don’t get the sense—”
“How long have you known me?”
“For Pete’s sake, you know precisely the day, the year. Seventh grade. You were still Susan, having not yet discovered your inner Sasha. Do the math yourself. If we’re thirty-two—how old are seventh graders, and really, who cares? A very long time is the answer.”
“And has this friendship endured despite my being incredibly stupid about people?”
GILLIAN ROBERTS
76
“Honestly? Yes.”
Her eyes widened, then she furrowed her brow. I couldn’t believe she’d asked me that question or been surprised by my response. “You’re talking about my taste in men, ” she finally said.
I nodded.
Her mouth turned up at one side in a crooked grin. “Point taken. I am incredibly stupid about sexy men. But I’m not stupid in general, am I?”
I shook my head.
“I knew her. She was not suicidal. She wasn’t the type.”
“Anybody can be pushed to—”
Sasha’s turn at head-shaking. “Even if that’s true, nothing was pushing her that way. She was sad about her husband, but she was also one of the most resilient people I ever knew. She was looking forward to online dating, to trying new things. She was not in a place where she’d up and off herself.”
“How about the whole fracas about the business? The charges of embezzling or stealing?”
“That was ridiculous! She knew it was, and Merilee knew it was, too. They would have made peace if she’d had a little more time. It’s what she expected. They were in a bad patch because of Merilee’s divorce.”
I must not have looked convinced.
“Listen, Manda, I know a dozen people I’d believe might commit suicide. They’re moody, they sink into long depressions.
They have constant, mind-grinding stress. Phoebe wasn’t like that.”
I must still not have looked convinced.
“Okay,” she said. “Here’s what I mean. It’s my gut impres-sion that you’re pretty much okay right now. Maybe it’s bugging you to be here, helping me with something you don’t believe happened, maybe you’re stressed with two jobs and Mackenzie with years of school to go, and maybe you’re really worried about his family, and the floods and what’s going to be—and even with his stress over it all.”
77
ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS
I was feeling worse and worse as she enumerated my woes.
“But you’re not devastated. So if you died tonight, and tomorrow somebody told me that you’d committed suicide, and the evidence pointed that way, could I believe them? Would it be rational of me to insist, kicking and screaming, that you were not suicidal when I saw you today? That it was not your personality to solve something that way, that I did not believe you’d done it?”
“You feel it that strongly?”
She nodded.
“Then I’ll believe it, too.” I tried my best to truly mean it.
“On your side of the ledger, I now know that she was expecting a visitor the night she died. A surprise visitor. That’s why she wouldn’t have told you.”
“All right! You’re good. How did you find that out so quickly?
Who knew that?”
“Next door—”
“Oh, Lord—Ramona Not-That-I’m-Prying-But? I should have known. Phoebe used to laugh about her. She said that all Ramona lacked was a periscope aimed at the bedroom and a phone tap, but she wasn’t so sure about the phone tap.”
I settled on the sofa with the carton of papers and ancient-looking floppy disks nearby. “For all her snooping, the only thing that registered, or that she was willing to share, was a parade of mostly men coming in and out of this house. Ditto for the woman who lives behind this house.”
“The problem is that while Ramona loves to pry, she’s so self-involved she barely sees what’s in front of her. Her ideal situation would be spying on herself, because that’s what interests her most. Or so Phoebe said. Basically, Ramona was horrified that Phoebe was socializing after her widowhood. She’d thought Phoebe would
“How long have you known me?”
“For Pete’s sake, you know precisely the day, the year. Seventh grade. You were still Susan, having not yet discovered your inner Sasha. Do the math yourself. If we’re thirty-two—how old are seventh graders, and really, who cares? A very long time is the answer.”
“And has this friendship endured despite my being incredibly stupid about people?”
GILLIAN ROBERTS
76
“Honestly? Yes.”
Her eyes widened, then she furrowed her brow. I couldn’t believe she’d asked me that question or been surprised by my response. “You’re talking about my taste in men, ” she finally said.
I nodded.
Her mouth turned up at one side in a crooked grin. “Point taken. I am incredibly stupid about sexy men. But I’m not stupid in general, am I?”
I shook my head.
“I knew her. She was not suicidal. She wasn’t the type.”
“Anybody can be pushed to—”
Sasha’s turn at head-shaking. “Even if that’s true, nothing was pushing her that way. She was sad about her husband, but she was also one of the most resilient people I ever knew. She was looking forward to online dating, to trying new things. She was not in a place where she’d up and off herself.”
“How about the whole fracas about the business? The charges of embezzling or stealing?”
“That was ridiculous! She knew it was, and Merilee knew it was, too. They would have made peace if she’d had a little more time. It’s what she expected. They were in a bad patch because of Merilee’s divorce.”
I must not have looked convinced.
“Listen, Manda, I know a dozen people I’d believe might commit suicide. They’re moody, they sink into long depressions.
They have constant, mind-grinding stress. Phoebe wasn’t like that.”
I must still not have looked convinced.
“Okay,” she said. “Here’s what I mean. It’s my gut impres-sion that you’re pretty much okay right now. Maybe it’s bugging you to be here, helping me with something you don’t believe happened, maybe you’re stressed with two jobs and Mackenzie with years of school to go, and maybe you’re really worried about his family, and the floods and what’s going to be—and even with his stress over it all.”
77
ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS
I was feeling worse and worse as she enumerated my woes.
“But you’re not devastated. So if you died tonight, and tomorrow somebody told me that you’d committed suicide, and the evidence pointed that way, could I believe them? Would it be rational of me to insist, kicking and screaming, that you were not suicidal when I saw you today? That it was not your personality to solve something that way, that I did not believe you’d done it?”
“You feel it that strongly?”
She nodded.
“Then I’ll believe it, too.” I tried my best to truly mean it.
“On your side of the ledger, I now know that she was expecting a visitor the night she died. A surprise visitor. That’s why she wouldn’t have told you.”
“All right! You’re good. How did you find that out so quickly?
Who knew that?”
“Next door—”
“Oh, Lord—Ramona Not-That-I’m-Prying-But? I should have known. Phoebe used to laugh about her. She said that all Ramona lacked was a periscope aimed at the bedroom and a phone tap, but she wasn’t so sure about the phone tap.”
I settled on the sofa with the carton of papers and ancient-looking floppy disks nearby. “For all her snooping, the only thing that registered, or that she was willing to share, was a parade of mostly men coming in and out of this house. Ditto for the woman who lives behind this house.”
“The problem is that while Ramona loves to pry, she’s so self-involved she barely sees what’s in front of her. Her ideal situation would be spying on herself, because that’s what interests her most. Or so Phoebe said. Basically, Ramona was horrified that Phoebe was socializing after her widowhood. She’d thought Phoebe would
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