Chapter 13

After consulting with Jenny in Liz’s office, I walked over to Admin Services’ reception desk and signed out, saying I’d be out back, if needed. Then I went down to the parking lot, crossed it, and went onto the National Forest and the Contemplation Ridge trail. I had much to contemplate. I began a slow, deliberate pace, my eyes unfocused on the path ahead of me.

It was when Nora had become aware of her ethical breach and was berating herself that I became fully aware that I cared for her; cared beyond what might be the norm for a friend. It was not a welcome feeling.

What’s worse is that, when I found Jenny Raab sitting at Liz’s desk, I felt an unexpected gladness and I think I actually basked in the warmth she radiated to me. It might not have been something I noticed if I wasn’t already reeling from the Nora punch.

I felt absurd. For a number of reasons.

First, both of these women were too young. Jenny was twenty-three. I’d checked her personnel file, which action I now realized was more significant than I’d admitted to myself at the time. According to Liz’s hand-written notes, Jenny had married at eighteen and was divorced from her abusive husband at twenty-one, Then she took a two-year business course at Austin Community College and received an Associate of Arts degree. While some personal information could not be solicited legally, job applicants usually provided more detail in their resumes than could be sought on official application forms.

Nora was likely only four or five years older, whereas I had turned thirty-six in March.

Another absurdity was that I had two -- count them: two -- women who filled and fulfilled my life. I loved them with every fiber of my being, and yet, here I was, forming attachments to others. In-effing-credible!

Also absurd was the notion that I could collect women with impunity, expecting no backlash within my socioeconomic milieu, i.e., at work and in the community in general. I’ve often heard it said that small town living is great, if you don’t mind living in a fishbowl. I counted it as a near miracle that the three of us could live together without the torches and pitchforks being brandished in the streets. That was probably because we had the cover of Emily’s marriage to Greg to obfuscate the reality. But to add more? No effing way.

And what was I going to do? Marry every woman who became special to me? What about Louise, then? She was as special as anyone. So was Tate, for that matter. But I was pretty sure they were much too conservative to allow their moral beliefs to stretch that far. They had made no mention of any justification for our partnership, and my feeling was that they had said nothing in keeping with the adage, “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.” So I was pretty sure our closest friends simply tolerated our partnership out of forbearance. I did nor want to test their limits.

No, no, I was getting ridiculous, even to wonder about the feasibility. Somewhere, I had a screw loose. These attractions were just feelings, after all, caused by a specific mix of chemicals and electric currents that my brain was producing which could just as easily shut itself off, again.

Just then, I was walking through an open patch in the forest where the sun had warmed the loam on the forest’s floor. The rich, earthy odor reminded of what Jenny had smelled like after she was released from jail, when she had pressed herself against me in Stan’s car.

Crap! Did I really need that sort of memory? She was a damn kid. I had thirteen years on her. Likely her brain’s frontal lobe was still developing its way out of adolescence.

And what? Did I think she was still dotting her Is with little heart shapes? Giggling over the antics of some teenage idol? Filling her bed with stuffed animals?

She’d been married and abused by her husband. Divorced, she’d gone to college for an AA degree. She was becoming Liz’s go-to person for specialty work. She didn’t giggle or titter or pass notes that read, “Do you like me? Please check yes or no.” She didn’t act like a kid, as far as I was aware. Her brain may have already aged out of adolescence

Besides, my next thought began, but the premise that followed opened a whole new, and very large, can of worms. What the thought amounted to was, Besides, maybe she wouldn’t have to make a permanent commitment. That thought actually stopped me in my tracks.

It had long been my contention that the institution of marriage, as it was currently idealized -- a permanent commitment between a man and a woman, well, two people, according to law, two people who signed a lifetime contract with no termination clause, a contract that required formal legal intervention and a court order to break -- was, in a word, absurd. Worse, anyone over the age of eighteen, in some places even younger, could obligate themselves to this lifetime contract. That took the absurdity and added whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles.

