“I’m just here to support and take notes,” the other woman quickly added.
“Please sit.”
He motioned toward the table, then rounded the other side of it and pulled out one of the yellow velvet armless chairs. Caroline had picked out these chairs, said the color was “cheerful.” He hated it. Every time he looked at the chairs, he wanted to throw them out the window onto Main Street. But he didn’t crave the attention that would bring.
“All right, Ms. Shepherd, how can I help you today?”
“Scarlett Jo Newberry recommended you.”
“And how do you know Scarlett Jo?”
“I just moved in a couple doors down from her. We’ve had several conversations lately, and my husband and I . . .” The catch in her voice seemed to surprise even her. “We visited their church yesterday.” She turned to her friend. “Amazing how twenty-four hours can change your life.”
Rachel placed her hand on top of Grace’s and patted it softly. “It’s been years, Grace,” she whispered.
Grace nodded, then turned her attention back to Zach and pulled slightly at the sleeves of her green sweater. The color was beautiful on her.
He cleared his throat. “So why don’t you tell me why Scarlett Jo recommended me.”
“I want to file for divorce.” Her words came out flat and certain.
“Okay, well, I have to ask you: are you sure that’s what you want to do?”
Grace looked at Rachel, then back at him. She nodded. “Yes, it’s time.”
“I take it you’ve thought about this for a while.”
“I’ve fought against it for years.”
“All right.” He placed his elbows on the table and clicked the end of his blue ballpoint pen. “Let’s start with basic information.”
He asked names, addresses, length of marriage. Then his questions got deeper, more personal: financial situation, properties owned, children. And with each answer, her voice trembled more. He looked up to see tears pooling in her eyes. He’d seen that plenty of times before.
“Grace, this is going to get even more personal.”
She nodded, clearly unable to speak.
“Are you able to give me some insight into what led to the breakdown of your marriage?”
She hesitated a moment, gathering herself. Then she took a long drink from the bottled water Darlene had provided and began to share her story. Zach always found it ironic listening to stories like this—stories of women whose husbands wouldn’t love them. It was far more common than people imagined. And yet he lived with a woman who wouldn’t let him touch her. If she did, he had to work so hard at it that it almost didn’t feel worth it. She acted like she was doing him a favor and wanted it over as quickly as possible. And yet here was a woman, a beautiful woman, whose husband couldn’t appreciate what he had. At least Zach had someone else to make him feel appreciated.
“I’m sorry, Grace,” he offered when she was finished. “I really am sorry.”
The corners of her mouth turned downward, and for a moment she looked like a child. “Me too,” she whispered.
“Well, here are my thoughts.” He clicked the end of his pen. “We could proceed by filing under impotence, which is legal here in Tennessee. Or we could file under habitual drunkenness. I think we could get some witnesses, and those, along with the DUI and your husband’s failed attempts at rehab and counseling, would give us a real strong case in that regard. We could also see if he is having an affair. I know in many cases where alcoholism is prevalent, so is adultery.”
She moved forward in her seat. “I want to file under irreconcilable differences.”
He wasn’t sure he had heard her correctly. “You want to—”
“I know it might not make sense to you, Mr. Craig.”
“Zach. Please call me Zach.”
“Okay, Zach, but this is what I feel like I’m supposed to do. I’m going to have a lot of choices to make in this journey, choices to honor or to dishonor. And this is the one I’m choosing to make today.”
He shifted in his seat. “I hear what you’re saying. But if you’re wanting to hire me, I really would recommend that you proceed differently. I think if the judge knows what you’ve been through, he will make sure you are well taken care of.”
“I don’t need to be taken care of, and I don’t want anything from Tyler. All I want for him is to get help, to be whole. And if he can get well, then maybe, maybe we could remarry one day down the road. Maybe this severing could bring an ultimate healing. But I can’t wait for that.” Her voice broke completely, and she made no attempt to hide her tears. She simply dabbed them with a tissue her friend placed in her hand. “I’ve had enough drama in my life, and I simply want this to be as quick and as easy as possible. I want you to file under irreconcilable differences, and I want to get on with my healing—whatever that looks like and however that happens.”
