Chapter 1

"Hi, Tom, how's it going?"

"Oh, hi, Bev. OK, I guess."

"That bad, huh? Does this mean we can't have lunch together?"

"No, no, Bev, I'm sorry. I, I'd love to have lunch with you, if you can put up with me. I'm just a bit down today."

"OK, I'll promise not to talk about anything depressing," I reassured him, "see you at 11:30?"

"Right, see you then."

Well, I guess everybody has a right to be down once in a while. I've worked with Tom for two years, and he always seems to have a smile and a funny story. In fact we've really become good friends. Not in a sexual kind of way, or anything, just more like very comfortable with each other. The two of us usually eat lunch together in the cafeteria, and the other girls occasionally tease me about him, but what I tell them is honest to god true -- I can't remember any time when either of us has even touched the other, let alone any of the garbage the girls seem to be wondering about. We're both married, for christs sake.

I made up my mind to see if I could jolly him out of his mood this noon, and to that end I started embroidering the story I was already thinking of telling him anyway, about how my husband and I went to the zoo, and Paul got into a strutting match with a chimp. Cute little fellow, he was (the chimp, I mean.) I got the craziest notion that if I was a foot shorter and on the other side of the bars it would be fun to spend some time alone with him.

Tom did enjoy my story, and even helped me imagine some possible embellishments to it. He decided there was probably a female chimp hiding in the background and watching Paul, and that she was wishing she could spend some time alone with him. So, OK, we do sometimes get into these joking semi-sexual discussions, but I swear it doesn't mean a thing. Well, anyway, the lunch hour went quickly, and we headed back to our desks with Tom in a much better mood.

The next day we met at 11:30 for lunch as usual, and once again Tom had his somber face on. There had to be something going on, and, hey, what are friends for? Almost as soon as we sat down with our trays I started probing gently.

"Tom, I've been thinking, and something hit me that really surprised me. Please don't be too shocked, but I think you're my best friend."

"Yeah, Bev," he smiled a bit wanly, "I know what you mean. I sorta' feel that way myself."

"I think it's really great the way we can talk about things," I pressed on, "I can't believe some of the things we've gone into. Like the time Paul and I had that big fight over money. You remember, we were arguing about whether I could spend some of my salary without telling him what I was spending it on. You really helped me see it from a man's perspective."

"I think I know where you're going with this," Tom said, putting up his hand, palm out, "and thanks for worrying about me, but I'm afraid this is one I need to handle myself."

"Sure, Tom, of course," I smiled at him, "we're just friends, not a couple. We're entitled to have all the secrets we want."

"Thanks, Bev, you're the greatest."

I really can't remember what we ended up talking about for the rest of the lunch hour, maybe TV shows. We're both fans of "Lost". But I know we did avoid any sensitive topic.

The next day he brought his long face to lunch again, and gave me a look that said 'don't ask', so I didn't. Our conversation seemed a bit forced, as we tried to steer clear of any pitfalls. That was especially tough for me, because I didn't know where the pitfalls were.

Well, actually, even though I didn't know, I was starting to get an idea. I realized that he hadn't mentioned his wife once all week. We usually talk a lot about our spouses, and laugh about their foibles, and commiserate with each other, and try to suggest things to make our marriages better.

I kept my mouth shut, though, until the next Monday noon. The poor guy walked in looking like hell; haggard as if he hadn't been sleeping, haunted as if he had a personal demon on his back. My heart went out to him, and I had to say something.

"Look, Tom, I know I promised, but you really need to talk. Please, please, clue me in. There must be something I can do to help."

"I'm not sure there's anything that anybody can do. It's Janet."

"Yeah, I was afraid of that. So talk to me about it. It might help just to get it out in the open."

"Well, it sure as hell hasn't helped to keep it to myself," he exploded, "but I don't feel right talking to anyone else about it."

"I'm not just anyone else. I thought you admitted last week that I was your best friend."

He sat silently thinking about it for a while, then finally looked up, and there was a glimmer of hope in his sunken eyes.

"It's true, but we can't talk here. I don't think I can eat anything anyway. Can we go for a walk?"

We dumped our barely touched plates of food, and headed outdoors. There is a sidewalk all around our office complex that lots of people use to get some gentle exercise at noon. While there were quite a few people out, it wasn't really crowded, and we could stay far enough away from others to have some privacy.

I had to drag it out of him, but Tom finally admitted that he had discovered Janet had a lover. He had confronted her with it, and told her he would forgive her if she would promise to stop the affair, but she would have none of it. Worse, from Tom's perspective, she seemed to want none of him. He had tried bringing flowers and gifts, and being romantic, but nothing worked. Instead she just became more and more angry with him. And then the yelling fights began. He didn't tell me much about those, but I could guess.

We had walked completely around the block twice by the time he told me this much, and we both decided we needed to get back to our work. As I returned to my desk I found myself feeling a new and strange, but very strong, tenderness toward him. And I wondered what the next day would bring.