But that notion, the concept of the permanence of marriage, has so insinuated its way into western consciousness that to suggest otherwise is... inconceivable! (with a nod to Vizzini in The Princess Bride)

In spite of that, I had embraced the cognitive dissonance by often suggesting otherwise, assuring both Greta and Emily of my unending commitment. Still, while our partnership contract with Emily had a termination clause, my marriage “contract” with Greta was the garden variety, Judaeo-Christian, forever-and-ever commitment, only to be put asunder by God or by a state circuit court judge -- though the Pope remained insistent that no earthly court had jurisdiction. Whatever. Marriage was a uniquely peculiar contract of absurd dimensions, if viewed against a backdrop of contract law, which made provisions for human imperfections.

Even so, Emily had a means of terminating our trilateral partnership, as did each of us, though it involved undoing some complex financial arrangements and required a ninety-day notice. And I assumed that the same would be offered to Nora and Jenny, in the unlikely event they should join us. But Greta had no such escape clause from her contract with me; me, neither, for that matter.

Maybe it was a non-issue. Greta and I had agreed to the standard till-death-do-us-part arrangement, so our only recourse for termination would necessarily be a court-ordered divorce. We weren’t in a position to offer one another an easier way out. Not that either of us were interested in a way out, if our last couple years together were to be considered. But still, it brought into question the practical legitimacy of the lifetime marriage contract and the fact that no comparable legal and fully beneficial alternatives were available.

But I realized my mind had wandered off topic, which was my fatuous daydream of possibly formalizing a relationship with two more women. What the hell had my brain been thinking? And now Nora was coming to supper.

And that reminded me: I pulled out my phone and texted Emily that I had invited Nora Galin to supper. Emily was usually our supper-starter Monday through Thursday. Her office hours ended at 17:00, while the Center closed up shop at 17:30. Her hours usually didn’t run over because her partnership used an innovative scheduling system, based more on individual patient need and less on the clock.

Each practitioner in her partnership worked with a team of two medical case-managers who were the first contact with the patient. They would interview the patient on the phone to elicit and clarify the patient’s problems and concerns. Based on that evaluation, and the history of that patient’s prior appointments, a new appointment would be assigned, with the length of the visit determined by an agreement between the case manager and the patient. That flexibility took care of the bulk of scheduling issues. Nonetheless, emergencies or other problems could disrupt that schedule. If a practitioner was running more than fifteen minutes late in his or her schedule, automatic text message notifications were sent to those yet to be seen that day, advising them of the delay and suggesting they adjust their arrival in turn. If the practitioner was running late by thirty minutes or more, the text message also offered the possibility of re-scheduling the visit.

Their system, even with the few additional details I haven’t mentioned, wasn’t perfect, but their move to a patient-based schedule rather than a clock-based schedule had notably improved the experience for everyone.

Deciding that the benefits of my walk in the forest had maxed out for the day, I returned to the Center and stopped by Liz’s office to pick up the material Jenny had collected. For whatever reason, she had left the flash drive on top of a five-drawer file cabinet, so she stood up to retrieve it when I walked in. Then she walked over and handed it to me. And damn if I didn’t get a whiff of that same earthy scent.

It distracted me for a moment, and I stood there in annoyed confusion with my hand out, having received the flash drive, but still extended -- with her hand resting in mine.

She asked, her voice neutral in tone, “Is there anything else, Gary?”

Becoming aware once more, I resisted the urge to jerk my hand away, and slowly lifted it to my shirt pocket, where I tucked the drive, her hand falling away in a natural manner. I thanked her for her prompt assistance and made my getaway.

Fuck! Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck!

Supper with Nora was ... interesting.

Greta assumed the role of hostess while Emily and I finished preparing the meal, poached salmon with a lemon-dill sauce, and fried rice, which was one of my specialties. Besides a mix of vegetables and egg, I usually added shrimp pieces and a small amount of chopped bacon; too much bacon would overpower the other flavors. I should ask Greta and Bill to add a fried rice entree to the bakery’s monthly rotation.

After everyone was served, Nora, looking toward me, said, “Greta was telling me that the three of you have a partnership contract, somewhat in place of marriage vows.”

“We do, so to speak, but it’s interesting that you should use the word vows. I was thinking about marriage as a contract earlier today, and how absurd it was to enter a lifetime, no guarantees contract that doesn’t include a termination clause. But looking at one’s contract as a vow sort of glosses over that deficiency.”

