by Wendy Wax
“I didn’t mean for her to come tonight. She just couldn’t wait to meet Wyatt and all…” His voice trailed off.
“You didn’t mean for her to come?” She shook her head in disgust. “But big bad Tiffany didn’t listen to little Robbie?” She delivered the last in the most offensive baby talk she could manage. “What a crock!”
“Amanda, I…”
“No.” She looked into his eyes searching for the man she’d fallen in love with all those years ago. “I don’t even know who you are anymore. The person I married would never have run away from his family like you have, or humiliated them like you have tonight. What happened to you?”
Rob ran a hand through his newly coiffed hair. “You don’t know what it’s like to wake up one day and realize that the best part of your life is over; that all the rest is just an unavoidable downhill slide.”
Amanda took the blow and flinched. All they’d become to him were a symbol of the downhill slide.
“I just felt so trapped.” He put a hand out toward her and she noticed that his fingernails appeared to be freshly manicured. “Things started getting out of control. I could barely get up in the mornings.”
OK, so knowing the truth was definitely overrated. His reasons didn’t change the destructiveness of his actions; his total lack of concern for them.
She looked him straight in the eye. “And where do love, honor, and commitment fit into your little scenario? What about us?”
He sighed as if this was something to be weighed and considered. “I don’t know.”
She studied her husband for a long moment, took in the new polish and salon-styled hair, the stupid red sweater knotted at his throat. And she realized that it didn’t really matter what either of them said now. Even if she wanted him back, and she didn’t know that she did, what was she supposed to do? Yell him into sending the lovely Tiffany away? Force him to burn the clothes and never let another woman shop for him again?
And then what? Then she’d be waiting every moment for his next attempt to break free. She’d know that even if he was there, he’d be wishing he were somewhere else. She and Wyatt and Meghan weren’t exciting enough for him? Well, then he didn’t deserve them.
“Well, I know what’s going to happen now.”
He looked up, surprised.
“I’m going to the ladies room and then I’m going to go back and watch the game.” She raised her chin a notch. “You’re going to leave.”
His mouth opened but she didn’t give him a chance to speak. “Before I come out you and that…girl…are going to be gone. And you are not to bring her to this field again until we’re divorced.”
“Divorced? But…”
She stopped him with a look. “That’s it, Rob. Your dick has drained all sense from your brain if you think you can go out and have a good time and wave it in our faces and then just come home as if nothing’s changed.”
“Well…”
Amanda looked down at her watch. “You’ve got ten minutes to leave; ten, and not a minute more. You don’t deserve to watch Wyatt play baseball.”
Amanda stayed in the bathroom for the required ten minutes. This was not easy given the primitive nature of the ballpark’s ladies room. The bare concrete walls and floor, overflowing trash bin, dripping faucet, and cracked fun-house mirror afforded no distractions. She spent the first five minutes pacing, the last five perched on top of a cracked toilet lid, and an extra three staring at her distorted reflection in the ancient mirror.
When she couldn’t put it off any longer, she left the bathroom and walked slowly toward the stands unsure of what she’d do if Rob and Tiffany were still there. She felt some measure of relief when she confirmed that they had, in fact, left. But the way everyone made a point of NOT watching her as she took her seat spoke volumes. And even though all the eyes that had been glued to her earlier were now fixed on the field, Amanda knew the spectacle on the field was nowhere near as interesting to the assembled adults as the one she and Rob had just provided.
Resolute, she, too, fixed her gaze on the field and sat in silence for the remaining forty-five minutes as Wyatt’s team got pounded into the dirt—an experience with which she could completely relate.
When the game was over, the stands emptied quickly but whether it was due to the loss, the plunging temperatures, or the desire to avoid having to speak to her, Amanda didn’t know. Wyatt, too, stood apart from his teammates, completely focused on stowing his equipment in his bag while the other boys jostled and joked.
