Tuesday February 4 th On Tuesday I didn’t see Gwen till after school as it was a hectic day. I walked into her classroom and said, “Those really are nice flowers.”Gwen gave a slight grin and said, ‘The nicest I have ever got.”“That is too bad,” I said, “A girl needs simple symbols of love on a regular basis. We need to feel loved.”“I don’t feel too loved right now,” she said with a frown.“What’s wrong? What did he do?”“He won’t be home for Valentine’s Day. He will be in Toronto. He won’t even be in the same country. Some special conference.”“Fuck off,” I said, “That bastard. He knows how much you love Valentine’s Day.”“He said he had no control over it. He said, we can celebrate this weekend,” she said with tears in her eyes.I opened my purse, grabbed my phone and called Shelia. “Hi Shelia. Do you have any openings today? Five o’clock. Great. No, it’s for my friend Gwen. Yes, give her the full treatment.” I hung up and said “I got you an appointment for a full body massage.”She looked. He’d basically lost control of his drinking in the last year or so, but drowning himself only made it worse. Bitch-woman was mostly a memory these days—more of a relief than anything else, and he wished her good riddance. Since finding his mother’s body as a kid, Linden was aware that he was a bit fucked in the head. Life hadn’t been a picnic for him—in fact—it had kind of been like his own little hell. Not that he hadn’t sought help, because he’d been there too. Five years ago, he’d mustered the courage to venture into a psychiatrist’s office hoping that the man could help him sort out his issues. Five years and several thousands of dollars later, Linden blamed the shrink as much as himself for his problems. That experience had only served to convince him that head doctors make people worse, not better. That was the end of it for him. With whiskey on his breath and dying on his mind, he raised the gun to his temple. The pistol was hard and unforgiving, as he was hard and.
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