“Oh, don’t get started on that bullshit again,” Greta said. Then to Nora, she added, “He’s been complaining that there’s no legitimate do-it-yourself way out of a marriage ever since our wedding. He’s just too cheap to hire a lawyer and do the job right.”

Nora turned from Greta back to me and I said, “She knows that my perspective has nothing to do with our marriage. I was also thinking today that I had no regrets in having a lifetime contract with Greta. I’ll forego my usual crass image that would humorously belie my sincere belief in what I just said. I only regret I could not offer the same vow, as you termed it, to Emily.” Emily smiled at me.

Nora asked, “But don’t you think the type of contract your personal partnership has is more realistic, as far as human relationships go?”

“Well, yeah. I was just trying to get Greta off my back.”

“I knew it,” Greta said. “I’d divorce you, but that damn partnership contract takes all the fun out of it.”

“It takes all my money out of it, is what she means.”

“That’s the only fun thing about you,” Greta sniped, but not at all seriously.

“How does that work?” Nora asked.

“It was made easier because we’re all working professionals, but, in essence it assigns to each of us a proportion of our joint holdings based on two numbers. The first number is the amount of cash or equivalent holdings we each brought to the partnership. The second is the total of our individual income, based on our tax records. Last time I checked, in April, Emily’s share was forty-three percent, mine was thirty-one percent, and Greta’s was twenty six. Since Emily earns more, I expect her portion will continue to increase.”

“Why was it so high to begin with?”

Emily said, “Greg and I sold our house, here, and he let me keep the equity. We used that to pay off this house and the rest went into our various accounts.”

“Greg is your husband?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re still married to him?”

“I am.”

“Why?”

That brought a moment of silence to the table.

Then Emily got up and said, “Hold that question, I’ll be right back.” She went to the hall and up the stairs, but was back in less than a minute.

She walked to where Nora was seated and asked, “For purposes of the confidentiality of our conversation, can I retain you as my lawyer?” She held out a dollar bill.

Nora hesitated. “This isn’t, uhm, about something illegal, is it?” She looked sideways at me.

“Not in the least,” Emily said. “It’s just deeply personal but it could have serious economic consequences.”

Nora looked at me. “Do you know what thus is about?”

“I do. Take her dollar. We have a confidentiality agreement in our partnership contract.”

“Okay,” Nora said, taking the dollar bill. “But my rate for applying privilege is actually five dollars. Inflation, you know.”

I chuckled. “Of course. The dollar bill to retain a friendly lawyer has been a movie trope for maybe a hundred years. The price was bound to go up. Good one,” I said.

She said, “Actually, I have to give credit for that one to Dad.”

“Really? Mister Seriouser-than-thou not only cracked but coined a joke? Excellent. Please extend him my compliments.”

Emily, who was once again seated, asked, “So my one dollar is good?”

“For you, I’ll discount the price. We’ll call it my charity rate. But mostly because now I have a raging case of curiosity.”

Emily said, “Have you ever heard of Doctor Gregory Iverson?”

Nora frowned and her eyes wandered for a few seconds. “It sure sounds familiar. Is he one of those news channel doctors?”

“No, not exactly. He’s been on TV a number of times, though. He’s a sports psychologist from the University--”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah,” Nora said. “I know who you mean. Dad likes a lot of his ideas and agrees with him about the danger of sport-related concussions for children, or adults, for that matter. I’ve seen him on news shows.”

“Well, he’s my husband.”

“And I guess the reason for your separation is the confidential matter?”

“To be accurate, we are not separated, as it relates to our marriage. This house is now his domicile of record and he stays here at least one weekend a month, though his teaching and writing responsibilities keep him near Seattle most of the time.”

“But there’s more to it, I presume.”

“There is.” Emily took a deep breath. “This is the confidential part, agreed?”

“Of course. But, to be official, we should not discuss it in front of Gary and Greta, who would be considered third parties and whose presence could obviate the privilege.”

Emily, standing, said, “Then let’s go upstairs for a minute.”

