Page 78 of Maybe in Another Life

“Strongest person,” she says.

“Hm?” I’m not sure I quite heard her.

“I’m the strongestpersonyou know,” she says, wiping her eyes. “Gender is irrelevant.”

She’s absolutely right. She is the strongest person I know. Her gender is irrelevant. “You’re right,” I say. “Just one more reason I know you are going to get through this.”

She starts heaving tears. She’s hyperventilating. “Maybe he had a good reason. Or there is something I misunderstood.”

I want to tell her that she could be right, that maybe there is some piece of information that makes all of this better. I want to tell her that because I want her to be happy. But I also know it’s not true. And part of loving someone, part of being the recipient of trust, is telling the truth even when it’s awful.

“He was cheating on you for almost a year,” I tell her. “He didn’t make a one-time mistake or get confused.”

She looks up at me and starts crying again. “So my marriage is over?”

“That’s up to you,” I say. “You have to decide what you will tolerate and what you can live with. Why don’t you try to relax and I’ll get you some dinner?”

“No,” she says. “I can’t eat.”

“Well, what can I do for you?”

“Just sit here,” she says. “Just sit next to me.”

“You got it,” I tell her.

“Charlemagne, too,” she says. I get up and pick up Charlemagne. The three of us sit here on the couch.

“My husband is cheating on me, and you’re pregnant by a married man,” Gabby says.

I close my eyes, taking it in.

“Life sucks,” she says.

“Sometimes, yeah,” I tell her.

We are both quiet.

“It hurts,” she says. She starts crying again. “It hurts so bad. Deep in my gut, it hurts.”

“I know,” I tell her. “You and I are a team, right? Whatever you face in life, I’ll face it with you. Everything that you were prepared to do for me last night, I’m prepared to do for you today. So count on me, OK? Let’s get through this together. Lean on me. Squeeze my hand.”

She looks at me and smiles.

“When it hurts so bad you don’t think you can stand it,” I say, “squeeze my hand.” I put my hand out for her, and she takes it.

She starts crying again, and she squeezes.

And I think to myself that if, by being here, I have taken away one one-hundredth of the pain that Gabby feels, then maybe I have more of a life’s purpose than I ever thought.

“Divide the pain in two,” I tell her. “And give half of it to me.”

Gabby comes in on Saturday morning, and before she can even get into the room, I tell her to stop. Deanna is standing by my bed.

“Wait,” I say to Gabby. “Wait right there.”

Deanna smiles and puts out her hand. “You ready?” she says. I nod. Deanna helps me get my feet on the ground. I push my weight onto Deanna’s hands, and she helps me put weight on my feet. I’m standing up. Actually standing up. Not without resting on another human being, but still. I’m standing up. She and I have been practicing all morning.

“OK,” I say, “I gotta sit down.” Deanna helps rest me back on the bed. The relief is immense.

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