I mean, if we don’t, then who’s going to be around to help us? If Gail doesn’t get better…” She lowers her head.
“Why don’t we go to the hospital and see,” Hannah suggests.
Bridget grabs her bag and looks at Kathryn. “You coming?” she asks.
“I think it’s best if I don’t. But please call me and let me know how she is.”
The tree outside of the window is now sharply in focus. A bud looks ready to burst open. Hannah stands and walks to her therapist. It might be against the rules, but she doesn’t care. She hugs Kathryn, who returns a warm embrace. And for the first time Hannah feels completely sure that she will be returning to this room.