Nora shrugged and stood to follow Emily to, I presumed, Em’s and Greta’s shared spare room office, across from our bedroom.

They were no sooner out of sight than Greta said, “What’s going on, Gary?”

I looked at her, bewildered. “I would imagine she’s telling Nora that Greg is gay.”

“Not about that, you moron. About you. You’ve been acting jittery and out of sorts ever since work. And Jenny told me you were out wandering in the woods this morning.”

“Jenny? What’s she got to do with this?”

“What were you doing in the woods?”

“Thinking.”

“About what?”

“Some stuff we need to talk about, but not with Nora here.”

“What? Are you pregnant?” she demanded.

“Huh? How could I be ... What the heck are you talking about?”

“I figure you’ve gone and got some girl pregnant. God knows, there’s enough of them sniffing around you. Is Nora the pregnant one? Is that why you brought her home?”

“Hell, Greta, I have no idea if she’s pregnant. And if she is, it’s not from anything I did.”

“So what’s the bad news, then?”

“There is no bad news. There’s just a, uh, development I’ve become aware of and I want to talk it over with you and Em.”

“Are you sick? Is it cancer?”

“Dammit, Greta, I said it wasn’t bad news, unless maybe you wouldn’t consider me dying of cancer a bad thing.”

Her hand went to her mouth and, just that quick, I could see tears forming in her eyes. “Don’t even say that, Gary. I can’t even think of worse news. Sometimes I used to lie awake at night in the fear that you would die or leave me.”

Just then, Emily and Nora stepped back into the room.

“What’s going on?” Emily asked, in response to Greta’s obvious distress.

Greta only sniffed and turned her head away. Greta hates to cry and she hates it even more if someone sees her crying.

Nora asked me, “What did you do?”

One more reason not to add more women to the mix, I thought. “I told her I didn’t have cancer.”

“Cancer?” Emily said.

“She asked if I had cancer.” I sighed. “It was a misunderstanding that touched on some of Greta’s fears. I might have suggested that she would not be unhappy if I had cancer.”

“He said if he died of cancer,” Greta mumbled.

I figured the quickest way to end this would be if I took the blame. “Yeah, I might have pushed it a little further than I should have, not realizing it might have that effect. I’m sorry, Greta. It really was meant to be humorous. I had no inkling you took the idea seriously, else I wouldn’t have said it.” Hopefully, this would put an end to Greta’s inquisition as well.

Nora looked at her watch and said, “I’d better hit the road. Thanks for a delicious supper.”

I stood. It was an awkward conclusion, but I didn’t feel it was my place to try to prolong the evening, since both Greta and Emily were dealing with heavy personal issues from the last few minutes.

Greta got up, too, but she wasn’t meeting anyone’s eyes.

Nora turned to Emily and put a hand on her shoulder. “I feel like I owe you change from that dollar.”

Emily turned to her and gave her a hug. “You keep it. Use it to make a down payment on one of Greg’s books as a gift for you father.”

“Good idea.” Then Nora turned to Greta and wrapped her arms around her. “When you get ready to divorce him, just come to me. We may not be able to get his money, but I’ve learned a whole bunch of ways we can make him miserable.”

“Do you have any open time tomorrow?”

Emily, Greta, and I were back at our dining table a half hour later. We each had a glass of horchata on ice. Horchata, at least as I’ve encountered it, is a Mexican rice beverage, similar to almond or soy “milk.”

Greta said, “I’m sorry for my earlier display, Gary, especially for involving our guest. I still react poorly when I think you’re uncomfortable with our situation at home. I’ve been controlling it better, but the combination of things this evening caught me unprepared. That panicky feeling just comes over me and then it seems there’s no stopping it.”

I said to Emily, “She asked me if I was pregnant.”

Em looked and Greta and said, “You asked him if he was pregnant?”

“Well, yes, but I meant it like, you know, when a couple says their pregnant. Him getting one of his girlfriends pregnant just seemed to be likely in my, well, my hysteria.”

“Girlfriends?” I said. “To whom have you assigned this role? Other than Louise, I mean.”

Greta said, “Yes, Louise, of course. And Jenny Raab.”

“And Nora,” Emily added.

