“I can’t tell you,” Gail whispered.
Gail paced faster, then faster across my kitchen floor.
“Then don’t,” I laughed and pretended to get up from the kitchenette.
“Sit right back down there, Miss Cynthia, Cyndy Ghaworski!” she whispered.
“Why the whispering?” I used a mock loud whisper. This had to be serious. She never used my full name. AND—she never, ever used my maiden name. I could think of only a handful of times she had done so since we were small girls in elementary school.
“I can’t … I can’t tell you.”
“THAT, you already said,” I countered, I thought, logically.
“But, you don’t understand.”
“I really don’t. Gail, I really, really don’t. And, I won’t unless you start giving me at least a clue to what you’re getting at.”
“It’s about me,” she said. More pacing.
A muffled cheer came from the family room in the basement where Ned, my husband, my son, Doug, and Gail’s husband, Vance were watching the basketball game. Our team finally got in the playoffs, and tonight was crucial, just like every other game the guys rooted for.
Gail had literally jumped when that cheer arose.
“Whatever it is, it’s got you spooked,” I said.
“You have no idea,” she whispered. She was back to whispering. As if anyone could hear her even if she shouted.
The boys’ cheer had barely reached us from below.
“So, it’s about you,” I said. I had found sometimes you can prime the pump by repeating someone’s words.
“Right … right,” she said more to herself than to me. “You see … I don’t know if I can tell you. I don’t know if I can tell anyone.”
“If you can’t tell me, then you REALLY can’t tell anyone. C’mon—we tell each other everything. No matter how tough, no matter how embarrassing: we always have each other’s back. You know that. From that first day in school to—”
“To about three weeks ago,” she added.
“Oooohh-kay…” I said. “At least that’s something. What about three weeks ago?”
“That’s when IT happened.”
I hadn’t really thought about it, but Gail had been oddly unavailable for about a week back then, and things had gradually gotten back to normal. I had hardly noticed because we gave each other space without even thinking … usually.
Gail and I were the same age, 42. She had twins, Matthew and Patricia (Matt and Pat) when she was 20 and had to drop out of college. Vance had married her while working in his dad’s plumbing business, and had since taken over ownership of it.
Because Gail hadn’t finished college, she was especially proud that her twins were going to graduate from the college on the other side of the state in a few weeks. The first college graduates in either Gail’s or Vance’s families.
I thought maybe it was the upcoming graduation that had her busy back then. Now, by her jumpy behavior, I knew it was something else. Something that had frazzled the usually unfrazzlable Gail.
“IT …” I left it hanging out there. More priming.
“Cynthia, sit down,” she said. Again, my full name.
I spread my arms out with my palms up, and with my scrunched up WTF face on. “Gail, I AM sitting.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she said while pulling out a chair and sitting on the slimmest edge of it. She looked hard at the basement door, making sure it wasn’t flying open, and then looked around her for any other lurkers.