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  To Marilyn Harris Kriegel and Frederick Schieffelin Osborn

  1.

  “Is there anything practical that needs to be addressed right now?” Sandy asked.

  Like a student, Gretchen raised her hand.

  It had been a long time since one of the couples who came to Sandy had raised a hand before speaking.

  “Okay, Gretchen,” Sandy said. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m worried about money,” Gretchen said. “Since I moved out, I’ve had to rent an apartment, furnish it, pay for new childcare.”

  “How much money do you have?” Sandy asked.

  “I don’t know,” Gretchen said. “In my checking account right now, I have three thousand dollars. The rest of our money? Steve handles it.”

  Sandy turned to Steve, Gretchen’s husband. He was slumped in the chair across from Gretchen.

  “So, Steve, what is the money situation?” Sandy asked.

  “I just became a full partner at Simpson Weaver,” Steve said. “I had a chance to buy into the partnership fund. It took all of our uncommitted resources.”

  “Are you saying that you and Gretchen have no money?” Sandy asked.

  “Of course we have money,” Steve said. “I think there is about twenty thousand dollars in our Vanguard money market fund. It’s all going to work out. Now that I’m a partner, I can borrow as much money as I need.”

  You had to buy into the partnership fund, but then you can borrow as much as you want? Sandy thought.

  “As I understand it, you guys just sold a house in Ross,” Sandy said. “Where’s the money from that?”

  “We closed escrow this morning,” Steve said. “I have a check for two hundred thousand dollars.”

  Sandy’s mother had been a legendary real estate maven. In fact, this office was in one of her mother’s buildings. Sandy knew something about real estate.

  “You sold a house in Ross, and the total cash you got was only two hundred thousand dollars?” Sandy said.

  “I had to mortgage the house,” Steve said. “I took out every penny I could.”

  “To buy into the partnership fund?” Sandy said evenly.

  “It sounds crazy,” Steve said. “But that’s the way it works.”

  He leaned forward in his chair.

  “You think this is nuts, don’t you? You think I’ve been scamming Gretchen or something,” Steve said.

  “I’ve known you for about half an hour,” Sandy said. “I have no idea what you’re doing to Gretchen. All I know is that Gretchen is worried about money.”

  “So we can split the money from the house,” Steve said.

  “Are you worried about money?” Sandy asked Steve.

  “Not really,” he said. “Soon I’ll have my first partnership draw.”

  “And you can borrow as much as you want until then?” Sandy asked.

  “Yes, sure,” Steve said.

  “I think you should give the two hundred thousand dollars from the house to Gretchen,” Sandy said.

  Sandy saw it hit him. He almost lashed out. Somehow he got control of himself.

  “That’s interesting,” Steve said deliberately, cautiously. Sandy waited for more.

  “The whole two hundred thousand dollars?” Steve said.

  “Yes,” Sandy said. “All of it. Gretchen has taken a huge step, moving out on her own with the kids. On top of everything else, do you want her worried about money?”

  That’s right, Steve, Sandy was saying. She left you, but I want you to give her the whole two hundred thousand dollars. Can you see why?

  “But half of it belongs to Steve,” Gretchen said. She looked so earnest, and so blond, blue-eyed, so all-American. It was like, What am I doing here? This isn’t my movie.

  “What do you mean, half of it belongs to Steve?” Sandy asked.

  “If we got divorced, half would be his,” Gretchen said.

  “Do you want to get divorced?” Sandy asked.

  “I don’t know,” Gretchen said slowly. “Probably, but we have two children.”

  “I’m a marriage therapist,” Sandy said. “Frankly, I don’t care what the law says. You can find a lawyer to explain that to you. What I see is that you’re worried about money. I think two hundred thousand dollars would take your worry about money off the table, at least for the time being. You told me that you’re primarily responsible for the kids plus you’re working full-time. I think you’re going to need all kinds of help. Do you want to be worried about money on top of everything else?”

  Gretchen lit up. “You really think I should have the whole two hundred thousand?” she said.

  “Yes,” Sandy said.

  She turned to look at Steve. His shirt was pressed, his shoes were shined, his pants had a neat crease. But his brown eyes had deep circles under them, and his hands shook. He was trying to hold himself together.

  “What do you think, Steve?” Sandy asked.

  “I think most guys would say: My wife is about to divorce me, and the marriage counselor wants me to give my wife all of the cash from the house? When legally one-half belongs to me? Why would I do that?” Steve said. “That’s what most guys would say.”

  “That is what most guys would say,” Sandy said. “What about you?”

  Amazingly, he smiled.

  “When you said the whole two hundred thousand should go to Gretchen, I was like, Wow.” Steve paused. “I was like: What is going on here? I felt ambushed. I thought, While we’re trying to decide whether to get a divorce or not, shouldn’t everything be frozen in place?”

  The last thing Sandy believed was that everything should be frozen in place.

  “Do you want a divorce?” Sandy asked.

  Steve didn’t answer. What was he feeling? Sandy wondered if he could talk about it. She asked: “How are you feeling, Steve?”