“And Liz Garrison, Lydia Grossman, Terry Sloan,” Greta cataloged.

“What about Nita Bradley?” I asked, though I strongly suspected Nita, and her so-called roommate, were lesbians. However, that was the type of inquiry I, as her supervisor, was not allowed to pursue.

“She’s gay, you blockhead,” Greta said.

In protest, I insisted, “And it’s just as likely I could have gotten her pregnant as any of the others. My point being that it isn’t going to happen because I won’t be jumping any bones except yours and Em’s. That’s my promise.”

Greta said, “You didn’t let me finish the list.”

Emily, though, brought us back to the issue of the day. “What did you want to talk about, Gary?”

I shrugged. “It’s something along those same lines.”

“What same lines?” Greta said.

I said, “On our trip back from Kingston a few weeks ago, we agreed to alert one another if we became aware that someone was becoming, for want of a better expression, a ‘special interest.’” I sighed. “This morning, I became aware of that, and the absurdity of it was a bit overwhelming, hence my walk in the woods.”

“What walk in the woods?” Em asked.

Greta said, “Jenny Raab told me that Gary had gone up on Contemplation Ridge for about a half hour this morning.”

Then she asked, “So, who is it? Nora?”

“Yes,” I admitted.

“So that is why you invited her to supper.”

“No. I’d invited her before the realization dawned. But you didn’t let me finish the list.”

“List? Who? Jenny Raab?”

I sighed again, then, nodding, said, “Yep,” though, after that assertion, I began shaking my head in what could best be described as befuddlement.

“Is that it? Or are there more?” Greta pressed.

With an expression of helplessness on my face, I said, “Well, now that you mention it, I probably should include Louise, though that’s probably a different kettle of fish, since I consider her unwilling, unavailable, and off-limits. The other two have yet to be determined.”

“So, only three women, then?” Emily smirked.

“For today’s roster, yes,” I allowed.

“Wha’cha gonna do about it?” Greta asked.

“Other than tell you?” I shook my head, “Nothing.”

“Have you talked to either of them?” Em asked.

“Not in any personal way. For sure not about finding them attractive or having a relationship. Just the usual banter.”

Em said, “I noticed there was less of the usual banter while Nora was here.”

“Maybe so. If I’d realized my feelings earlier, I wouldn’t have invited her to supper.”

“Why not?” Greta asked, her perplexity apparent.

“Because I hadn’t told the two of you about my feelings, yet. Having her here under those circumstances made it feel like I was cheating on you.”

Their facial expressions and Em’s nodding head told me they understood.

“What do you want to do about it?” Em asked.

“Like I said, nothing. I have a hard time imagining adding two more women to our partnership.”

“I don’t,” Greta said, making a show of sliding her palms against each other and licking her lips.

Em said, “The last time their names came up, you said they were too young for any sort of consideration, especially Jenny. Has something changed your mind?”

I sighed, again, pushing the breath out between compressed lips. “I re-evaluated them without realizing I was doing it, though I admit my judgment might have been skewed by my attraction.”

“Your horniness, you mean,” Greta jibed.

I shrugged. “Maybe. It’s nearly impossible to make an unbiased evaluation of oneself, so I won’t claim any purity of motive. But, to get back to Em’s question, I allowed as to how maturity wasn’t only a function of age, and that both of them had been working seriously at an adult level for some years. Beyond that it occurred to me that our partnership contract did not have the same institutional permanence as a marriage vow. Our contract has a termination clause that assumes certain procedures will have to be completed and it even has a built-in ninety-day cooling off period.”

Em asked, “Do you mean we should take people on for a trial period?”

“A trial period? No, that’s not what I was thinking. I simply meant that our partnership didn’t lock us into an institutionalized lifetime relationship, like a traditional western marriage does.”

“Back to your usual rant about marriage,” Greta observed.

“True, but I don’t want to get distracted by that. I was just making the point that, if someone did join the partnership and it turned out to be a mistake, it could be resolved without involving lawyers, and courts, and judges.”

Greta said, “What if one person was wrong but wouldn’t leave?”

I looked at her for a moment. “Is this your normal level of insecurity coming to the fore, babe?”

