A big part of the problem was Jeannie herself. Her head. They had to tread carefully around this one. The report did mention her aneurysm; it says the accident was definitely the direct cause of the concussion, but all parties agree that the injury was greatly exacerbated by the time bomb in her brain.

What they didn’t mention they didn’t know. But I’ve worked with Jeannie for six years. The woman has phobias and doesn’t hesitate to describe them. She won’t ride in the first or last car of a train. Whenever she gets a cold she accuses the building of making her sick. She’s so uncomfortable alone that we always try to arrange to have someone with her. She would have tried to insist on a low office except she’s convinced that she’s vulnerable to environmental insults if she works below the 6^th floor. And she’d take the stairs if that were feasible, but we settled on 14 and that’s a thigh burn.

So Jeannie is very nervous in the elevator. And that time she was riding alone. I’m sure her tension contributed to the concussion which triggered her aneurysm which caused the brain bleed which has her in the ICU, even now.

Maybe I shouldn’t describe her in present tense? Not that she’s terminal – in fact, she’s amazingly conscious and now expected to recover – but maybe she has changed.

It’s ironic that Carl can’t see her. But only family gets into ICU, and he’s not that yet. Now maybe never.

He doesn’t take to adversity. Many people can become irked to the point of tantrums by small things but rise to the occasion in a real catastrophe. My husband is just the opposite. He seems so easy going: all sorts of minor irritations flow past him like water off a duck’s back. But bring on a crisis and he freezes. He was stranded on the bridge during the Loma Prieta quake. Other people walked on, some even climbing past the break. Carl stayed put and waited for rescue that never came. Hours later he and a few other sad cases finally shambled back to First Street and to finding their ways across the bay. Or when our son was injured, up at the river, by a stick-batted rock … why, I had to actually argue with Carl about the trip to the hospital. There was a probable concussion and lots of dirty water, but daddy wanted to just bandage it and watch.

No. Carl isn’t good when the chips are down. Unless Jeannie makes a fast complete recovery, I won’t bet on them going any distance any more.

Carl’s more of a good-time guy. The first year with him was the most fun in my life. We laughed all the time. After he left his wife he moved into my apartment. I’ll never forget when my neighbor Linda mentioned how jealous she was of me. I asked why. “Oh, your love affair,” she said. “Carl?” I replied. “Not him: you two. I have to tell you, I often hear you through the wall. I mean, our bedrooms are this close,” she explained, holding up the index and second fingers of her right hand, pushing them hard together. “I’ve heard you two laughing as and after you made love. God, you sounded happy …”

That was the beginning. Sweet times. Except I remember them now and the shades are different. Then we were dealing with Barbara, his crazy soon-to-be-ex-wife. Fielding her emotional phone calls at odd hours. Ultimately getting a restraining order to make her leave us alone.

Now I’m the soon-to-be-ex-wife. I’ll admit I’ve been confused. I’ve made a few calls. My timing probably could have been better. But to get a restraining order against me? When I don’t even know where they live? Carl won’t tell the kids his address or new phone number, ostensibly because they might give it to me, the harridan, the terror of their pure love. Give me a break.

Because I’m finally giving Barbara one. Suddenly I’m sure she was never crazy. Now I’m sure the problem was Carl.

I’m sorry about Jeannie. Not in apology, but in sympathy. Maybe my key had something to do with the accident, but I’m sure I didn’t mean it.

I’m sorry, in apology, about Barbara. I’m ashamed now of how we mocked her. How we even used her distress as an aphrodisiac. For that loving laughter that Linda overheard? That laughter was mean.

If I prayed I would do one for Jeannie. But the longest prayer would be for myself. It’s awful and sorry and trite that I had to be the mocked wife, the wronged woman, to see my own cruelty.

I’m toting around a lot of baggage. I may as well carry more keys.