Page 66 of The Surrogate Mother
“Think about it,” he says again. He lets out a long sigh. “I’ve got to go to work. But we’ll talk more about it later. Okay?”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. I realize at this point I can’t convince my husband I don’t have a drug problem. I don’t see any way out of this.
28
Nobody believes me about Monica. Nobody.
Sam adores her. He believes everything she says unquestioningly.
My ex-boss Denise thinks she’s a prodigy. She’s probably going to get my job soon.
I have to figure out some way to prove Monica isn’t as great as she said she is. I need some sort of evidence of wrongdoing on her part. But what? Absolutely the only person she’s targeted is me. Well, except for…
Gertie.
When my former assistant came to visit, she mentioned she felt like she had been pushed down the stairs. She claimed she was joking, but I’m not so sure. What if Gertie really was pushed down the stairs? What if Monica wanted to get her out of the way so she could take the role of my new assistant?
It’s a long shot, but then again, it’s not like I’ve got anything better to do today.
I find Gertie’s home number in my cell phone. When I call her, the phone rings several times, and I start to getworried maybe Monica finished her off to eliminate any loose ends.
Wow, maybe I really am getting paranoid.
“Hello?” Gertie’s voice shouts into the phone. When Gertie is on her cell phone, she seems unable to modulate the volume of her voice. It was something that used to drive me out of my mind, but now I miss it desperately. I’d take Gertie’s shouting over Monica’s clipped efficiency any day. “Who is this?”
“Hi, Gertie. It’s Abby.”
“WHO?”
That’s another thing. Gertie can’t seem to hear anything coming out of the phone. Which could explain why I have to shout. “ABBY ADLER! FROM WORK! ABBY!”
There’s a long pause. “Oh! Abby! It’s so good to hear from you, dear!”
“Listen, Gertie,” I say, “I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?”
“WHAT?”
I grit my teeth. “Can we meet somewhere Gertie? I’ll come to any restaurant you like.”
“Oh, that’s so sweet, but I just ate lunch, dear!”
“Gertie,” I say patiently. “I just need to talk to you. Coffee, maybe?”
“Oh! Well, that would be lovely!”
I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s a long shot, but maybe Gertie remembers seeing Monica in the stairwell that day. I don’t know if anyone at work will believe it, but maybe Sam will. I’m desperate to get him on my side. I’m not just being paranoid about Monica. I’mnot.
_____
Gertie selectsa small coffee shop just down the block from her apartment. I arrive before she does and order myself a black coffee, although what I really want is a stiff shot of whiskey. Probably better not to get drunk in the middle of the afternoon though. Also, I suspect this coffee shop doesn’t stock whiskey. They probably don’t even have a liquor license.
I settle down at a small round table between a guy with a goatee typing furiously on his laptop, and an older woman who’s staring wistfully out the window. I take a long sip of my black coffee, shuddering at the bitter taste.
Gertie arrives at the coffee shop a few minutes later, leaning heavily on her four-pronged cane. She is limping so badly, it makes me want to burst into tears. Prior to her spill on the stairs, Gertie was always bustling around the office, a little ball of energy. Her injury clearly took a lot out of her. I wonder if she’ll ever be the same again.
When she makes it to our table, I get to my feet and we hug. Probably for far too long. Long enough that Gertie feels a need to comment: “Is everything all right, Abby dear? You seem so sad.”
I take a deep breath, struggling not to cry. These are the first kind words I’ve heard all day. “I’ll be fine. How are you doing?”
