I lifted my hand. “I do not want to take him away from her. I’d never do that.”
Romano tilted his head as he set his jaw. “We need to talk about that, but I’d consider child support a given, just until he turns eighteen—twenty-one if he’s a student. That’s it. You don’t owe her anything else. With her lack of employment, I think I can get you out of spousal support.”
He was wrong. I owed her everything. “Are you talking the house? I’m not taking the house. It’s hers.”
“Don’t let emotions cost you millions of dollars.”
My hand came down hard on the table between us. “Emotions? She’s been my wife for nearly twenty years, and you’re saying not to have emotions?”
“She’s the one who filed. I know who she is. Are you willing to concede because of Mr. Costello?”
The man had balls. I’d been told that before, but to look at me and say that...his were steel. If he thought I was going to bad-talk the family, he was wrong. I laughed. “If you’re insinuating that I’m giving Angelina the keys to the house and all the money she deserves because of her cousin, the answer is no.”
“No one would blame—”
“I want to talk to her.”
“I don’t recommend it.”
“I don’t fucking care what you recommend. I’m going to talk to her. I’ll tell her she can have whatever she wants. I’m not contesting anything.”
“Sole custody?” Romano said.
“What?”
“I said we needed to talk about it. Will you contest giving her sole custody of your son?”
“Fuck yes! Did she really ask for that?”
“It’s been left open. According to her counsel, she hasn’t decided.”
“Shouldn’t it be up to Lennox? He’s fifteen.” I inhaled, realizing he was the age of Silvia when we got her. She was now an adult. No one would have custody of her. She’d probably go back to calling me Mr. Demetri, something that had only started to waver in the last few years. Once in a while I got an Oren instead. Lennox was fifteen and facing the divorce of his parents. It wasn’t a picnic, but it sure as hell wasn’t what Silvia could have endured.
“He will have his wishes heard,” Romano said.
Fuck. I wasn’t sure if I wanted that either. Would it be easier to accept that Angelina took him rather than that he didn’t want me? “I’m still going to talk to her.”
I called her as soon as I left Romano’s office. The call went to her answering machine as did the next and the next. It took several phone calls, messages, and a few cancelled dates, but finally, Angelina agreed to allow me to come to Rye and talk in person.
It was a strange sensation, the gates opening to a home that at one time was my fortress, my haven. I had flashbacks of the optimism I’d felt as we moved to this home. As I progressed along the driveway, memories flooded my consciousness, of Lennox and a bicycle along the grass. It was like a surreal out-of-body experience to comprehend that what had been mine was no longer. The trek up the driveway seemed foreign, and yet I’d driven it thousands of times. Leaving the car outside the front door, I slowly got out of the car. As I approached the door, I had questions I wasn’t sure I wanted answered.
Would my key still work?
I didn’t try; instead, I knocked.
Angelina opened the front door, her expression empty. That was to say, it was neither angry nor elated, neither happy nor sad. If she’d cried over our separation, she wasn’t allowing me inside those emotions. Would she allow me in the house?
“No Dante?” I asked.
“No one else is here. I didn’t know how this would go, and I didn’t want it to be overheard.”
My eyes closed and opened, thoughts of being overheard too many to count. “I’m not here to fight.”
“Good,” she said, motioning inside. “Come in. I’m glad you wanted to talk.”
I followed her to the sitting room, careful to keep my distance though I wanted nothing more than to reach for her hand, to feel it in my grasp. To pull her body against mine and relish the warmth she generated. To bring our lips together and taste her sweet kiss.
“Would you like anything to drink?”
I pushed my desires away. “Stop, Angelina. Remember, you said that you take care of people you love. Apparently, I no longer fit that bill.”
She took a deep breath. “I told you that you’ll always be the man I love.”
“Then why are we doing this? My attorney is telling me to take everything. Vincent called. He’s not pleased that we’re separating, but he said that you asked him to stay out of it. Why?”
