Contingency: Covenant of Trust Book One

  “And Brad?” Phil asked.

  “Brad is another story. He’s making progress. He’ll talk at the dinner table, although not to Chuck.” Bobbi glanced at Chuck. He leaned forward in his chair. “It’s hard to get an idea what he’s thinking or feeling because he’s very tight-lipped. There’s still so much anger and bitterness toward his dad. He’s embarrassed, and he’s had to let go of his beliefs about his family.”

  Bobbi dropped her eyes. “I can identify with a lot of his feelings. He’s got a knack for saying exactly what I feel. Some days I’d like to vent that way.”

  “What stops you?”

  “Maturity.”

  “Do you think it would help Brad if Chuck moved back home?”

  “No. If Chuck were home, things would be worse.”

  “Worse for Brad . . . or worse for you?”

  “Just worse,” Bobbi said, dodging the question. She checked her wristwatch with an exaggerated motion. “Gentlemen, I have two boys I need to feed before the game tonight. I hope you understand. Besides, we weren’t going to solve it all this afternoon anyway.” Bobbi gathered her purse. “Chuck, you don’t need to walk me out. Phil, please don’t get up. Thank you.” Before either man could protest, Bobbi was gone.

  “Wow, I hit a nerve,” Phil said.

  “She said more about her feelings to you just now than she’s said to me through this whole situation,” Chuck admitted. “She won’t talk to me.”

  “She’s coping by maintaining control of the dialogue.” Phil rubbed his eyes. “I’m going to have to rethink things a bit before Monday.”

  “What can I do?” Chuck asked.

  “Don’t press her. She doesn’t feel safe when she’s not calling the shots, so continue to be patient with her. It’ll be worth it.”

  Chuck stood up to leave. “Are you going to be okay? You know, the dizzy spell.”

  “Sure. Watch.” Phil leaned forward, grasping the arms of his desk chair. He stood slowly, carefully, paused for just an instant, and then let go of the chair. “See, it’s all technique.”

  “This is nothing serious, right? They can control your blood pressure with medication, can’t they?”

  “I come from a rotten gene pool. We’ve been watching my blood pressure since I was in my twenties. I’ve eaten low-fat, low cholesterol for years. My dad never saw age fifty, and here, I’ve made it to fifty-six. Don’t worry. It’s in God’s hands, not my doctor’s.” Phil smiled, and shook

  Chuck’s hand good-bye.

  Chuck walked out of the church building, hoping Bobbi might still be around, and came face-to-face with a sheriff’s deputy. His cruiser blocked Chuck’s BMW. “Is there some sort of problem?”

  “Charles J. Molinsky?” the deputy asked, checking the name on a large envelope.

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve been served,” he said, handing Chuck the packet. Chuck’s stomach tightened before he pulled the papers out.

  TRACY K. RAVENNA, PLAINTIFF

  V.

  CHARLES J. MOLINSKY, DEFENDANT

  In paragraph four, the words jumped off the page. ‘Sexual harassment.’ ‘Hostile work environment.’ On the next to last page, she asked for a quarter of a million dollars punitive and compensatory damages.

  After the football game, Bobbi and the boys walked across the deserted parking lot toward her car. Brad recounted every play from his on-field perspective, including his four catches for forty-five yards.

  “Not a bad first game,” he said, swinging his bag of gear in a wide arc. Seizing the opportunity as Brad paused to breathe, Joel yelled out,

  “Hey! That’s Dad’s car!” and took off at a dead run.

  Brad’s expression clouded. “I told him not to come.”

  “Let it go, and get in the car,” Bobbi said. She watched Joel talk to Chuck for a minute or two, then he ran back toward them.

  “Can you believe he sat in the parking lot through the whole game?” Joel exclaimed as he reached his mother and brother. “He said to tell Brad he had a great game and he’d see us tomorrow.”

  Bobbi turned to her older son, “See, your dad respected the boundaries you laid down, but he still wanted you to know how much he loves you, and how proud he is of you.”

  “I’m not proud of him,” Brad said, already settled into a pout.

  “Mom, Dad said he needed to talk to you over by his car,” Joel said. “He said it was important.”

