All That Was Happy Read Free

you that she’s married to your husband’s
brother?”
    “ She was my best friend all through
high school,” Beckie said. “In a way, she’s like my sister. Too bad
I married her brother-in-law. One of my fears is that it’s going to
strain things with Leah, then I’ll be completely alone. But to
answer your question, no it doesn’t bother me--Leah is my
lifeline--she’ll probably offer to mediate if Bernie and I decide
to communicate with each other.”
    “ Bad things do happen,” Black said.
“And life does beat up on people at times. Nearly all newly
divorced women are convinced that they are facing some special,
awful truth about themselves--but the truth is, just because
another person has chosen to be cruel and thoughtless towards you,
it doesn’t mean that there’s anything wrong with you.”
    “ Oh,” Beckie said. “You aren’t going to
say Don’t Take It Personally, are you?”
    “ I’m not saying that,” Black said. “But
I am saying if you learn to look at it right, you can come through
this not only in one piece, but maybe better than you ever were
before.”
    Beckie left the room and was escorted out by
Leah, who’d been thumbing through a venerable stack of old National
Geographics.
    “ These older issues are incredibly
sexist,” Leah said. “How’d you like Dr. Black?”
    “ She thinks my problems with feeling
depressed and discouraged are normal, considering the
circumstances,” Beckie said. “But what does she know--the truth is,
I’m a loser. I found myself sitting in there trying to be the
perfect patient--all the while, my guts were screaming.”
    “ That’s normal,” Leah said. “It takes a
few sessions before you start letting it all hang out. Dr. Black is
not your usual shrink. She's a Navajo Indian. I think she trained
in magic on the reservation as a child.”
    "That's just perfect," Beckie said. "A
shaman. Only in Los Angeles."
    They elevator'd down to the parking lot and
entered Beckie’s silver Mercedes, pulling out into the pre-rush
hour Wilshire Boulevard traffic, the convertible allowing a full
bask of the April sun, hot on their skin, as they made their way
through the peculiar pack of low and medium-rise construction
densities, where the packing, shipping and handling of the wealthy
populace was performed expertly inside the exotic mini-environs of
accountants, lawyers, doctors, and others who understood the
importance of practical pizzazz and its applications to the dried
souls pressed beneath their stacks of money.
    Beckie turned off Wilshire and entered the
cusp of a district of older homes, choosing a country-style white
brick mini-manse, pulling into the driveway, the car gliding
underneath a canopy of acacia trees and into a surrounding
garden--a woodland cocoon which sheltered the entrance from the
intrusions of the urban neighborhood, a garden which, with
splashing fountain muting the roar from the nearby Wilshire, lent
an atmosphere of shaded solitude to the place. She turned off the
car and stepped out.
    “ Home sweet home,” she said. “It’s
strange. I haven’t really heard that fountain since we installed it
over five years ago. Now I can hear it clearly. At the time, Bernie
didn’t want to buy it--but I wanted to make a strong, simple
statement for guests. I wanted a bright spot in the middle of the
shade--a place for birds to bathe and squirrels to
drink.”
    They crossed the wide, covered porch and
entered the residence, making their way past the huge living
room--filled with comfortable couches, happy pictures, antique
lamps and artful placements of candles--to the tiny, cramped
kitchen whereupon Leah set about making a pot of coffee.
    “ There’s some crumb cake in the
cupboard,” Beckie said. “It’s funny, we were going to remodel this
kitchen to better accommodate our plans for entertaining. We were
going to draw some extra space from the living room and go with
multiple work centers--I had a contractor plan out the island as