Trying to keep her slightly improved mood from going downhill, I brightened. "Did you get to see Bodhi this weekend?'
"He was in art class. I painted my vase."
"With yellow flowers? And pink mouses? Can I see it?"
"Mommy took it with her. She said it was really pretty."
"I'm sure it was," I said, trying to hide my disappointment. "I wish I could have seen it."
"Do you want me to make you one? I can. And I think I can paint my mouses even better."
"I'd love that, sweetie."
I cleaned the hamster cage and the kitchen; though I hadn't noticed earlier, I also had to straighten up the family room. Barbies and their accessories had been strewn about, blankets needed to be folded and returned to the appropriate chest, and a half-eaten bowl of popcorn had to be emptied into the trash before being washed and dried. Remembering I still had dinners my mom had prepared, I moved a few Tupperware containers from the freezer to the refrigerator. I also unloaded the groceries I'd picked up with Liz and Marge earlier.
Later, I crawled into bed and caught the scent of perfume, one that I knew Vivian had been wearing. It was light and flowery but otherwise unknown to me, and I knew I'd never sleep. I stripped the bedding and put clean sheets on the bed. I wondered if she'd intended any message by leaving behind dirty sheets or a messy house. It might have been anger, but I didn't think so. My gut was telling me that she no longer cared how I might feel because she no longer cared about me at all.
CHAPTER 17
Moving Forward and Backward
When I was dating Emily--before I did something stupid--we spent the first week of July in Atlantic Beach, North Carolina. With two other couples, we'd rented a house close enough to the water that we could hear the waves breaking in unrelenting rhythm. Though we'd split the rent three ways, it was still a stretch for all of us, so we'd brought coolers packed with food we'd purchased at the grocery store. We planned to cook instead of going out to restaurants, and as the sun started to go down, we'd fire up the grill and start our feast. In the evenings, we'd drink beer on the porch to the sound of the radio, and I can remember thinking that it was the first of many such vacations Emily and I would end up taking together.
The Fourth of July was particularly special. Emily and I woke before the others, walking the beach as the sun began to rise. By the time everyone got out of bed, we'd set up our spot on the beach, complete with a steamer I'd rented to cook the scallops and shrimp that had been unloaded at the docks only a few hours earlier. We supplemented the seafood with corn on the cob and potato salad, and set up an inexpensive volleyball net. When our friends finally joined us, we spent the rest of the day in the sun, kicking back, wading in the surf, and coating ourselves with sunscreen.
There was a carnival in town that week, set up in the main traffic circle near the beach, about a quarter mile from where we were staying. It was one of those traveling carnivals, with rickety rides, overpriced tickets, and games that were almost impossible to win. There was, however, a Ferris wheel, and half an hour before the fireworks were supposed to start, Emily and I ditched the group and climbed aboard the ride. I figured we'd have plenty of time to rejoin our friends afterward, but as fate would have it, the ride broke down just as Emily and I reached the apex.
While stalled at the top, I could see workers tinkering with either the engine or the generator; later, I saw someone race off, only to return carrying a large and obviously heavy toolbox. The ride operator shouted up to us that he'd have the ride working again shortly, but warned us not to rock the carts.
Though the day had been sweltering, the wind was gusting, and I slipped my arm around Emily as she leaned into me. She wasn't frightened, nor was I; even if the engine was fried, I was sure there was some sort of manual hand crank they could use to eventually unload everyone. From our vantage point in the sky, we watched people as they moved among the carnival booths, and stared at the carpet of house and streetlights that seemed to stretch for miles. In time, I heard the familiar thwump of a firework being launched from a barge off shore just before sparkling fingers of gold and green and red expanded across the sky. Wow, Emily breathed, something she repeated throughout the hour and a half we remained stuck on the Ferris wheel. The wind was pushing the scent of gunpowder down the beach, and as I pulled Emily closer I remember thinking that I would propose to Emily before the year was up.
It was around that time that our friends finally spotted us. They were on the beach, people in miniature, and when they figured out that we were stuck, they began to whoop and point. One of the girls shouted up to us that if we planned on spending the night up there, we should probably order a pizza.
Emily giggled, before growing quiet.
"I'm going to pretend that you paid the workers down there to stall the Ferris wheel on purpose," she finally said.
"Why?"
"Because," she said, "for as long as I live, I don't think another Fourth of July will ever measure up to this one."
On Monday morning, London woke with a red nose and continuing sniffles. Though she wasn't coughing, I debated whether to send her to school, but when I suggested as much, she began to fuss.
"The teacher is bringing in her goldfish today, and I get to feed him! Plus, it's coloring day."
I wasn't sure what coloring day entailed, but it was obviously a big deal to her. I gave her some cold medicine at breakfast, and she skipped off to class. I noticed when dropping London off that the teacher had a cold too, which made me feel better about my decision.
On my way back to the car, I caught myself wondering what Vivian was doing and immediately shoved the thought away. Who cares? I reminded myself, but more important, I had a commercial to film later that week and another client I needed to impress.