He leaned back in his chair. “I won’t try to change your mind.”
“I’m glad, because my mind is settled.”
My, she was a stubborn one. “Okay. I’ll get started on your papers and should have them for you in a couple days. Once we file, it will be best if you are able and he is willing to sit down and try to divide your property together. Do you think you can do that? Or do you think you’ll need mediation?”
He watched as her wheels turned, and for the first time he saw fear on her face. Rachel must have noticed it too because she spoke for Grace. “Tyler can be a little volatile, Zach. I’m not sure if they can do that together or not.”
“If there’s any danger of him being inappropriate, then you need to make sure he doesn’t come back to the house,” Zach said firmly.
“Tyler’s never hurt me,” Grace said. “Not physically. He just loses his temper sometimes.”
“He’s an alcoholic, Grace,” Rachel said. “And when he’s drinking, he’s unpredictable. Zach is right—Tyler doesn’t need to come back into that house. You need a refuge. It’s time.”
“I don’t care about that house.”
Rachel persisted. “Well, I care about you. And you are not moving. He is the one who loves to move, and you are not moving.” Rachel looked at Zach. “She may file under irreconcilable differences, but you need to make sure she gets that house.”
“I’ll draw up the divorce papers that way. We’ll ask for the house. And the rest of the property we can settle through attorneys since he is volatile.”
“Okay, then.” Grace nodded decisively and then stood. “I’ll let you ask for the house. But when you get me the divorce papers, I’ll know rather quickly what Tyler and I will and won’t be able to do. And when I do, you’ll be the first to know.”
He watched from the window in the conference room as Grace and Rachel walked across the street and toward the car. Rachel guided her friend with a soft and steady arm, but Grace didn’t really need the help. She stepped firmly, with poise, her white slacks emphasizing her lithe stride. She had been named well. Unfortunately Tyler Shepherd didn’t need her grace. He needed a kick in the—
Zach stopped himself right there. She didn’t need his emotion. She needed his counsel. And she needed a man who loved her. Yeah, she needed a man . . .
Scarlett Jo pushed the pedals of the spin bike, willing her royal-blue spandex leotard not to ride up again. A gift to herself twenty years ago, it still fit pretty well, though she’d pinched the tar out of her thighs when she’d tried to tug up the matching pants. But she loved royal blue. What she hated was Sabrina, the sadistic torturer up there shouting demands from her pretty little perch in the front of the class—and barely breathing hard.
“Oh, my heavens, have mercy! I’m dying here, people!” Scarlett Jo announced to the whole class over the rap song that pumped through the speakers, its beat serving as the cadence for the movement of their legs. “Are you trying to kill us?”
“You can do it, Scarlett Jo. Keep those legs moving.”
“You can’t move what you can’t feel!
”
The entire back row of seated spinners snickered, but she just ignored them.
Scarlett Jo had joined the Athletic Club of Williamson County last summer to get away from the boys. One day she had had all she could take and decided she’d rather torture her body than her brain. So she’d joined the gym and found out she actually liked to sweat. Most of the time. She’d decided to take a spin class two days a week and reward herself with yoga and Pilates any of the other days. She loved those classes not because she was good at them—though she was better than she used to be—but because they were the perfect place for a nap. Between the mats and the music, they felt like kindergarten.
She had always been a woman who loved her curves, but she also liked the definition of her waistline. She knew too many women who were just a “bip”—a term she’d coined for women who were the same width from bust to hip. Scarlett Jo was no bip. She was simply a full-figured gal—a Marilyn Monroe or Jayne Mansfield, only a little taller—and she was fine with that. But she wanted to stay around for her family too. So she exercised for her physical and mental health.
Sabrina spoke into a small microphone that was strapped over her ear and pressed against her dainty mouth. “Give me one quarter turn to the right.”