What it brought was another long walk and his admission that he felt like giving up on the marriage. I pointed out that it wasn't his fault; it was Janet who had created the problem. Why, I asked, shouldn't he just kick her out of the house?

"I can't," he shook his head," the house was hers before we were married. If we get a ... If we get a div ... orce, it will be hers again."

"It's kind of hard to say that word, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but I think I'm getting used to it. I guess I'm just going to have to move out myself. Maybe this weekend..."

But it didn't work out that way. Wednesday he showed up at the cafeteria looking a lot more rested, and I complimented him on it.

He shook his head, "wait'll I tell you what happened."

It was like the old Tom. He spun the story out like a pro.

"I got home last night and pulled into the garage as usual. The only thing I noticed was that Janet's car wasn't there. You can imagine my thoughts, 'Yeah, the whore is off somewhere with her boyfriend again. She's probably f... ' Oh, sorry, Bev. I got carried away.

"Well, anyway, I got out of the car and walked over to the steps leading up into the kitchen. I grabbed the knob and started to turn it, but it wouldn't turn! It finally sank in that the door was locked. We never lock that door.

"And about then I saw the note taped onto the door. The first thing it said was, 'Don't bother looking for the key. I changed the lock.' Well, I knew what that meant, and my brain started spinning at top speed. I'd need clothes, and shaving gear, and what about all the stuff I have in my desk, not to mention my computer.

"But the note went on. 'Your clothes are all laid out on the washer and dryer.' The washer and dryer are in a little nook at the side of the garage, and I looked over there. Sure enough, there were clothes piled high on top of both of them. Sitting on the floor in front of them was my computer. I kept reading. 'I packed most of your stuff in the two suitcases you'll see there beside your computer. Take anything you want that's in the garage. But take it now because I'm changing the garage door opener tomorrow.'

"So I dumped the computer in the front seat, put the suitcases on the floor in back, piled the rest of the back full of clothes, and filled the trunk with tools and the like. Then I went and rented a room at the Comfort Inn for five days. It feels very weird not having a permanent address, but I gave my old one when I checked in."

"Oh, Tom, this must be really hard."

"Uh, ... I feel guilty admitting this, but no, it isn't. Mostly I just feel relieved."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"No, not really. Well, actually, you've already helped a lot. If we hadn't spent the last two days talking through things I'm sure it would have hit me a lot harder last night."

"You mean last night when you saw the note, or when you went to bed alone in a strange place?"

Damn, I shouldn't have said that. Tom just looked down at his food for a while without saying anything. Then he lifted his head and looked me in the eye.

"Both," he said intensely.

Oh, my god, this is bad. This is wrong. I can't tear my eyes away from his. My heart is beating fast, and my palms are sweating. I've got to change the subject somehow.

"Money, ... what about money? Do you have a joint checking account? Or credit cards with both your names on them?"

That broke the spell. "Yeah, I checked with the bank this morning. She drained our joint account. But I got her name off my credit card before she did too much damage there."

I couldn't resist. I reached out and squeezed his hand. "Don't worry, Tom, things will get better."

"Thanks, Bev, I feel like they already are."

I found myself thinking about him on and off all afternoon. The worst part was that I thought of him again after I went to bed. I had this picture of him all alone in a sterile hotel room, and I couldn't seem to get it out of my mind. As I lay there starting to get sleepy, I was wondering how long it would take him to find a place to stay, and how he would be able to rent one if he couldn't write a check.

Suddenly I was wide awake. He wouldn't be able to rent without a check. And he wouldn't be able to write a check until after payday. Maybe not until after two paydays, because his check was probably deposited in the old account, and it would take time to straighten that out. The poor guy was going to be stuck living in a hotel for weeks and weeks. Why hadn't I thought of that while we were talking? Tom probably had, but was embarrassed to admit it to me.

Just as suddenly, I thought of the answer. He could use our guest room. I spent the next 20 minutes thinking about how I could broach the subject with Paul, but now that I knew what to do for Tom I was soon relaxing and falling asleep.

I'm going to skip over the conversation Paul and I had in the morning. It wasn't one of our better moments, but I did finally get him to begrudgingly admit that Tom was in a sticky position, and could use some help. He didn't quite go so far as to say yes, though.

I was confident that I could bring Paul around in another day, so I made a tentative offer to Tom that noon. I expected him to jump at the chance, but he, too, was very hesitant.

"I don't know, Bev, it isn't right. It's not like Paul and I are good friends; he hasn't even met me! I mean, I know a lot about him, because we talk about him, but do you talk to him a lot about me?"

"Well, uh, I guess not. I've mentioned you a few times, but I guess I was afraid he'd get jealous if I talked about you too much. Not that there's anything for him to be jealous of," I added quickly.

"That's what you think. If I was him, and I knew how much time we spend together, I'd be jealous of me."