At the office I was swamped with work. I confirmed everything I needed to film Taglieri's third commercial on Friday. I touched base with the tech guy for the plastic surgeon, and even managed to meet with an animal trainer who claimed to have just the dog I needed to film the fourth commercial for Taglieri. We set a date for filming on Thursday of the following week.
Which meant, fortunately, that I didn't have time to think about Vivian much at all.
The settlement agreement was delivered via FedEx on Tuesday afternoon. It also came via email, but I couldn't bring myself to read either version. Instead, I called Joey Taglieri and asked if he would look it over. We agreed to meet at an Italian restaurant not far from his office the following day.
I found him at a booth in the corner, the table topped with a red and white checkered tablecloth and a manila folder lying on a pad of yellow legal paper. He was drinking a glass of mineral water and when I sat, he slid a piece of paper toward me, along with a pen. "Before we get into this, you need to sign a retainer agreement. I told you that I don't do family law anymore, but I can make an exception for you. I can also recommend some attorneys, including the guy who handled my second divorce, but I'm not sure how much they'll be able to help you for reasons I'll get to in a moment. The point is, no matter who you choose, everything you tell me will be covered by attorney-client privilege, even if you ultimately decide to work with someone else."
I signed the retainer agreement and slid it back to him. Satisfied, he leaned back. "You want to tell me what happened?"
I told the same story I had to Marge and Liz and my parents and Emily. By then, I felt as though I'd told the story a hundred times. Taglieri jotted notes along the way. When I finished, he leaned back and said, "All right, I think I got it. I also reviewed the document, and I guess the first thing that you should know is that it looks like she intends to file for divorce in Georgia, not North Carolina."
"Why would she do that?"
"Georgia and North Carolina have different laws. In North Carolina, a couple has to be legally separated for a year before divorce can be granted. That doesn't mean you have to live in separate places, but both of you have to understand that you're separated. After the year
is up, one of you files for divorce. The other side then has thirty days to file an answer, but that can be sped up a bit, at which point you get on the court calendar. When your time comes, divorce is granted. In Georgia, there is no separated for a year requirement. There is, however, a residency requirement. Vivian can't file for divorce until she's been a resident of the state for six months, but after that, it can be granted in thirty days, assuming everything has been worked out between the two of you. In essence, because she's been living in Atlanta since September eighth--or maybe even before that--she'll be able to obtain a divorce next March or April, instead of next year around this time. In other words, she cut six months off the process. There are a couple of other differences concerning fault and no fault that I doubt will pertain to you. I'm guessing she'll file no fault, which essentially means the marriage is broken."
"So she's in a rush to dump me, huh?"
"No comment," he said with a grimace. "Anyway, that's one of the reasons I've decided to offer my services if you want them. I passed the bar in Georgia as well as North Carolina--go Bulldogs!--while the attorneys I used for my divorce haven't. In other words, it's either work with me, or get an attorney in Georgia. Also, I made some calls this morning... apparently, Vivian's attorney is a real piece of work. I've never dealt with her, but she has the reputation of being a bully who likes to wear down the other side until they just throw in the towel. She's also very selective when it comes to clients, so my guess is Spannerman pulled some strings to get her to agree to represent your wife."
"What do I do? I have no idea where to start."
"Just what you're doing right now--you've retained legal counsel. And trust me, nobody knows what to do in the beginning unless they've been through it before. Long story short, in Georgia, there are documents that will have to be filed, everything from disclosure statements, marital settlement agreements, to an affidavit regarding custody. Her attorney will probably press to have everything ready by the six-month mark, so there's going to be a lot of back-and-forth between counsel."
"What about the settlement agreement she sent?"
"That's essentially a contract between the two of you. It covers alimony and property division, things like that."
"What about London?"
"That's where it can get tricky. The courts retain the right to make decisions regarding custody, visitation, and child support. Now, the two of you can come to an agreement and the court will take that into account, but they're not bound by it. If it's reasonable, though, the court will usually go along with what the two of you decide. Because London is so young, she won't have much of a say at all. That's probably for the best."
I suspected he'd have to go over all of this again. "What did Vivian want?'
Taglieri reached into the folder and pulled out the agreement. He began to flip through the pages. "As far as property division goes, for the most part, she wants half. That's half the equity in the house, half the money in your banking and investment accounts, half of your retirement. She wants the SUV and half of the value of the contents of the house, in cash. She also wants an additional chunk of change, which I'm guessing is half the total you invested in your business."
I suddenly felt as though I'd been donating blood for a week. "Is that all?"
"Well, there's also alimony."
"Alimony? She earns more than I do right now and she's dating a billionaire."
"I'm not saying she'll get it. I suspect she'll use it, along with the rest of the proposed property division, as leverage to get what she really wants."
"London."
"Yeah," he said. "London."
After my meeting with Taglieri, there was no time to return to the office. Instead, I drove to the school and got there early; I was at the front of the car line. I was looking over the separation agreement--it crowded out all other thoughts--when I heard a tapping on my window.
Emily.
She was wearing tight faded jeans with tears at the knees, along with a formfitting top, and the sight of her made something lift inside me. Opening the door, I stepped out into the sunlight.
