Page 33 of Are You Happy Now?

“Well, anytime. Just ask. I’ve got a nice supply.”

Lincoln rises out of his funk just enough to realize that he has learned something new about his friend. “I didn’t know you take tranquilizers,” he says.

“I don’t, almost never. It just bolsters me to have a stockpile. When things get bad, usually just thinking that the pills are there is enough to keep me steady. You should use them the same way.”

“Let me see how it goes,” Lincoln says.

He waits two days before calling his parents. Though they aren’t totally surprised, given the prior separation, his mother wants specifics that Lincoln can’t bear to furnish. She offers to come out to comfort him, but Lincoln tells her that’s not necessary. His father hurries through the sympathy and moves swiftly to a dispiriting checklist of things Lincoln must do: cancel joint credit cards and bank accounts; notify the utility companies; warn the mortgage holder; sign up a lawyer. “Now, son,” the father continues, “I don’t know what was going on in your marriage, but, whatever you do, when you talk to Mary again, don’t confess anything.”

“Dad!”

“Just good advice. You admit something, and it can come back to haunt you.”

“OK, Dad,” says Lincoln, thinking of his tryst with Amy and feeling slightly cheered to have an incriminating secret to withhold from his wife.

On top of everything else, breaking up a marriage turns out to be a terrible drain on one’s time. Lincoln spends countless hours on the phone following his father’s checklist, though he stops short of hiring a lawyer (canceling a seldom-used joint MasterCard doesn’t ignite the sense of helplessness and failure that comes with the thought of enlisting an actual human being—Lincoln will need more strength for that). But he also has to calculate whom to tell and how to tell them, then evade as best he can the inevitable questions.

On Friday afternoon, he trudges down to Duddleston’s office. Amy is on vacation (writing her novel, she has promised), so Lincoln only has to navigate past Mrs. Macintosh to land an audience with the boss. Facing other acquaintances, Lincoln has come right to the point. With his employer, Lincoln serves up a few publishing matters before dropping the news casually as he’s about to leave.

“My God, no!” Duddleston cries, reacting so strongly that Lincoln wonders for a moment if the good Presbyterian considers divorce a firing offense. After a moment, the boss proceeds in a more measured tone. “The two of you seemed so right for each other. Did you try seeing someone? A counselor? A therapist?”

“No, we decided not to do that.”

“Every marriage has its bumps. Victoria and I...” Mentioning his wife, Duddleston falters. The angled October sun streaming through the window leaves his face in shadow, and Lincoln gets the sense that Duddleston feels buried suddenly, struggling in a dark place in his past. “It’s important to talk,” he continues, recovering. “Look, I’ll pay for it. Find yourselves a good marriage counselor and have them send the bills to me.”

“Jeez,” says Lincoln, flabbergasted at his boss’s generosity. “That’s too kind of you, but I can’t accept it. I’ll talk to Mary, and maybe we’ll see someone. But thank you so much.”

“I’m serious. Get someone. Talk.”

“Thank you, thank you,” says Lincoln, hurrying out of the office.

Walking to the L station after work the next Monday, Lincoln turns on his cell phone and finds a fresh message from Amy. “Call me,” she orders. He ignores the command. He’s simply not in the mood. But later that night, after he’s spent the evening with Flam at John Barleycorn, he calls Amy back.

“John, I heard,” she says. Beyond the sympathy in her voice, Lincoln detects a pinprick of curiosity.

“Heard what?” he says, being difficult.

“About the divorce.”

“Who told you that?”

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Amy hesitates. “Mrs. Macintosh.”

“The old bat shouldn’t gossip.”

Amy recovers enough to hold her own. “Well, is it true?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s one of those things.”

“Do you mind my asking—what happened?”

No one else except his mother has been so brazen about getting the autopsy report. “It’s a long story,” he says wearily.

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