  “How I’m feeling?” It was as if this were a question he had not allowed himself to consider.

  “My wife has moved out with the kids. I just made partner at a private equity firm but I feel worse than I’ve ever felt in my life. I haven’t slept for weeks.”

  He stopped talking, looked at Gretchen sitting across from him. It was as if he wanted to take stock. Who was she? He didn’t know anymore.

  She’s a beautiful, smart ice princess and you really fucked this up, Sandy thought.

  Would Sandy take them on? She wasn’t sure. Where were the brooding, melancholy artists? She never saw them. Was Steve brooding? Brooding, introspective, willing to change? Was it possible that he could change? Did he write poetry late at night? Did he paint watercolors? Did he realize how beautiful it was here, in this city, at this time of year?

  She looked over at Gretchen. And could you change? It might actually be harder for you, princess.

  Steve was looking around the office, the desk in the corner, the Scandinavian armchairs, and behind them, the big green Victorian armchair. Was he thinking it was out of place in the office? The two windows showing the top of the pepper tree outside. Sandy realized that Steve hadn’t noticed his surroundings, where he was, as he stumbled in, having trouble just getting to his chair. Now he was centering himself.

  “Steve?” Sandy said.

  “Sorry,” he said. “So why would I give Gretchen the half of the money t
hat belongs to me? Why should I do that?”

  “Because she’s worried about money,” Sandy said.

  “I don’t want to get divorced,” Steve said quietly, finally answering Sandy’s question.

  “But you are teetering on the edge of it,” Sandy said. “What you’ve been doing hasn’t worked. You should try something new. Something you would never do. Something that seems counterintuitive. Why not? What do you have to lose?”

  “Money,” Steve said.

  Wrong answer, Steve. Sandy just looked at him: Steve, it is all on the line right now. Do you get that?

  “Try something counterintuitive?” Steve said after a moment.

  “Why not?” Sandy said.

  He was still clinging by his fingertips to what most guys thought. Let go, Steve, Sandy thought. He looked away, into the middle distance.

  “I’m tired,” Steve said.

  “I know,” Sandy said. Let go, you’ve been holding on too long, she thought.

  He did. Sandy sensed him let go of the guys and the advice that never works and fall into the unknown.

  “Okay,” Steve said. “Let’s try counterintuitive.”

  He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope.

  “I happen to have the check with me.”

  He opened the envelope, took out a check. He took the Montblanc pen from his shirt pocket and endorsed the check. He handed it to Gretchen. She took it. Two hundred thousand dollars.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Sandy thought these were probably the first kind words Steve had heard from Gretchen in a long time. Thank you. See, Steve, Sandy thought, you tried something counterintuitive and already it’s working.

  Yes, she would take them on.

  2.

  Sandy always saw her couples for individual sessions at the beginning.

  Two days later, when Gretchen came in alone, she looked exhausted, just dead tired. And she was late too, though just by a few minutes. She ran up the stairs to Sandy’s second-floor office.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” she said. She went to the chair she’d sat in before. “Thank God you have the little parking lot.”

  She put her brown leather bag on the floor next to her chair. She breathed deeply a few times.

  “This is a wonderful building,” she said. “I saw the bronze plaque on the wall near the stairs. You thank your mother for giving you the building.”

  My mother put up that plaque, Sandy remembered.

  “Thank you,” Sandy said. “What’s up? You look exhausted.”

  It brought Gretchen up short. She snapped into the moment.

  “I am,” Gretchen said. “Last night, I stayed up until two in the morning grading papers, and then I had to get up with the kids and get them to school on Dolores and then I drive to Fillmore to see you, then later, I need to get back across town to teach class at USF, then back to Dolores to pick up the kids. I don’t know, Sandy.”

  “What don’t you know?” Sandy asked.

  “If one little thing goes wrong, if school calls because one of the kids is sick, the whole house of cards tumbles,” Gretchen said.

  “Where does Steve fit into all of this?” Sandy asked.

  “He picks the kids up at school two days a week, and every other weekend he has them,” Gretchen said.

  “So if one of the kids got sick, and you had to teach, why wouldn’t you ask Steve to take over?” Sandy asked.

  “I don’t want to ask Steve for anything,” Gretchen said evenly. “I don’t even like the fact that he has the children two afternoons a week.”

  “We should talk about that,” Sandy said. “But maybe not right now. Why don’t you hire someone to help you out with the kids?”

  “I don’t want them to feel abandoned by me,” Gretchen said. “They’re already upset that Steve and I aren’t together.”

  Sandy shook her head.

  “You’re a professor at a university that must have a thousand talented students who need part-time jobs. Your kids might like to spend an afternoon with one of them, rather than with their exhausted mother, who can barely keep her eyes open because she was up all night grading papers,” Sandy said.

  There was more, Sandy knew.

  “But it wasn’t just grading papers, was it?” Sandy said.

  “I was also on the phone for an hour or so,” Gretchen said quietly.

  “This would be with some guy, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me about it,” Sandy said.