The cold bit through her leather jacket and useless cashmere sweater, and she hugged herself for warmth and comfort. Hearing the crunch of shoe on dirt, she turned. Hap Mackenzie’s new wife stood beside her, her gray eyes assessing. “Are you OK?”
“Yeah, I feel great.”
The other woman sat down uninvited, ignoring the sarcasm. “He won’t stay with that one, you know.”
Nonplussed, Amanda took a closer look at Brooke Mackenzie. She was somewhere in her late twenties with thick auburn hair and creamy unwrinkled skin. Last spring when the recently divorced Hap had married a girl nearly half his age, they’d all been scandalized. Amanda had never said more than a polite hello to her.
“Too flashy,” the new Mrs. Mackenzie said. “She’s perfect for running around, but sooner or later he’s going to expect someone to cook and clean and take his shirts to the dry cleaner. That one’s not going to be able to pull it off.”
“And that’s when I get him back?”
The redhead studied her. “No, that’s when he picks a slightly more domesticated version of her and marries her.”
“Gee, now I know why we’ve never talked before.”
Brooke shrugged. “Sorry. I could tell you the statistics but they’re even more depressing.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” She smiled and it changed her whole face; the careful gray eyes lit with warmth and the Angelina Jolie lips twitched upward. “If it’ll make you feel better, it won’t take him long to start treating her exactly like he’s treating you. They only seem to have two settings.” She flicked an imaginary dial. “Wife or girlfriend.”
Amanda smiled back. “Now there’s a real day brightener.”
“Of course, the wife gets more of his time plus the accompanying perks and status. But, frankly, I think the girlfriend gets a whole lot more respect and consideration.”
“You can say that again.”
They both looked up to see Candace Sugarman standing several rows in front of them. The coach’s girlfriend was tall and blonde with a carefully preserved face and figure. She had an innate elegance that belonged on the pages of Town and Country, but Amanda couldn’t tell on which side of forty she fell. “I’ve been both and unless she’s got a great attorney, the wife always comes out the loser.”
“Boy you two are just what a wounded woman needs. What are your nicknames: Sweetness and Light?” Amanda looked around. The coach was shepherding his son and Wyatt and Brooke Mackenzie’s stepson out of the dugout. Everyone else had gone.
Not one of her so-called friends had stayed around to console her.
Candace raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Anyway,” she said, “I think you handled yourself really well tonight. And I figured you might need this.” She handed Amanda a business card. “I used her for all three of my divorces; she’s not afraid of anyone or anything.”
The field lights snapped off. Coach Donovan and the boys started up the concrete stands toward them. Amanda looked down at the card. It read, Anne Justiss, Attorney at Law. And underneath her name, Get them where it hurts; in their bottom line.
Dan Donovan reached them first. He slipped an arm around Candace’s shoulders and waited while Amanda and Brooke stood and dusted themselves off.
“If you need any help getting Wyatt to practice or anything, Amanda, just give me a call.” He ruffled Wyatt’s hair and gave Brooke a nod. “I hope Hap will be back in town for Saturday’s game.”
“That’s my understanding.” Brooke smiled tentatively at her stepson, but he walked right by her without responding.
Amanda fingered the crisp white business card as they made their way up to the parking lot, their voices echoing in the late night emptiness. Clutching her jacket around her, she repeated Anne Justiss’s tagline to herself. She didn’t actually know what Rob’s bottom line was; finances had never been her thing.
But she could definitely use someone who wasn’t afraid of anything. She only wished the same could be said for her.
chapter 3
A nne Justiss didn’t look like a man-eater. In fact, with her short stylishly wispy blonde hair, cornflower blue eyes, and upturned nose, the attorney looked kind of like Cameron Diaz. Or the wholesome girl next door your mother would want you to hang out with.
“I understand Candace Sugarman referred you to me,” she said as she met Amanda in the doorway of her large corner office in the pricey midtown high rise and showed her to a seat opposite her desk.
