Therapy

loved the mess. It was Gav’s mess, what was the rush?”

She buried her face in her hands and began sobbing. I guided her to a sofa.

Milo went up the stairs.

*

He came down ten minutes later. I’d gone into the kitchen, found a coffeemaker half-filled with lukewarm coffee, warmed it in the microwave, and brought it to Sheila Quick, guessing on nondairy creamer and one packet of artificial sweetener. Dirty dishes filled the sink. The counters were grimy. Not far from the machine was a nearly empty bottle of Tanqueray gin and a tube of Binaca breath spray.

I held the cup as she drank. Her mouth was still trembling and she dribbled and I wiped her chin.

She glanced up at me. “You’re nice. Good-looking, too.”

Milo strode into the living room. “Ma’am, I recall a computer in Gavin’s room.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Where is it?”

“Jerry took it, said he was donating it to Beverly Vista School.”

“What about Gavin’s papers?”

“He boxed everything up and took it out to the garbage.”

“Garbage was picked up when?”

“Tomorrow.”

He left.

Sheila Quick said, “He’s in a hurry.”

I said, “Jerry was really eager to clean Gavin’s room.”

“Eager beaver. Eager, eager beaver.”

I nodded.

“He said we needed to face reality,” said Sheila Quick. “It must’ve been me. Crying too much, getting on his nerves crying all the time. I don’t do anything for him.”

I thought she meant the attraction was gone, but she went on: “I don’t want to do anything for him. He comes home from work, wants his dinner, maybe I open a can. He says, ‘Let’s go out.’ I say no. Why should I want to go out? Why should I want that?”

I said, “There’s nothing for you outside of this house.”

“That’s right. You understand.” To no one: “He understands.”

Milo returned, looking grim.

She patted my shoulder, and said, “He understands.”

“He’s a very understanding guy,” said Milo.

Sheila Quick said, “Jerry cleaned up so I would face reality. My fucking ducking husband doesn’t get it. He shouldn’t have done it without asking me! There were things I wanted to keep.” She brightened. “Is it all out there- in the alley? In the garbage Dumpster?”

Milo said, “I’m sorry, ma’am. Your Dumpster’s empty.”

“Bastard,” she said. “For what he did, he should be… it was wrong. Who cares where he is? Who the hell cares?”

“Has he called?”

“He left a message last night. I was sleeping. I sleep a lot. I erased it. What’s he going to tell me? That he misses me? I know he’s with some whore. When he travels he’s always with whores. Know how I know?”

“How, ma’am?”

“Condoms,” she said. “I find condoms in his luggage. He has me unpack, leaves them there, wants me to know.” Sick smile. “Doesn’t bother me- makes me… happy.”

“His going to prostitutes?”

“Sure,” she said. “Better them than me.”

*

We got a little more coffee in her, but her voice remained thick. I wondered how long it had taken her to work the gin bottle down.

She yawned. “I need to take a nap.”

“Sure, ma’am,” said Milo. “Just a few more questions, please.”

“Please?” She unraveled the towel turban and tossed it on the floor. “Okay, since you said please.”

“Who referred you to Dr. Koppel?”

“Dr. Silver.”

“Your obstetrician?”

Her eyes closed, and her head lurched forward, then froze in place.

“I’m tired.”

“Dr. Barry Silver?” said Milo. “Your gynecologist?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did Dr. Silver give you the referral personally?”

“He gave it to Jerry, Jerry called him. Jerry said he was smart- can I sleep, please?”

“One more thing, ma’am. Gavin’s room was cleaned out, but I noticed his clothes were still in the closet.”

“Jerry was probably gonna take those, too, and give ’ em away. Those really pretty Ralph Lauren shirts I bought Gav for Christmas. Gav loved to go shopping with me because Jerry’s so cheap. We went to all the stores. Gap, Banana Republic, Saks… Barneys. Sometimes we went on Rodeo Drive when they had the end-of-season sales. I got Gav a Valentino sports jacket on Rodeo, better than anything Jerry has. Jerry prolly woulda given Gav’s clothes away, but he didn’t have time.”

Her hands balled into fists. “Jerry can fuck himself if he thinks I’ll give up Gav’s clothes.”

*

We helped her up the stairs and into a master bedroom turned to night by blackout drapes. Rumpled tissues and night shades and two small airline liquor bottles on the nightstand. Bourbon and Scotch. A quarter inch of water floated in a crystal highball glass.

Milo tucked her in and she smiled up at him and licked chapped lips. “Nighty-night.”

“One more question, ma’am. Who’s your husband’s accountant?”

“Gene Marr. With an H.”

“Maher?” said Milo.

She started to answer, gave up, closed her eyes.

By the time we were out of the room, she was snoring.

*

Before we exited the house, Milo brought me to Gavin’s room. The same pale blue walls, stripped. The queen bed made up with a deep blue comforter. Gavin’s bookcase held a few softcovers and magazines, and two model airplanes. The carpeting was dingy.

The closet was filled with jackets, slacks, shirts, coats.

“Nice wardrobe,” I said. “Jerry didn’t take the papers out to the garbage. He made sure no one would see