  “I’m embarrassed,” Gretchen said slowly.

  “You’ll get over it,” Sandy said. She smiled at Gretchen. And you will, she thought.

  Gretchen nodded.

  “So right after I got tenure, I went to a conference about Dickens and his contemporaries. This guy gave a really good paper on publishing in London in the middle of the nineteenth century. I’d met him before. He had been very supportive of my work. We talked, and everything came out that was happening with Steve. We ended up spending the night together. He saw how much I had been missing out, how limited my life had become with Steve.”

  “This guy’s name is?” Sandy asked.

  “William Keener,” Gretchen said. “Bill.”

  “Did you know Steve was having an affair when this happened?” Sandy asked.

  “I hadn’t confronted Steve, but I knew it was going on,” Gretchen said. “He was vague about where he was. There were calls he got at odd times. I knew. It was amazing to watch him. How could he believe I was so stupid? But he just kept going and going. It is amazing to watch your partner just out-and-out lie to you.”

  “So now you’re both having affairs,” Sandy said.

  “I would never have had an affair if Steve hadn’t been having one,” Gretchen snapped. Angry, tired. “I was desperate. I was miserable. Everything was crumbling.”

  “Gretchen, I’m not making any value judgments here,” Sandy said. “But I want to get things straight. Did you talk to Steve about thinking he was having an affair?”

  “Yes,” Gretchen said. “Right after I got back from that Dickens conference. I told him I knew that he was having an affair. He admitted it. He told me that he’d stopped seeing her a few weeks before.”

  “Does Steve know about Bill?”

  “He probably knows something is going on, I went to the conference, and I came back a different woman,” Gretchen said. “But I haven’t told him.”

  “Where is Bill?”

  “He teaches at UCLA and he lives in Santa Monica. There’s another problem. He’s married. And he’s also been divorced, which was one reason it was so good to talk to him. He knew exactly what I was going through.”

  “And he has children?” Sandy asked.

  “One from each marriage,” Gretchen said.

  “So how does he get to talk to you for an hour late at night?” Sandy asked.

  “He got up in the middle of the night and went into his study,” Gretchen said.

  “I have a suggestion,” Sandy said.

  “I know,” Gretchen said. “I have to tell Steve.”

  “That too,” Sandy said. “Although I’ll bet he knows. My suggestion is this. You are the one in charge here. You may not realize it, but you are in control. Not Bill; not Steve. You are in control of everything right now. My suggestion is that you do exactly what is good for you. For example, put Bill on your schedule.”

  “How would that work?” Gretchen asked, sounding confused.

  “Don’t sit around waiting for Bill’s wife to go to sleep so that Bill can slip down to his study and give you a call and keep you up all night,” Sandy said. “You tell him when it’s convenient for you to talk to him.”

  “He can’t just say to his wife, Excuse me, I need to go call Gretchen.”

  “Maybe not, but that’s his problem, not yours,” Sandy said.

  “I need to talk to him.”

  “Believe me, he’ll figure it out,” Sandy said.

  “I don�
��t want to stress him out,” Gretchen said.

  “Him? You’ve got two little kids you are taking care of on your own, you have papers to grade, you have courses to teach, you have committees you have to go to, and your marriage has fallen apart. Who is the one who’s stressed out?” Sandy said.

  “I want to talk to him,” Gretchen said, tears coming. “I need him.” She really was exhausted, Sandy thought. She was a wreck.

  “You’ve got him,” Sandy said. “You’ve done a great job pulling everything apart, but right now you need to pull yourself together.”

  “I’m in love with him,” Gretchen said, the words pouring out. “I can talk to him. I finally have someone I can talk to. For the first time in years. I want him so much it makes me ache inside.”

  Gretchen looked at Sandy and held her hands out.

  “But he’s married and he’s been divorced once. This is never going to work out. I wish his wife would die,” Gretchen said.

  She was sobbing now. Sandy handed her the box of tissues she kept on the side table by her chair.

  “I am exhausted,” Gretchen said.

  “I know,” Sandy said. “How could you not be?”

  3.

  Sandy heard Steve’s Mercedes, the AMG C63, chug into the parking lot, sounding just like her mother’s C63, and it irritated her. Her mother had driven that car not for the comfort of her clients—for a Mercedes it was a little cramped. She wanted power, the big thunking V-8, with low-slung torque that could drive you back in the seat and smoke the rear wheels, feed you with raging intensity, fasten the seat belts, here we come. That was Mom. Is that what you were wanting to project, Steve?

  He didn’t come up right away. It was four or five minutes before he opened the door to the waiting room, triggering the light under Sandy’s desk. Then there was a knock on her office door, and it opened but not all the way. Steve looked in.

  “I’m not sure what the protocol is,” Steve said. “Do I wait out here until you come and get me?”

  “Yes, because someone could still be in here—a crisis,” Sandy said. “But no one is here. Come in.”

  He looked about the same: downcast, depressed, a cracked translucent china plate, like the ones Sandy’s mom had bought late in life, porcelain so thin you could see your hand through it.