  Chuck needed Bobbi right now. He needed her to understand, to share his outrage, to take his side. He watched her glance in his direction as she talked to Joel. Please, Bobbi . . .

  Bobbi looked across the empty lot where Chuck stood outside his car, waiting for her. “I’ll be right back,” she muttered. Once she got close enough to read his expression, she asked, “Chuck, I’m exhausted. Couldn’t this wait until tomorrow?”

  “She’s suing me!” His eyes blazed, and his neck and face reddened. “That . . . She . . . She says I harassed her and created a hostile work environment! She came on to me! I didn’t . . .”

  “How did you find out? She didn’t call you, did she?”

  “I got served this afternoon! In the church parking lot!” He clutched a large envelope, holding it up for Bobbi to see.

  Across the parking lot, Brad and Joel watched their parents. “He looks mad,” Joel said.

  Brad reached in his mother’s purse, pulled out her phone, and handed it to Joel. “If he touches her, you call the police.”

  “What are you gonna do?”

  “Depends on what he does in the next thirty seconds,” Brad said.

  Bobbi took the envelope from Chuck and pulled out the papers as he began to pace.

  “This is ridiculous! She has no case. She never complained to Walter . . . That’s critical in a sexual harassment case, to get the supervisor involved . . . There’s no documentation . . .”

  Bobbi strained to read by the parking lot lights. Giving up, she opened the passenger door of Chuck’s car and sat sideways, using the dome light. She waded through the legal language to the heart of the document. There, Tracy spelled out in unflinching detail what transpired during each of their three encounters. What she said. What he said. Every kiss . . . Every touch . . . It was all a matter of public record.

  She rubbed her temple with now icy fingers. The boys . . . dear God, if the boys ever saw this . . . ‘The defendant placed his hand on the plaintiff’s thigh . . .’

  “Mom’s throwing up!” Joel said, poking Brad’s shoulder and pointing. “You think I should call an ambulance?” He held the phone ready.

  “Easy, Joel,” Brad answered. “It’s just vomit, but keep watching.”

  “Bobbi, I’m sorry . . .” Chuck panicked. “Let me see if I can find some water or something.” He reached behind the seat, then started rummaging through the glove box. “I should have prepared you . . .”

  “Pay her.” Bobbi wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, grasped the car door to steady herself, and started to walk away.

  “I’ve defended these before. I know what it takes to prove harassment.

  She’s got nothing. Most of what she said is an out and out lie.”

  “Most if it?” She spun back around to face him. “So some of this is true?”

  “Well . . .”

  “The conference room? At the law firm? Chuck, that’s disgusting!” She stared up into the night sky. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. “I didn’t think this nightmare could get any worse. I thought you had humiliated me as much as . . .”

  “That’s just it, Bobbi. I can stop this in its tracks. No judge is going to allow this to move forward once I answer all these claims.”

  “And I can’t risk having my sons exposed to this. Do you want Joel to hear all about the way you unbuttoned her blouse? Pay her, and get rid of her.”

  “That’ll look like I’m guilty. And a quarter million dollars! That’s my whole retirement fund. I’ll have nothing left.”

&nbs
p; “Chuck,” she snapped, her finger inches from his face. “I’m only going to say this once more. You pay that woman off. If you take this to court, I will divorce you.”

  CHAPTER 12 QUESTIONS

  Saturday, September 3

  Bobbi forced her eyelids open, awakening to far too much light. The mantle clock showed a quarter after ten. Ten? I never . . . Not since the flu . . . She pulled herself up and checked the clock to ensure it hadn’t stopped during the night. It ticked away second by second. Ten fifteen.

  She wandered through the family room where Joel was playing video games. “Hey, Baby, want some coffee?”

  “Have I ever wanted coffee?” he asked, pausing his game. “Did you get breakfast?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “No signs of life from Brad?”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Yes,” she said with a gentle smile. “Thanks for letting me sleep.”

  “You needed it,” Joel said. “Mom, can I ask you something?” He turned his game off, and laid the controller aside.

  “This looks serious.”