“Why would I speak to my cousin? This isn’t about him. I don’t want him making it about him. And, Oren Demetri, I know you. Despite your shortcomings, you’re a good man—you always have been. I don’t care what an attorney says, you won’t take everything, and if you do—if I’ve been wrong about the man I married—then I’ll face that reality as I have this one.”
“I don’t want to take it.” I looked around the house that had been my home. “This is your house. You designed it. You made it a home. I’m not taking it. I’m also here to tell you that I won’t contest an equal division of our assets.”
It was her turn to shake her head. “I don’t need that much money. I just need enough to maintain the house and our expenses. It would be nice to have a little extra, but not half of everything. You’ve worked too hard for all of that. It’s been your life’s goal. You deserve it.”
“My goal was to make a life for us. You’ve worked hard too.”
“I haven’t—”
“I’ve made my decision,” I said, interrupting. “Talk to me about Lennox. I’m not forgetting Silvia,” I added before Angelina made it sound as if I had. “She’s twenty and therefore not an issue of the divorce.” I consciously held my own hand, realizing that it had begun to tremble. I couldn’t recall being this frightened of an answer since staring down her uncle and asking for her hand. It was ironic that this emotion came with the same subject. Now, I supposed, I was in essence giving that hand back. “Lennox...”
“He’s young and has his father’s...” She smiled a weary grin. “...his parents’ temper. He’s upset.”
“Custody?”
Her lip momentarily disappeared like it did when she knew I wouldn’t like her answer.
“Damn it...” I stood. “Angelina, that is the only thing I’ll fight.”
“What?”
“I’m not giving him up. You can walk away from me. Silvia can too. I can’t stop that. You’re both adults. He’s still a child. I won’t force him to stay with me or even fucking talk to me, but I won’t give up my rights as his father.”
“I can’t promise you how he’ll respond. My attorney said he gets to talk to the judge.”
It was my turn to smile. “I can tell you how he’ll respond; he’ll be upset. He can even tell the judge he doesn’t want me in his life. But, mio angelo, he’s fifteen. You and I are his parents. We were given that right to make decisions on his behalf.” I sat back down and stopped myself from gathering her hands in mine. I took a deep breath. “I may need your help. Please help me retain my rights.” I motioned around the room. “The rest is yours: the house and property—all yours. We can divide Demetri Enterprises, or you can simply have half of our stock put in your name. You’ll receive the dividends, and I’ll still do the work. Or fuck, you can work there. I don’t care. I’d like seeing you.”
Her eyes narrowed, and the meaning punched me in the gut. “Don’t go there,” I said. “There’s no one there anymore. Believe it or not, it hasn’t happened in years.” I was talking of women whom I’d slept with. The women she’d faced when she’d come to the corporate office. It wasn’t like I introduced them, but she knew. Somehow she knew. Therefore, even now, I knew that her being at the office day after day wasn’t something she wanted to do.
Angelina scoffed. “I suppose that should make me happy, but it almost doesn’t.”
&
nbsp; I needed to move to the previous subject. “We have a decent amount of liquid assets. Half can go immediately to an account for you. If you don’t use our attorneys and financial planners, please get someone highly recommended. You’re a wealthy woman. I’ll also continue to pay Silvia’s college and Lennox’s in the future and keep paying Lennox’s tuition at the parish. I just...” I stopped and held my breath. “Please, I won’t stop being his father.”
“Oren, you already—”
I stood, interrupting. “Don’t, Angelina. I never said I was a great father or dad of the year. I’ve disappointed him more than I’ve pleased him.” Moisture pricked behind my eyes. “I can’t lose him completely. I’m already losing you.”
My soon-to-be ex-wife stood and walked toward me. Bringing her small hands to my cheeks, she framed my face. “One day he’ll see the man you are. He’ll know...” She moved one palm to my chest, her fingers splaying. “...that inside there’s a heart of gold. He’ll know what I knew from the first time I saw you.”
