Page 135 of Chosen Road

She smirked. “Yeah. He’s got an appointment for his hair implants. Like hair is going to cover the oiliness of that man.” She shuddered. “Anyway. We like the program. We want it. He takes all our files after only leaving them with us for a day or two and gives them back with markings all over them. Doesn’t even give us a chance to work things out.”

“Two days?” I asked, incredulous.

She shrugged. “I mean, I guess it’s good he’s committed to the kids, but we are qualified!”

“He’s not the one marking them up. I am. He gave them to me every night. He told me he was worried there was not enough progress on the files,” I admitted.

Her mouth dropped open, and then red suffused her face. “That’s why he doesn’t want the program. He doesn’t want everybody to know you’re doing his job.” She looked at me. “I hope you don’t give it up. We’ve learned a lot from you already.”

“If he cancels, I’ll be available for any and all questions. I’ll make sure I reiterate that this afternoon. Can you please send out a memo that the meeting is on for this afternoon?”

She smiled her assent as she scooted to her next appointment.

I realized, now that I had a plan for those files, that I was calm enough to meet with my patient. I knocked on the door softly, opened it, and slipped inside to do what I’d been called to do.

Later that night, after Ruby and Yiayia went to bed, I went over the information from the meeting. When Bill left for the afternoon, he locked his office, and it took some time before we were able to track down the head nurse to open it so we could get the files. The files that sported a brand-new sticky note with my name on it. Which was a relief. Especially since I wasn’t the one who retrieved them. Because now no one could say I took liberties by going into his office.

The meeting went well, they knew what they were doing, they just needed a sounding board and confirmation that they were moving in the right direction.

I hadn’t slept well the night before, and things were not looking good for tonight, either. I spoke to Gus after dinner, and he assured me he’d call again tonight. I needed to hear his voice because my brain was really fucking with me. Wondering if he was happy to get away from me for a few days. Thinking maybe Alex was better off without me. Questioning whether Gus really was as good as I made him out to be. Urging me to flee the discomfort of needing him.

What would really help, was my journal. Writing everything out helped to filter out the crazy. That and a nice, hot bath. Maybe I’d take half a Benadryl afterwards to help me sleep.

All my boxes from the condo were stacked in the spare room and my journal was in one of them. I laughed out loud when I saw them. Not one bloody box was labeled. We were in that much of a hurry to get into bed.

I took a deep breath, the remembrance of our lovemaking soothing me.I would be okay. We would be okay.

My logical brain slowly reasserted itself.

This is a normal reaction for you, but not logical. A little self-care, a little writing, Gus’s voice on the phone, and you’ll be good to go.

And he would be home tomorrow to hold me.

With no hope of finding my journal, I opened the door to Gus’s office. I chose a pen from the holder on top, then spun around to the printer to get a piece of paper but it was empty. Sitting at this desk, I opened the top drawer, no printer paper. Nothing in the second drawer, either.

My hand froze on the handle, my brain belatedly registering what I saw. I closed the second drawer and slowly slid the top drawer back open, hoping against hope that I was wrong.

My hand shook as I lifted the bundle of papers and lay them on top of the desk.

Divorce papers.

Chapter 45: Letters

Gus

I called back, and once again, she didn’t pick up.

I typed out a message.

Pick up or I’m messaging Ruby. I’ll phone the house and get Yiayia up. Pick up the damn phone.

I gave her five minutes and tried again.

“Hello.” She sounded terrible, dull and dry and lifeless. I pictured her curled up on our bed, staring into space just like the other times we’d been separated.

“What’s wrong, honey?” I asked softly.

“I can’t talk about it right now,” she replied tonelessly.

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