Four Friends by Robyn Carr

safely, this briefly.
    “Do you remember when I met you?” he asked softly. “You were my witness in a child molest case that was shaky. The second I met you, you scared the hell out of me.”
    “No, I didn’t,” she said.
    “Oh-ho,” he chuckled. “I knew immediately, you would never be uncomplicated, quiet. Manageable. You were on fire. I wasn’t sure putting you on the stand was a good idea.”
    She pulled back slightly. “How’d I work out?” she asked.
    “You were brilliant. I had to have you.” He pulled her back toward him. “How are we doing here? We making any progress?”
    “We’re not screaming at each other, but I have a lot of issues.”
    “Any chance we can work on some of those issues under the same roof?” he asked. “I hate not living with you. And the kids need us to be together.”
    “Don’t ask me to take responsibility for that.”
    “I understand,” he said.
    She pulled out of his arms and took a step away from him. “I wonder if you do understand, Phil. The kids—they want us together again, no matter what the cost is to me. They want me to look the other way, get over it. They’re not hating you for what you did to our marriage, they’re mad at me for taking offense that you had another woman in your life for two years. I knew this would be hard, but I never knew that, no matter which way I turned, it would end up being my fault.”
    “It’s not.”
    “It is,” she said, suddenly hurting all over again. “It’s my fault I can’t live with you because of it, my fault I found out, my fault I got mad about it.... You spent two years boinking some woman from the office, but three weeks is too long for me to be upset about it! What is it with mothers, huh? Why is everything in the whole goddamn world always the mother’s fault?”
    “You don’t think they’re just a little pissed at both of us?”
    “No, I don’t. I think you’re coming off looking like a good guy who made a little mistake and I look like a stubborn, angry, unforgiving demon.”
    “Aw, Jesus, Gerri—come on, let’s not do this. For a minute there we were actually friends.”
    “There it is again. It’s like I’m doing it to you.”
    “What if I let you hook electrodes to my balls and just fire away until you think I’ve paid? How about that? Huh?” he asked, giving in to his own anger.
    She smiled at him and started walking backward. “Tempting, Phil. But I’m just going to try to resolve my problems with the situation. Thanks for helping me out tonight. Talk to you later,” she said. Then she hit the electric garage door button and closed him out.
    He’d never get it. It wasn’t just the other woman. It was him needing the other woman. It made her feel not good enough. It bit so deep, she ached with it.
    * * *
    If it was true that men married their mothers, Gerri would be proud. Muriel Gilbert was on her short list of most admired women.
    Phil had two younger brothers, both married. One lived back east, one in San Diego. Muriel and Stan Gilbert kept a small condo in Scottsdale, but they spent much of their time in other locales. They made use of time shares they’d had for years and owned modest investment properties in Boulder, Maui and San Miguel, Mexico, that they leased to vacationers when they weren’t using them. That, and homesteading with each of their sons for weeks at a time.
    Having been married as long as she had, Gerri had heard a million stories about the worst mothers-in-law on the planet, but hers was the best. Muriel had embraced Gerri as a daughter the second they met and proved to be a fantastic grandmother who was devoted but didn’t get in the way too much. She was very careful to follow second to Gerri’s mother after the births and never pressured them for visits, for time. They started out as friends, for which Gerri had been so grateful. But then Gerri’s own mother died and had it not been for Muriel, she wouldn’t have gotten through it. Muriel came