When my eyes closed, a fucking tear slid down my cheek. Ignoring it, I said, “Tell me again why we’re doing this?”
“Because I’m tired of being disappointed. It would be better if you were the devil Lennox thinks you can be. You’re not. It hurts to know what a good man you are...when you’re not around. You see, Oren, I’ve waited for that man to come home to me.” Her hand pushed against my chest. “That good man...I can’t wait anymore.”
When does one cease to belong to a family?
I’d say it was the first night she told me to leave, but then again, it was cemented the night we came to terms over the divorce. And yet like the opposite question—becoming a part of a family—ceasing to be a part of one happened slowly.
It had begun before we were married.
It was the day-to-day erosion of life’s expectations. The repeated offenses that individually can be forgiven, yet pile up until they’re a wall so great its height could border a country, not simply a heart.
When Angelina and I were first married, I tried to show her that I understood her concerns. I’d bring her daisies or candy. I made an effort. That stopped after California. Before I left, she’d made a comment about gifts. I’d lost a piece of myself on that trip, a piece of my soul that died along with the Irishman on a California highway. Perhaps after that, I decided that acknowledging my shortcomings was too complex—I had too many. Whatever the reason, I stopped bringing her gifts. When I was late or missed dinner, it simply was.
It wasn’t until now, driving away from what used to be my home, that I even realized I’d stopped. Hindsight is 20/20 the saying went. From where I stood, the reflection on my life was foggy at best, clouded in the haze of missed opportunities and poor decisions, the latter necessary or not.
Had I stopped trying to apologize for life’s disappointments? In doing so, had I given into the reality and expected Angelina to do the same?
As I drove from Rye back to the city to my new apartment high in the fucking sky, the one with a great view and the furniture Julie had ordered and had delivered, with the empty kitchen cupboards—not only because I hadn’t cooked since before my marriage, but mostly because I didn’t want to—it was at that precipice that I realized that I was alone.
Alone.
The dictionary defined it as having no one else present; on one’s own.
This separation of my marriage was more than a divorce of two people. It was a fault line, deep into the earth, a crevice between the life I’d lived and the one I now had to navigate. It was a fissure so cavernous that I wasn’t sure how I’d ever bridge the gap.
Though Angelina had been the one to ask, the one to file, I accepted complete culpability. I never thought I’d feel more isolated, but I should learn not to give life those challenges. It could always get worse; there could always be more.
Yet at this time, I told myself to concentrate on any positive I could grasp.
I still had my son—even if removed. After our discussion, Angelina promised to talk to Lennox. I made promises too, ones I intended to keep. I promised to pick him up next Saturday and talk man-to-man.
While the family I’d known for nearly twenty years was no longer mine, I wasn’t sure what that would mean with Vincent. When we spoke, he hadn’t mentioned bringing our arrangement to a stop, and yet for not the first time, I longed for Carmine. If he were alive, I had no doubt he’d be upset, but maybe he could come up with a solution. Maybe Angelina would listen to him or to Rose.
That was all speculation. They weren’t here to help or even to become angry.
Stopping at a drive-thru restaurant before making my way to my apartment, I picked up a sandwich. Looking into the bag, I surmised that I could survive on this shit, but it wasn’t living...not as I’d done.
Once I secured the door of my apartment, I collapsed on the sofa.
It’s funny—and yet not—that surrounded by the silence I craved in Rye, I wasn’t happy. Now with the freedom to roam, I had no desire. In truth, it had never been a matter of desire. It had been convenient and available. I’d made my share of excuses, but they were all without merit. The only woman I’d ever wanted had told me to leave.
What would Carmine say if he could? What would he have done?
His only directive upon my request had been to keep Angelina happy and safe. She was secure within the walls of the home in Rye. Perhaps without my constant disappointment she may even be happy. “I hope she is,” I said aloud to no one and to her uncle. My chest ached as my soul came to terms with my future. “I still love her. I know if you were here, you’d be angry,” I scoffed through my tears. No one could see me or hear me. “I wish you were. I wish you were here to yell at me, to stare at me. I’m sorry...I’m so sorry...”