Scarlett Jo looked at the little knob that rested between her knees, the knob that dictated the tension of her pedals. A turn to the right increased torture. A turn to the left decreased torture. And she did have a choice here. She could increase the torture, which made no sense to her. Or she could pretend to increase the torture—just let her hand roll across that knob as if she were adding more tension and let the entire class think she was superhuman. But that wasn’t Scarlett Jo. She didn’t care what the rest of the class did or thought.
“There ain’t no way on God’s green earth I’m touching that thing,” she said, then grabbed her towel from the handlebars and mopped the sweat from her brow. Before spin, she hadn’t even known she could sweat. Now she realized that Southern women actually could do it. That “glistening” stuff she’d heard about for years was nothing but hogwash.
“Last climb! Give it all you’ve got! Make your work count! Ten, nine, eight, seven . . .”
“Oh, my side. Oh, help me, someone. Oh, have mercy.” Scarlett Jo’s words came out in breathless staccato bursts. Her legs continued to move rapidly on the pedals as her hand turned wildly at the knob between her knees.
“. . . two, one.” Sabrina finished the count, and the people atop the bicycles exhaled as one.
Scarlett Jo let out a dramatic moan. “My behind is going to look so good, I’m going to be buried in my casket facedown.” She raised her bum off the seat and patted it. “My last words will be ‘View this, people! View this!’”
The class erupted. Sabrina couldn’t help but laugh too as she climbed off her bike. “Great job, Monday,” she said, addressing her class as usual by the day of the week. “Now let’s do some stretching.”
Scarlett Jo made a vain attempt to get her right foot atop the handlebars to stretch. It swiped the edge and then fell and bounced like a bobblehead by her side. She pulled at it again until she got it perched, though then she felt like she’d just ripped her entire muscle clear up to her behind. She was as flexible as a hammer. By the time they’d finished stretching, she wasn’t sure what had hurt worse.
She wobbled out of the spin room and headed for the women’s locker room. She walked straight up to the scale, something she loved to do after a workout. She always figured she’d weigh less after sweating out a gallon of liquid. “Not bad!” she noted, then called out the results to whoever was listening. Other women usually tried to cover the top of the scale with their hands. She figured she’d just announce her number so they could feel better about themselves.
“Oh, excuse me,” Scarlett Jo said as she rounded a corner and just about took out the woman in front of her. Then she realized who she’d run into. “Elise.”
“Hey, Scarlett Jo.”
“Honey child, how are you? I haven’t snagged you in a month of Sundays. By the time church is over, you’re off that stage and out the door. How in the world have you been?”
She watched Elise fidget with the bag draped across her shoulder. Scarlett Jo had five boys. She never trusted fidgeting.
“Doing great,” Elise mumbled. “Uh, really well. How about you?”
Scarlett Jo fought for Elise’s lowered eyes, then thought of Tim’s visit. It all flashed through her mind as quickly as Cooper could clean out a bag of M&M’s. “Good. Good. Well, you and I need to get together for lunch.”
Elise stepped to the right, her dark ponytail falling across her shoulder. “Sure, yeah. I’d love that. Let’s do that soon. But I need to hurry today or I’m going to be late for my class.”
“Oh, I understand. But when can we do lunch?”
Elise fidgeted some more. Scarlett Jo didn’t mind. She just let her fidget.
“Soon,” Elise finally blurted. “I promise. Great to see you.”
That wasn’t good enough. “Soon when? I could do tomorrow. How is tomorrow?”
“Um, wow. Tomorrow? You know, tomorrow is crazy. I couldn’t—”
“Okay, Wednesday. Wednesday is good for me too.”
Elise crinkled her perfect little nose. Which matched her perfect little body. Which matched her perfect little outfit. All of which clashed with her avoidance act. “Wednesday is crazy too, Scarlett Jo.” She let out a half laugh. A fake half laugh. “With church and everything and practicing with the worship team.”
“Okay, then, Thursday or Friday. Those days are wide open.” She’d make sure they were wide open.
