Be Careful--"Thank You Ashley Madison" excerpt

Tuesday, April 30

     “I met with Tom yesterday,” Ryan, Tom's school social worker, told me. “Playing you and your ex against each other, that’s normal. I did that with my parents when they divorced. But it’s the first time Tom told me he was sad. The fact that he said that concerns me. In the past, he always said he was fine. And he seemed fine. I’m his track coach. I’ve seen him laughing and joking with his friends.”

     “Keep meeting with him, okay?” I said. I’’m trying to find a therapist. Do you have a good referral?”

     “There’s only a month left of school, but I’ll keep meeting with him. I’ll send you referrals if he needs to see someone this summer. If one of your friends refers you to someone good, let me know.”

     Whitley and I met for lunch. I hadn’t seen her since I fell apart in her office after learning JB’d raided our 401K.

     “You look great!” Whitley smiled and hugged me. “Congratulations on the divorce.”

     “I feel good,” I said.

     “It’s a relief, I bet.”

     “Huge. I didn’t know how unhappy I was, until now.”

     “You’ve been unhappy a long time. It’s good to see you smiling. Really, you look fabulous.”

     I rode BlackJack through the woods for a couple of hours. It was warm. The sun was shining. I was grateful to be alive, to have a horse, to be in nature, to be free. Then Angie and I met for sushi.

     “I’ve been thinking about the red string,” I told Angie. “I’m interested in wearing it, but it seems superstitious. Why would a red string make any difference to God? Wouldn’t God protect you regardless?”

     I’d been contemplating wearing the red string Kabbalah students tie around their left wrists for protection.

     “Talk to Yosef about it,” Angie said. “I carry extra red string in my purse. Talk to him. When you’re ready, I’ll put it on you. Do you carry the pocket Zohar?”

     “No.”

     Angie dug around in her purse and pulled one out. “Here,” she said. “Put that in your purse. It’s for healing and protection. I feel better now that you have that.”

     I told Angie about Golf Guy.

     “Be careful,” she said furrowing her brow and looking at me intently. “Really. I don’t want you catching something.”

     “I won’t put myself at risk.”

     “I did when I was first divorced. Thank God I didn’t get anything.”

     My phone dinged.

     “Let me know if you have any time Friday afternoon for me to look at your swing,” Golf Guy texted.