"Hey there," I said. "How are you?"
"I feel like I'm supposed to ask you that question. I've been thinking about you the last few days and wondering how Sunday night went."
"It went as well as something like that could, I guess. Vivian did most of the talking."
"How's London doing?"
"She seems all right. Other than the fact that she's still getting over a cold."
"Bodhi, too. He just came down with it yesterday. I think more than half the class is sick right now. It's like a leper colony in there." She seemed to study me for a moment. "Other than that, how are you holding up?"
"So-so," I admitted. "I had to meet with an attorney today."
"Oh, yuck," she said. "I hated that part of it."
"It wasn't a lot of fun," I said. "It still feels like a dream, like it's not really happening. Even though I know that it is."
She looked straight at me and as she held me in her sights, I was struck by the length of her eyelashes. Had they always been that long? I found myself struggling to remember. "Did you have your questions answered?" she asked.
"I wasn't even sure what questions to ask. That's what I was looking over in the car. Vivian sent a proposed separation agreement."
"I'm not a lawyer, but if you have questions, you can call. I might not be able to answer all of them, of course."
"I appreciate that," I said. I could see more cars pulling into line, a steady flow now. As far as I could tell, I was the only male in the pickup line. As I faced Emily, I suddenly heard Vivian's voice in my head--rumors!--and wondered if any of the mothers in the car line were watching us. Automatically, I took a slight step backward and slipped my hand into my pocket. "Did David leave for Australia?"
She nodded. "Yesterday evening."
"Was Bodhi upset?"
"Very. And then, of course, he wakes up sick as a dog."
"And no word when he'll be back?"
"He said that he might be able to visit for a few days around Christmas."
"That's good."
"Sure. If he actually shows. He said the same thing last year. He's good at saying things. The problem is, he's not always so good at follow-through."
I wondered where London would be this Christmas. I wondered where I would be.
"Uh-oh," she said, tilting her head. "I said something wrong, didn't I? You sort of drifted off there."
"Sorry. I was just thinking about some of the things the lawyer said to me today. It looks like I might have to sell the house."
"Oh, no. Really?"
"I'm not sure there's another option. It's not as though I have enough cash on hand to simply pay Vivian off."
That was putting it mildly; if I gave in to all her demands, I'd be flat broke. Add in alimony and child support, and I wasn't even sure whether I could afford a two-bedroom apartment.
"It'll all work out," she said. "I know it's sometimes hard to believe, but it will."
"I hope so. Right now, I just want to... escape, you know?"
"You need a break from all this," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "Why don't you guys come with Bodhi and me to the zoo in Ashboro this Saturday?"
"What about art class?"
"Puh-lease." She tossed a length of her thick hair over her shoulder. "The kids can skip a day. And I know Bodhi would be thrilled. Has London ever been there?"
"No," I said.
The directness of her offer was disarming and I struggled to come up with a response. Was she asking me on a date? Or was this more about Bodhi and London?
"Thanks," I said. "I'll let you know." By then, I could see teachers beginning to congregate near the door, students assembling by classroom. Emily noticed it too.
"I should get back to my car," she said. "I don't want to hold up the line. It takes them long enough as it is. Good seeing you, Russ." She waved.
"You, too, Emily."
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I watched her walk away, trying to decipher the meaning of her invitation, but as she drew farther away, I felt the distinct urge to see more of her. I might not be ready and it might be too soon, but I suddenly wanted that more than anything.
"Hey Emily," I called out.
She turned.
"What time are you thinking of leaving?"
When we got home London was feeling a little better, so we went for a bike ride. I let her take the lead, following along as we traversed the streets of the neighborhood. Her biking ability was improving with every ride. I still had to caution her to move to the side of the road when a car approached, but kids on bicycles were a common sight in the neighborhood, and most drivers gave us a wide berth.
We rode for an hour. Once home, she ate a snack and went upstairs to dress for dance. It seemed to take forever, and after a while I went up to check on her. I found her sitting on the bed, still wearing the same outfit she'd worn earlier.
I took a seat beside her. "What's wrong, sweetie?"
"I don't want to go to dance tonight," she said. "I'm sick."
Her cold hadn't adversely affected her bike ride, so I knew something else was going on. Namely, that she didn't like dance class or Ms. Hamshaw. And who could blame her?
"If you're too tired or still feeling sick, you don't have to go."
"Really?"
"Of course not."
"Mommy might get mad."
Your mom left us, I thought. But I didn't say that.
"I'll talk to her. If you're sick, you're sick. But is there something else going on?"
"No."
"Because if there is, you can tell me."
When she added nothing else, I put my arm around her. "Do you like going to dance?"
"It's important," she said, as if reciting a sacred rule. "Mommy used to dance."
"That's not what I asked. I asked if you like it."
"I don't want to be a tree."
I frowned. "Honey? Can you tell me a little more about what's going on?"
"There's two groups in my class. One group is going away to dance at the competition. They're the good dancers. I'm in the other group. We have to dance, too, but only for our parents. And I have to be a tree in the dance that we're doing."