Elizabeth Zelvin shares an excerpt from her latest, Death Will Help You Leave Him.
I scootched into the back of my best friend Jimmy’s Toyota. His girlfriend Barbara’s dripping umbrella almost impaled me as I fell onto the seat. I shook myself like a dog.
“Who’s the corpse?”
“Her pigeon’s boyfriend,” Jimmy said. The car skidded on the slick wet surface of Third Avenue.
“Watch the road, Jimmy,” Barbara ordered. “And Bruce, don’t say ‘corpse.’
“Pigeons have boyfriends?”
“My Al-Anon sponsee,” she elaborated. “She found her boyfriend dead on the floor when she came home. The cops are there.”
I had a guy of my own that I called when I thought I might not make it through the night without a drink.
“So when do Al-Anons call their sponsors?” I asked.
“When somebody else’s life starts flashing before their eyes,” Jimmy said. “When they can’t stop saying, ‘I’m sorry.’”
“If the cops think it’s murder,” I said, “‘I’m sorry’ would be the wrong thing to say.”
“Who’s the corpse?”
“Her pigeon’s boyfriend,” Jimmy said. The car skidded on the slick wet surface of Third Avenue.
“Watch the road, Jimmy,” Barbara ordered. “And Bruce, don’t say ‘corpse.’
“Pigeons have boyfriends?”
“My Al-Anon sponsee,” she elaborated. “She found her boyfriend dead on the floor when she came home. The cops are there.”
I had a guy of my own that I called when I thought I might not make it through the night without a drink.
“So when do Al-Anons call their sponsors?” I asked.
“When somebody else’s life starts flashing before their eyes,” Jimmy said. “When they can’t stop saying, ‘I’m sorry.’”
“If the cops think it’s murder,” I said, “‘I’m sorry’ would be the wrong thing to say.”
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