“Yes.”
The attorney settled in her chair and folded her hands on the top of her glass and lacquer desk. “Candace is an unusual client. Completely proactive. We worked together a number of times.”
Amanda shifted uncomfortably in her seat. The idea of even one divorce made her palms sweat.
“Why don’t you fill me in on your situation.”
“It’s nothing particularly novel, I’m afraid,” Amanda said. “My husband moved out a couple of months ago in order to find himself.”
“And has he?”
“I don’t know, but he, um, seems to have found a girl named Tiffany. I got to meet her at our son’s baseball game the other night.”
The attorney’s eyes narrowed. “I hate that they think they can just run off and do whatever they like. How many children do you have?”
“Two.”
“How old are they?”
“My daughter’s fifteen, Wyatt’s twelve.”
“Do you work outside the home?”
Amanda shook her head. “No.”
“Is he still paying all the bills?”
“I, um, think so.”
One blonde eyebrow went up. “But you don’t know?”
Amanda swallowed and wiped her hands on the sides of her skirt. “Rob’s always deposited a certain amount in the household account each month and that hasn’t changed. I assume he’s still paying the mortgage and the car payments. He’s, uh, always written the checks for the bigger stuff.”
“And your savings? Stock portfolios? Other joint accounts and assets?”
“I don’t know.”
Anne Justiss held Amanda’s gaze with her own. “If your husband came home tomorrow and told you he was sorry, would that be enough for you?”
Amanda thought about that one. Her wounded pride shouted absolutely not, you can’t let him get away with this! But the frightened part of her, the scared, shaking part deep inside, wasn’t so sure. “I don’t know.”
“May I be brutally honest with you?”
Amanda swallowed. “Do you have to?” she joked, but Anne Justiss didn’t smile back.
“In my experience once a man moves out and starts another relationship, especially if he’s rubbed his wife’s nose in it as yours apparently has, the marriage is over.”
Amanda’s mouth was completely dry. She swallowed again but all the moisture seemed to have moved to her eyes.
“I’m not a marriage counselor. I’m not here to help you fix your relationship. I’m here to protect you.” She pulled two Kleenex from the black lacquer dispenser on her desk and handed them to Amanda.
“Normally, I advise my clients to file for divorce immediately because it freezes the joint assets and allows us to access financial information. It also gives you a psychological advantage, because when you take action you stop feeling like a victim.”
Amanda thought she nodded, but she wasn’t sure. She was concentrating all her energies on not allowing the tears to spill down her cheeks.
“You can’t bury your head in the sand, Amanda. The longer you wait the greater the opportunity he has to hide or shift assets. Even if you’re not ready to file, you want to start gathering financial documentation.”
Amanda dabbed at her cheeks. The tissue came away sopping wet.
“Has your husband retained an attorney?”
“He is an attorney. He’s a tax attorney with Powell Newman.”
Anne Justiss sighed. “The bad news is he can get the divorce guy in the firm to handle it and he won’t be worried about running up the hours.” She cocked her head. Amanda imagined she could see the mind racing inside. “The good news is he’s probably not going to want to look too bad in front of a judge; he’ll have his reputation to consider.”
The attorney considered her carefully. “I know this isn’t easy,” she said. “But I can promise you it’s better to take action than to live in a continued state of emotional limbo.”
Amanda nodded, but her heart wasn’t in it.
“Traditionally after a divorce, the man’s standard of living improves. The ex-wife and children’s standard of living drops dramatically. I do my best not to let that happen to my clients. Candace may have mentioned my belief in the Green Giant school of divorce.”
“Green Giant?” Amanda tried to blink away her tears even as she tried to follow the conversation. “As in the vegetables?”
Anne Justiss smiled a very tight smile. “There’s a very old joke that asks what do you have when you’ve got a large green ball in one hand and a second green ball in the other?”
Amanda shook her head, thrown by the insertion of veggies into the conversation.