Becoming defensive, she turned to sarcasm. “No. I was wondering how Emily and I could dump you.”

“In that case, since I won’t leave, the two of you should form a new partnership, and then withdraw from this one. It has the same effect that ousting me would, it’s just a bit more work.” I added, “But worth it, in the long run, I should imagine. Of course, to be fully rid of me, you’d have to divorce me, too, Greta, but you can discuss that with Nora tomorrow.”

“Okay, you two, knock it off,” Emily said. “Is this what happened while I took Nora upstairs?”

“Sorry. It was a variation on this theme, but yes, it followed the same trajectory. I think we’re both feeling vulnerable tonight. Me, because of what I discovered about my absurd feelings and Greta because of the usual thing: she doesn’t feel like she is good enough and she expects me to leave her.” I shook my head. “That’s a bugaboo we’ve been struggling with for decades.”

“We’ve only been together for twelve years, Gary.”

(Monday, July 20)

TUESDAY, JULY 21

I called Margaret Deveaux the next morning and invited her to a picnic lunch on Contemplation Ridge.

The bakery was testing a new dish as a special addition to the recurring menu. I’m not sure of the technical name for the type, but Sue Takahashi had prepared two versions of nori-wrapped sushi. One contained smoked salmon, cream cheese, and avocado, sheathed in the requisite rice, while the other was a mix of vegetables: green bean, asparagus, green onion, and carrot, also with the rice. Both black and green tea (in the little bags) were always available.

I had brought our picnic basket and a thermos bottle from home and Denny promised to fix me up.

Margaret showed up in jeans and a sleeveless red cotton blouse, white athletic shoes on her feet.

“Art and I came up here for the first time about a month ago, with a bag of burgers and fries and some cokes.” Arthur Deveaux was her husband. He worked with Frank Garrison, Liz’s husband, in a forest management consultancy...

Just to satisfy my curiosity, I asked, “Burgers from where?”

“Art and I both like Burger King, though I think McDonald’s has the best fries.”

“What about In-N-Out.”

“Oh, they’re good, and they have some unusual menu items for a fast food chain, but I think their popularity is more like a cult following rather than popular acclaim for a superior product. In-N-Out stumbled into a David-versus-Goliath reputation when it first started to expand in southern California, and that mystique lingers, even as it slowly grows into a giant itself. The difference is, it’s a family-owned, Christian giant rather than a godless corporate Goliath.”

“Amen,” I said, “but I also worship at the King’s open-flame broiler.”

She chuckled.

“However,” I said, “today we have somewhat lighter fare.” I explained to her the trial basis of the sushi and Sue Takahashi’s growing reputation as a cook.

As I set out the food, she said, “I take it you’ve made up your mind.”

“Well, I have, but the team managers have yet to officially endorse the idea. Still, the more I thought about it, the more obvious it seemed that the only sensible course of action would be to combine administratively with Developing Abilities, and that’s based mostly on you, Margaret. You create success. We need that quality.”

“What are you talking about? You, Gary, already have that quality. I don’t want this to turn into a meeting of the mutual admiration society, so I’ll only say that, under your management while dealing with hostile supervision from various bosses, you’ve improved programs, outcomes, and revenue. And you moved Chet from the veteran’s services office to the county administrator’s office at the same time.

“It’s not like you have nothing to bring to the table, Gary. Public Health has expanded its outreach programs and opened satellite offices. Behavioral Health has inaugurated new supportive venues. Cognitive Health has readily followed our lead into autism and brain trauma. Community Mental Health was good enough that a private management company was willing to pay bribes to get their hands on it.”

“Except,” I said, “they didn’t offer to bribe the right person.”

She laughed. “Really? How much would you have held out for?”

“A quarter mil, I figure, plus the job of their Chief Wizard.”

Then I gave her a serious look. “But, really, except for some moves I made when I was team manager in Community Mental Health, I didn’t do any of that stuff. That’s all due to the folks on those teams. They came up with the ideas and they make them work. It may somehow make me look good but, trust me, at best all I’m doing is holding their coats. I’m a fairly bright guy but my real advantage is that I’m surrounded by really bright people.”