"Misha, please. What's going on?" Nothing. I'm going next door to see Bob about the garden. Please! Just leave it, and we'll call the lawyers tomorrow."Ken sat on the stool at the breakfast bar, looking broken, as a careless Misha left, this time via the front door. She left her driveway and rounded into Bob's before knocking on his front door.He opened it and stepped back."You only left a second ago out the back!"He turned his back to her and began to walk to the living room.Closing the door she ran after him, throwing her arms around his waist."I did it!" Done what?" I told Ken I want a divorce."He spun around to face her, pushing her arms away."You did what?" Don't you see? If I get a divorce, we can get married! I don't love him, I want you. I want to be with you, forever."He looked past her to his front door."That's a great way to get me a kicking, Misha." What?"He kept looking at the door. "That's a great way for your husband to come over here after finding out I screwed his. ‘So tell me. What’s wrong?’ Every one of us was in the home for a reason. My main reason was degenerative arthritis and an ungrateful son. ‘Uncle Arthur’, as it was called around here, was ravaging my joints like a house on fire and Charlotte had known that keeping me active would keep it at bay. So far, it had worked. But as I sat on the bed, looking at my friend, I realized that I didn’t know why she was here, what her ailment was. Whenever I’d asked, she’d just said that she was at Sunnyvale because life couldn’t handle her any more. ‘She wants to wash my hands.’ I started to say something because that was such a strange thing to be afraid of but when she held out her hands, I understood everything. My mind traveled back to the last couple of months when we were at breakfast. Every morning, we had Raisin Bran and shared a blueberry muffin. If I got to the cafeteria first, I would order, if she arrived first, she would order. That way, no one had to stand in the long line again..
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