As Husbands Go Read Online Free PDF Page B

Jonah doesn’t not come home. And before you think—”
    “Mrs. Gersten, I would never think—”
    “I know. Of course you wouldn’t.” Truthfully, I had no idea what he would think. Despite his almost pathetic eagerness to please, Donald Finsterwald had always repulsed me. I know I was being unfair, but I couldn’t help it. I saw him as (like antimatter and the Antichrist) the Anti-style, a man who always picked the most heinous clothes and accessories and wore them with total seriousness. What would make someone have his thick prescription lenses stuck into narrow black frames that made him look like he was PeepingTom checking out the world? Why would he wear strangulating turtlenecks that pushed up his double chin until it hung like a feed bag? Donald’s inner life—he must have one, since everyone was supposed to—was a mystery. “Sorry. Forgive my manners,” I apologized. “I’m so beside myself, Donald. In all the years we’ve been married, Jonah’s never not come home. I mean, if he’s going to be over a half hour or forty-five minutes late, he calls. Or has someone call.”
    “Don’t I know it,” he said. “There have been a fair number of times I got word from Dr. Gersten, ‘Have someone call my wife.’ The very moment I get an order like that, it’s carried out.”
    “Jonah tells me about the great job you’re doing,” I said. “And I know if you’d heard from him, you’d call me immediately. What I’m wondering, though, is if you heard . . .” The phone was in my right hand; I used my left to massage my temples with my thumb and middle finger. “Have there been any calls from the police? Or from the office’s alarm company? Maybe a hospital? I mean, not about one of his patients but about something happening to Jonah?”
    “No. Of course not. I would have called you immediately, Mrs. Gersten.”
    “I know, but I just wanted to be sure you weren’t, whatever, protecting me or waiting until, like, around seven o’clock, before calling me or Dr. Noakes or Dr. Jiménez.” Jonah’s partners, Gilbert John Noakes and Layne Jiménez, would have called me right away if they’d heard anything.
    “Oh no, no. I wouldn’t have waited to get in touch.”
    “Okay, fine. I just wanted to be sure before I started making any other calls.”
    “Oh. Who were you thinking of calling? I mean, could it be better to wait, it being so early? Dr. Gersten, maybe if he had some sort of emergency at Sinai, he might have gone to one of those rooms where residents can rest, because he wouldn’t want to disturb you at this hour.”
    I was on the verge of saying, “Oh no, he knows I’d be up because the boys always wake us at five-thirty.” Then I realized Donald wasbuying time so he could figure out if Jonah’s not coming home could be a potential catastrophe for the practice. Was Jonah sick or dead or God knows what? Or was his absence the result of some marital misunderstanding that could end in either tears and kisses (“Oh, sweetie, I was so worried!”) or else in a gargantuan retainer to a matrimonial lawyer? Maybe Donald was stalling so he could call Gilbert John Noakes, the practice’s senior partner, and get some guidance on dealing with a hysterical wife.
    Except I wasn’t hysterical. In talking with Donald Finsterwald, I had concentrated on sounding calm. Calm was good, wasn’t it? Under normal circumstances, I came across like a calm person. Pleasant, friendly. An excellent doctor’s wife, with just enough sex and sparkle to keep me out of the ranks of Xanaxed zombie ladies or sugarplum spouses who smiled in lieu of talking. I had my own career, but I didn’t bore the crap out of people by carrying on as if floral design were the answer to the world’s prayers.
    And just now with Donald, I’d been courteous, balanced. Totally nonhysterical. Good, I’d paid my dues to Manhattan Aesthetics. So instead of agreeing to wait before making any calls, or telling Donald that I