Carmine Costello’s ghost wasn’t the one who deserved my apology, but in the dark, quiet confines of my new place to sleep, he was who I chose. I could imagine his stare, his seething disappointment. I couldn’t think of my own parents. They would have no basis for understanding. The young man they raised and knew no longer existed. His demise had been a slow process as his hardened heart was chiseled away with each decision and choice. “I’m sorry...”
Grieving for the missing pieces, I fell asleep upon the sofa, the lights out and my sandwich still in the paper bag.
When does one begin to live again?
I assumed that there were couples who divorced with the intent of completely removing the other spouse from their life, moving on as if the years together never existed. I supposed that was more often the case than not. However, I couldn’t comprehend how that was possible, not when there was a child or children. This was about more than Angelina and me.
I couldn’t or wouldn’t force Lennox to stay with me for a weekend or even a night. Convincing him to go to dinner was difficult enough. His stubbornness was inbred; of that I was certain. Nevertheless, I refused to give up or stop trying, not as long as he was a minor and I had half of the say in making his decisions.
I had power as his father and used it as much as necessary. Knowing one’s rights and abilities was inconsequential unless one acted upon them. That knowledge had benefitted me in business endeavors. It was also helpful with my son.
Undoubtedly, it took more than half of the say in his decisions to convince him to attend those dinners. Time had moved on. He was now old enough to drive, yet to ensure I didn’t end up alone at the table, I insisted on picking him up.
During eighteen years of marriage I missed countless obligations with Angelina and events for Lennox; yet after the divorce, I made every effort to see my son. If it meant cutting a meeting short or rearranging my schedule, I did what I could do.
Yes, I was keenly aware that I should have tried these things earlier.
As I’d sit in the driveway and Lennox would glance back into the house before begrudgingly moving outside and entering my car, I knew the real force, the wonder, the propulsion that made him attend our father-son meetings. S
ometimes she’d peer outside and wave. Sometimes she’d simply smile sadly and shut the door. And there were times I never saw her; nevertheless, Angelina was there, encouraging Lennox to see me.
It was at Lennox’s high school graduation that I gained newfound appreciation for the woman who had been my wife. Together with Angelina, Silvia, Vincent, Bella, Luca, and Luisa, we sat in the auditorium as one family supporting Lennox. After they announced his name and he walked across the stage to receive his diploma, I realized that Angelina and I were holding hands. I wasn’t sure which one of us initiated it; the action was at one time too normal to always take a conscious effort.
“I’m sorry,” I said as I loosened my grip.
For the first time in the nearly two years since our divorce was finalized, she smiled—no tears or sadness. Happiness radiated from her being as she squeezed my hand. “Don’t be. I’m not.” She tilted her head to the stage. “He did it. We, Oren, we did it. Did you see him?”
“I did.”
“He’s going to NYU in the fall.”
“A legacy,” I said wistfully, recalling a beautiful girl in my sophomore English class.
“On both sides, second-generation college-educated.” She swallowed, her eyes going to Vincent’s family, and lowered her voice. “Luca doesn’t have plans for school, not yet, Bella said.”
I sighed. “His education began a long time ago.”
With our hands still intertwined, we both looked down at the way we fit together.
When her blue gaze came back to mine, she said, “Together, we made this happen.”
“Mio angelo, was it worth it?”
She nodded. “I’d do it again. I’d do it all again. And knowing us, it would turn out the same.” Before I could respond, she went on. “We have a wonderful son whom we both can be proud of.”
I wasn’t sure that was the only do-over she meant, but she was right. I wouldn’t do anything differently if it would result in a different outcome for Lennox. I glanced at the poised young lady sitting on the other side of Angelina. Silvia was in that decision process too. “We did good.”
The Price of Honor: The Making of a Man Page 30