“Complete control of the Jolly Green Giant.”
Anne Justiss’s blue eyes were now more like steel than cornflowers. Her delicate features had also hardened. “I can help you get your husband by the balls,” she said with complete certainty. “But the time to act is now. We want to sue for subpoena and get hold of all relevant financial information as quickly as possible.”
Amanda studied the woman in front of her. She’d wanted someone who wouldn’t be afraid and she’d found her. But she would have given all she owned to be able to turn the clock back to just before everything fell apart; would have given anything not to have to make this decision.
She’d spent the last months praying for a miracle that would somehow put their lives back the way they were. But Rob was airbrushed and he had a girlfriend named Tiffany. No amount of wishful thinking was going to alter that reality.
Amanda straightened slowly and met the attorney’s gaze straight on. She’d waffled long enough. She had nothing to gain from waiting and everything to lose. It was time to act. “It might take me a few days to put together the deposit,” Amanda said carefully. “But I’m ready for you to go ahead and start squeezing.”
The drive home from Anne Justiss’s office was an out-of-body experience. Like the near dead who claim to watch the efforts to resuscitate them from above, Amanda saw her minivan traveling north on Highway 400 toward the suburbs, saw it change lanes, merge, and exit the interstate, but the specifics of how it reached her home were hazy.
Leaving the van in the garage, she stepped into the kitchen. With the kids still at school, the house was pin-drop quiet. The only thing breaking the silence was the refrain “You’re getting a divorce, you’re getting a divorce” that echoed in her head.
Trying to elude those thoughts, she left the kitchen and moved through the house. In the dining room she paused behind a Chippendale-style chair and tried to see the room as a stranger might. But her mind moved right past the carefully designed mix of antiques and contemporary art to the Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners, the countless turkeys and hams she’d served to her family there.
Passing through the formal living room, she crossed the foyer and hesitated in the entrance to Rob’s former home office. The antique desk and leather wing chair were gone, the shelves emptied of books and mem
entos. Bright squares and rectangles dotted the chocolate brown walls where Rob’s gallery of fame—the carefully arranged shots of Rob glad-handing local politicians and the occasional sports figure—had once hung.
Turning her back on the empty office, she moved to the family room and breathed in its essence. The room was both chic and comfortable, just as she’d intended. The couch, covered in a cheery cranberry chenille was flanked by club chairs with ottomans in a bold cranberry and black pattern.
The remnants of a bowl of popcorn sat on the edge of the massive wrought-iron coffee table, which could, and had, hold an entire meal.
Stepping toward the big screen television, Amanda ran her gaze over the built-in bookcases that surrounded it. They were packed with books and magazines and small finds from arts and crafts shows. Framed photographs from family vacations and holidays dotted the shelves. Amanda lifted each photo in turn, studying the poses and faces like an anthropologist might, searching for what lay behind the entwined arms and happy faces of her family.
In the photos, Meghan and Wyatt’s gap-toothed smiles gave way to braces; their baby smooth skin to the marks of adolescence. Rob looked the same in every shot: tall and blond, his smile one of supreme confidence. She’d thought him straightforward and uncomplicated, even downright predictable, but she’d been wrong on all counts.
She reached for a photo of the two of them in Vail just over a year ago. Holding it up for closer examination, she looked for signs of his discontent. Had he already begun feeling trapped? Started plotting his escape?
And what of her?
She remembered handing the camera to a sulky fourteen-year-old Meghan, still angry that she hadn’t been allowed to bring a friend on their family vacation. She’d been trying to soothe her daughter’s ruffled feathers, bargaining for a smile, trying to manage her family’s reactions and feelings as she always did even as the picture was snapped.
As a result her brow appeared furrowed and her eyes telegraphed her concern. Dismayed, she noticed that none of the shots of her reflected enjoyment. In picture after picture she saw the careful, overly organized woman she’d prided herself on being; a woman preoccupied with the details of their lives.