  “I know what you said last night about Dad needing to talk about work stuff, but . . .” He frowned and looked away.

  “But what? You can say it, whatever it is.”

  “When you and Dad . . . it looked a divorce starting.”

  “Oh, Baby . . .” She pulled him close and smoothed his hair. Would she divorce Chuck over the lawsuit? She meant it when she said it, and last night, she would have signed the papers.

  “I know you said Dad was the one upset, but you looked like you were just as mad at him.”

  Bobbi sighed deeply. “I was upset, even angry with Dad.” I can’t lie, but I can’t tell him the truth either. “A lot of times Dad gets his mind made up and he doesn’t listen to anybody else. I tried to tell him what I thought, and sometimes the only way I can get him to listen is to get just as angry as he is.”

  “So, did he listen?”

  “I think I got his attention, yes.”

  “Then what made you throw up?”

  “I don’t know. Just an upset stomach, I guess.”

  “You have those a lot,” Joel said, his eyes narrowing.

  “It’s nothing, Sweetheart. Just a combination of fast food and aggravation with your dad.”

  “But you’re not getting a divorce?”

  There is no right answer to that question anymore. “Didn’t Dad tell you we weren’t divorcing?”

  “Yeah. I guess I was just worrying, you know.”

  “It’s okay. I worry sometimes myself.” She kissed the top of his head and left him to his game. In the kitchen, she waited for her coffee to brew, but phrases from the lawsuit crept into her thoughts. The defendant then said, ‘You don’t think I wanted you here to work on some ridiculous case?’ The plaintiff protested . . . She couldn’t face Chuck for dinner tonight with everything so vivid, so fresh.

  He took Tracy to lunch. He called her. He talked to her that Sunday morning he skipped church. And he never mentioned any of it. What else had he neglected to mention?

  Then again, Chuck couldn’t have done all that Tracy alleged. She made him out to be a virtual rapist. Where was the truth?

  When the coffeemaker kicked off, Bobbi poured a large mug and retreated to the study. Her Bible lay on the edge of the desk with her devotional book stuck in the back, open to July 27. She hadn’t touched her Bible since that day. Guilt-ridden, she dropped into the desk chair and flipped to the current reading. Psalm 142.

  All right, You’ve got me. I’ve been avoiding reading, avoiding You. I’ve already failed as a wife, and I’m failing as a mother. God, I don’t think I can handle reading about how I’m failing You, too.

  Father, the lawsuit. The details in that . . . I thought knowing he cheated hurt. What do I do next? I told Chuck I would divorce him. The facts make it so much more painful. You know details worse than that about each one of us, and You put it aside and love us anyway. How? How do I put it aside and love him anyway?

  I’m tired. I’m tired of hurting. I feel abandoned and alone. Even when I push You away, deep down, I know how much I need You. Don’t You leave me, too.

  “I cry out to the Lord with my voice . . .

  I pour out my complaint before Him;

  I declare before Him my trouble.

  When my spirit was overwhelmed within me,

  Then You knew my path.

  In the way in which I walk

  They have secretly set a snare for me.

  Look on my right hand and see,

  For there is no one who acknowledges me;

  Refuge has failed me;

  No one cares for my soul.

  I cried out to You, O Lord: I said, ‘You are my refuge . . .

  Attend to my cry,

  For I am brought very low;

  Deliver me from my persecutors,

  For they are stronger than I.

  Bring my soul out of prison, That I may praise Your name . . .

  For You shall deal bountifully with me.’”

  Tears dropped onto the pages of her Bible. “You do know,” she whispered. “You do know. I am overwhelmed. I have no refuge left, and dear God, I’ve never been lower.”

  She read the psalm again. There’s always hope at the end of a psalm. She savored the last line, “You shall deal bountifully with me.”

  “When? When will You deal bountifully with me? Where does the sentence start? ‘Bring my soul out of prison, that I may praise Your name’. Out of prison.” Bobbi pushed back from the desk and took a long sip from her coffee. “Is Chuck the jailer? Then how do I get out?”

  Chuck rounded the corner, beginning the sixth mile of his morning run. Most mornings he stopped at three. His quads and calves burned from the extra distance. Somehow, it made sense to punish his body for all the trouble it caused him.

