sorry,” Detective Green said. With downcast eyes, he continued, his tone filled with compassion. “They told us that the driver of the car that hit him fell asleep at the wheel. Witnesses said that by the time they got to your husband, he was already gone.”
“And the driver of the car that hit him?”
“He died from his injuries a few minutes after they got him to the hospital.”
“Oh.” She didn’t know what else to say.
They would not leave her side until her friend Frannie Anise rushed over to stay the night. Frannie, a free spirit from Northern California, the thing they found out they had in common within two minutes of meeting each other upon Sara’s arrival in New York City, worked at the United Nations as a tour guide.
Frannie was with her round-the-clock until her parents arrived from Glen Ellen.
Sara seemed to float through the day of the funeral. Her head felt light as if she was on something even though she had declined the tranquilizers her doctor had offered to prescribe for her.
Her parents stayed for two weeks, doting on her. When they prepared to leave, they begged her to go home with them for a while. Sara, however, felt that if she didn’t soon get back into her regular routine, she would lose her mind.
That was a mistake.
Without Billy, her life had lost its flavor.
Sara thought that she had permanently built up her self-esteem when she had been a bullied teenager. She had become a diehard optimist who didn’t allow anyone to bring her down. Life’s challenges didn’t faze her in the least.
But two months after Billy’s death, she was sitting at the breakfast table on Sunday morning, the day she and Billy always spent together, and for the first time in her life she had suicidal thoughts. She looked at the knife in her hand, a bread knife, and wondered just how deeply she would have to cut her wrist in order to bleed out swiftly enough so that no one would be able to save her. She’d read somewhere that people who attempted suicide by slitting their wrists rarely cut deeply enough to reach that vital artery deep down past all the insignificant veins. Slitting your wrist was often messy, but it wasn’t a good way to off yourself.
She found herself wishing she’d allowed her doctor to prescribe those tranquilizers. Pills were probably much more efficient. As she sat there turning the knife over and over, the blade flashing, she caught her reflection in it and saw how desperate she looked, dark circles under her eyes, dry, cracked lips. Utterly hopeless.
She placed the point of the knife against her wrist, deciding that she was simply going to test herself, see if she had the guts to do it. Pressing down a little harder, she felt a little pain but she hadn’t even broken the skin. She pressed harder and this time the tip broke her skin and blood immediately began to pour slowly from the tiny hole.
She actually smiled happily.
She pressed down a bit harder, a hopeful expression on her face.
Then, someone loudly knocked on her door.
She ignored it and went back to the task at hand.
They knocked even harder, then Frannie’s voice yelled, “Sara! I know you’re in there. Open the door! Open this damn door or I’ll break it down!”
Sara laughed at her threat. Frannie Anise was five-three and must have weighed a hundred and five pounds, tops!
She got up and went to the door. “Go away, Frannie, I’m busy!”
“Busy moping around that apartment. Open up. I’m getting you out for some fresh air.”
“It’s August. There is no fresh air in the city in August. Just heat, and a lot of cranky New Yorkers complaining about it.”
“It’s hot as hell in this hallway. The least you can do, after I’ve come all this way, is to invite me in for a cold drink.”
“I’m not dressed for company.”
“Who cares? If you really want to be alone, I’ll drink and run.”
Sara was silent for several minutes.
“I’m really hurt that you won’t even open the door,” Frannie said. “I thought I was your best friend.”
“You are my best friend, but I need to be alone. A best friend would understand that.”
“I haven’t seen you in nearly a month. You won’t answer my phone calls or my e-mails. What am I supposed to think? Unless I can look into your face, I’m not going to leave here. You know me. You know I mean it.”
“Yeah, you’re as pigheaded as they come.”
“I’ll get you for that pig remark. And I’m Jewish. We’re not known for giving up.”
“You’re only half Jewish!”
“Yeah, but the other half is African-American. You know we don’t give up!”
Sara peered down at her bleeding wrist.
She opened the door and fell into Frannie’s arms.
Chapter 2
Frannie made Sara shower and dress, after which they got in a cab and went across town to an apartment building on Amsterdam Avenue. On the cab ride, Frannie didn’t say a word about the thick bandage covering Sara’s wrist, for which Sara was grateful.
She’d told Frannie that she’d cut herself while trying to split a breakfast bagel.
The building was quite old but well maintained. It had a redbrick facade and a dark green awning over the entrance. Sara guessed that Frannie must have been a frequent visitor because the elderly gentleman at the desk in the lobby waved them past without first inquiring after their reason for being there.
As they waited for the elevator, Frannie said, “I’ve been wanting to introduce you to this group of women for a long time but, the fact is, you haven’t needed them until now.”
“What do you mean?” Sara asked.
“You’ll see,” said Frannie with a mysterious smile. “One more thing, try not to stare at them. Some of them are very well known. I’m counting on your discretion.”
“Ooh,” intoned Sara. “What is this, a secret society or something?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s simply a group of women who want to change the world by helping other women. We’re hoping that you’ll consider joining us.”
“What if I don’t want to join?”
“After you hear what we’re about, you will,” Frannie said with confidence.
“I’m not big on joining clubs,” Sara said as a warning. “I was wooed by four sororities when I was in college and managed to avoid signing up with any of them.”
“This