Scarlett Jo saw the flash of frustration give way to resolve. “Sure. Yeah. Okay, let’s say lunch on Friday. How’s that?”
Scarlett Jo’s smile stretched so wide she felt her eyes move. “Perfect! Shall we say eleven at Puckett’s? Their blueberry cobbler will make you slap your mama.”
“Sure, that sounds great. But now I gotta scoot.”
Scarlett Jo snickered and shooed her with her hand. “Scoot, sugar, scoot.” She watched the dark ponytail flap against the back of Elise’s white sleeveless workout top. The contrast was striking. And so was a lot else that hadn’t been clear before.
Grace sat in the front seat of her Prius. The package in her hands felt as heavy and deadly as an anchor around her neck. Now, it seemed, she was about to launch it into the ocean. And once she delivered these papers to Tyler, something would die.
She had been strong all week, determined to move forward. Leo had left a dozen messages assuring her that she still had a job and could take off a month if she needed it. She hadn’t responded. Neither had she responded to any of Tyler’s repeated attempts to contact her after she packed up Miss Daisy and moved to Rachel’s for a temporary stay.
He had probably written her absence off to a bad mood and a prolonged pout. But even he knew her well enough to understand that if she handed him divorce papers, she meant it. She had never brought up divorce, never used the possibility to manipulate or threaten him. When he saw her there holding the papers, he’d know this was something she had wrestled with her Creator over. Something she was doing with absolute, if heartbroken, peace. He’d know without a doubt that she was serious. Which was why it was so important to do this according to plan.
She set the envelope that would begin the dissolution of her marriage on the passenger seat, then started the car and pulled away from the curb. She had just a couple hours to do what she had to do and then catch Tyler right before he had to leave for the airport.
He was flying to New York to meet with his agent and publicist to see what damage control needed to be done about his DUI. The Predators had suspended him indefinitely since the arrest. Grace knew he had to be desperate to figure out what he would do next.
Giving him the papers right now while his life was in an uproar seemed a little harsh, but Zach and Rachel and Scarlett Jo all agreed it was the best plan. Tyler w
as impulsive and easily angered, so he needed time to process the situation without easy access to Grace, and she needed the buffer of physical distance. The trip would provide both—and professionally speaking, he couldn’t afford to miss it.
Grace turned in to the parking lot of a downtown bank. Inside, a friendly young woman greeted her. “Can I help you?”
Can she help me? The words bounced around her brain like a pinball. “Sure, um, yeah. I need to talk to someone about opening a new account.”
“Let me get someone to help you.”
Grace watched the woman walk away, then glanced idly around the small waiting area. Her gaze fell across a copy of Time magazine with a photo of the American president and the Israeli prime minister on the front. As she studied their faces, her mind traveled back several years to when she had visited Israel. It was unlike any place she’d ever been. Before she went there, she’d never known she needed to go. After she left, she’d wondered how she could have lived her whole life and never gone there. She wondered when she could go back.
Then her mind interrupted its own mental travelogue. I just had a normal thought. She hadn’t had what felt like a normal thought since she knew she was headed for divorce.
“I’ll help you, ma’am.”
Grace looked up quickly. She pressed her red patent-leather handbag against the side of her navy sleeveless blouse and fiddled with the ruffles that ran down the front. She followed the bank officer into a glassed room and took her place in a nondescript chair, feeling her knees collide at rhythmic intervals. She placed her hands on her legs in an attempt to still them.
The round, middle-aged woman scooted her chair up close to the desk and clasped her hands over the desktop calendar, covering countless red markings. “I’m told you want to open an account.”
“I actually already have a money market account here. I wanted to take half of that out and open a personal checking account.”
A piece of her felt like a criminal doing this without Tyler’s knowledge. But Zach had told her that people served with divorce papers often flipped out and started trying to hide money. So she needed to protect herself. She was entitled by Tennessee law to half of everything she and Tyler owned, so as long as she only moved half, she could and should make sure it was in her name only.
Secrets over Sweet Tea Page 12