  God, I’m in a no-win situation. Are You testing me? To see where my real priorities are? Well, I’m failing.

  Blessed are the peacemakers.

  But this wouldn’t be making peace. It would be rolling over and dying.

  Blessed are you when people insult you and persecute you, and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of Me.

  She’s not persecuting me because of You, though. She’s trying to ruin me and destroy my marriage. She doesn’t want a relationship with me, so why can’t she just disappear? And why would she have to hurt Bobbi? Bobbi is innocent.

  He’d never seen Bobbi so upset. Even that first night she hadn’t threatened to divorce him. She said ‘I can’t risk exposing ‘my sons’ and not ‘our’ sons? Was that a slip?

  After his run, he took a long shower, and then rummaged through his tiny kitchen, hoping a bowl of Cheerios wasn’t his only option for lunch. He debated all morning whether or not he should skip dinner tonight and give Bobbi some space. She stunned him when she called.

  “Chuck, I don’t think I can do dinner this evening.” She sounded calm, but tired.

  “I don’t blame you. I know you need to absorb . . . everything. I handled it all wrong.” He sighed, then asked, “What did you tell the boys?”

  “That you found out some information from work which upset you, and you needed to talk.”

  “True, but vague.”

  “They don’t need any more specifics.”

  “I know what you said about how to proceed, but I . . .”

  “Chuck, I want you to talk to Phil about this. Get his take, and then we can see about having dinner again.”

  “Sure,” Chuck said, trying not to sound disappointed. Her request was reasonable and pragmatic, very typical of her, but he hated the idea of giving up dinner, even for a few days. “I am sorry for upsetting you last night.”

  “I don’t want to discuss this anymore until you talk to Phil. Goodbye.”

  Tuesday, September 6

  Pulling into the parking lot at his law firm, Chuck felt a nervousness he hadn’t experienced since taking hi
s first case. Yesterday, Donna called from the pastor’s office and cancelled the counseling session. He never got to discuss the lawsuit with Phil this weekend, and now he had to face Walter Davis unarmed. He took three deep breaths, picked up his briefcase, and walked into Walter’s office at exactly eight o’clock.

  “Chuck, good to see you,” Walter said, standing to shake hands. “How are things?”

  Chuck watched for Walter to sit, then he took a seat in one of the office chairs. “Bobbi and I are going through counseling. We’re able to talk.”

  “You’ve done quite a job keeping up with things here. Maybe I should have you work at home all the time.”

  “I’m not at home right now.”

  Walter shifted in his chair, frowning with disapproval.

  “Bobbi needs a little time and space, and it’s easier for her if I’m not there all the time. I have dinner with her and the boys three times a week. It’s amicable, and I’m sure everything will work out in time.” Chuck hoped he sounded more confident than he felt.

  “I commend you for fighting to keep your family, for facing your . . . responsibilities.”

  “About that,” Chuck said retrieving the lawsuit filing from his briefcase. Handing the papers over, he said, “Tracy has filed suit.” Davis’ jaw clenched. “She’s claiming harassment, but she didn’t name the firm. She never complained to you, did she?”

  “Never.” Walter flipped through the papers, frowning and shaking his head with each new page. “She’s obviously mentally ill.”

  “What?”

  Walter rested his elbows on his desk and folded his hands. “This is not the filing of a competent attorney. It’s the rambling grievance of a scorned lover. At the very least, she’s emotionally disturbed.”

  Chuck bristled at the word ‘lover.’ “So you agree she has no case. I expect it to be dropped as soon as I answer it.”

  Walter scowled and shook his head. “Son, this is a shakedown, and you need to teach her a lesson. I want you to countersue her and destroy her.”

  “I don’t know if that’s necessary.”

  “You misunderstand me. That wasn’t advice. You are a partner in this firm, my number two man, and even though she hasn’t named the law firm as a co-defendant, there is an association there. I am directing you to file a countersuit and ruin this woman.” He stood up, signaling the end of the meeting. “Keep me posted, and I wish you and Bobbi all the best.” He shook hands with Chuck once again.