Sighing, I turn to stare out the window, each time hoping to catch a glimpse of Gwen coming out of a store, parking her car, or even walking down the street. I haven’t seen her since I moved out. This isn’t my doing or anything I agree with, but Gwen thought it would be best that we use my mother as a go-between for Ruby. I hate it. I tried to fight it, but seeing Gwen cry isn’t something that sits well with me so I agreed.
“Of course.” This little white lie isn’t going to hurt Jerry in the long run. I doubt very much that Gwen will attend with me. However, I plan to ask her. Setting myself up for rejection isn’t high on my list, but neither is showing up alone. The less Jerry knows about my life, the better off I am.
Jerry prattles on about other stocks I should look at, but I’m focused on the world outside. A homeless man struggles to get across the street, tourists not paying attention to our strict town law where pedestrians have the right away. The elderly man stumbles, barely catching himself on one of the parked cars along the curb.
“I’ll call you back, Jerry.” I don’t even bother to hang up the phone before I rush outside without my winter jacket or galoshes. The combination of slush mixed with salt lands on my pants and shoes as I hurry toward the street. “Here, let me help you.” Without hesitation, my hands are on the man’s forearms as I help him stand.
“My bag,” he mumbles, pointing down to the ground.
“I got it,” I tell him, leaving one hand on his arm while I bend to retrieve his belongings. It takes everything in my power not to gag at the stench surrounding him or comment on how lightweight his bag is. I’m wondering when was the last time he showered or when he was able to wash his clothes. Everything about him is dirty … from his threadbare garments, to his face, to the black stocking cap he wears over his dark hair.
I do my best to guide him to the park bench not far from my office. When we get there, I brush it off before he sits down with a heavy sigh. There’s sadness in his eyes but a smile on his face.
“You gonna be okay?”
“Yes, yes. I’ll be fine. These old legs don’t move as fast as they used to,” he tells me.
“Well, even the young ones go slow sometimes.”
He smiles but quickly cuts eye contact. I don’t know if I should walk him down to the police station or let him be. Is he hungry? Is he broke? Of course, he’s likely both, but he’s not asking me for anything. In fact, he looks content sitting here on the bench. I suppose, being on the street and homeless he knows how to survive.
A gust of wind blows through us, causing me to shiver. I reach for my wallet but realize quickly it’s not in my pocket.
“You’ll catch your death,” he says as he pulls his coat tightly around him. The fact that he cares about me and not himself gives me pause. I nod and tell him I’ll be right back before returning to the warmth of my office.
By the time I get back to my desk and my hand grabs the handle of the drawer to reach my wallet, the old man is gone. I look out the window, pressing so close that I leave oily marks from my hands and forehead, but I can’t see where he went. It’s almost as if he’s disappeared into thin air.
The harsh tone of the disconnect signal pulls me away from the window. I pick up the phone, only to rear back from the noise and set the handle back on its cradle, shaking my head after realizing I never put the receiver back after my call with Jerry. The blotter on my desk, with its sporadic notes and dates, piques my attention. Leaning forward, I push a small pile of papers out of the way so I can read what today says. Meet divorce lawyer.
Instant melancholy sets in as I frown at the calendar and what my life has become. A divorce is the last thing I want, but I haven’t done a very good job of showing Gwen that she and Ruby were important. Are important. Looking down at my watch, I have ten minutes to get across town, which in reality is only a few blocks from my office, so I can sit in an uncomfortable wooden chair while my lawyer goes over Gwen’s proposal. The day the process server came into my office was worse than Gwen telling me she wanted me to move out. In the back of my mind, I figured we’d both come to our senses and figure this thing out. I was wrong and was left no choice but to hire a lawyer.
My sports coat hangs on the back of my chair. I grab it, slip my arms into it, and take my long wool winter coat off the rack. My galoshes sit on the floor mat, but one look at my shoes and I realize my shoes are already a lost cause. I search my pockets and my desk, wondering where I hid my gloves. A quick glance at the clock shows me I’m about out of time and need to leave now if I’m going
to make my appointment.
It seems colder than when I was outside earlier, and I find myself pulling my coat closer and pushing my hands deep into its pockets. Despite the coat’s thickness, it does nothing to take the bite out of the air or keep the wind from stinging my cheeks.
As I walk toward my lawyer’s office, I’m looking down side streets and in doorways for the man I helped earlier. I don’t know why, but something’s pulling at me to find him, to see if he’s okay. Consciously, I feel like he is, but I have a nagging desire to see him again for the reassurance.
I cross the street and head up the granite stairs leading to my attorney’s office. The heat inside the building is stifling, and my frozen fingers work to undo my coat. Taking the staircase two steps at a time, the old wood creaks under my weight. The glass-paned door with its rickety handle reads Law Office, straight and to the point of the services. My office should read: Investment Banker, but we’re owned by a firm out of New York City, whose name is proudly displayed on our door.
The law office is small but has an odd homey feel. I guess if you’re here, you want to be comfortable. I’m not, nor do I pretend to be. I hang my wool coat and give a slight nod to the receptionist. She smiles, sort of. It’s more like a half smile-half grimace. Living in a small town, everyone knows your business. When Gwen asked me to move out, I thought we’d be able to keep our issues to ourselves, maybe sort them out before drastic measures had to be taken. However, word spread like wildfire, and the gossip mill started spinning its wheel saying things like I cheated and I asked for this. It doesn’t matter how many times I try to defend myself, the only people who listen are my guy friends, but even those are starting to drift away. Couples pick sides. I knew it was bound to happen.
“Mr. Sutton, please come in.”
Terence Sims has been an attorney longer than I’ve been alive. My parents used him for a few legal transactions, and it only made sense I seek out his help as well. He sits behind his ancient oak desk in a small chair that doesn’t belong with such a grand piece of furniture. “Have you given much thought to how you want to respond to Gwen’s proposal?” he asks. He swivels in his chair to look at me over the rim of his glasses.
“Honestly, I haven’t looked at it.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want this divorce.”
Terence leans back, and his fingers form a steeple. “It’s best to settle. It’s what she wants. However, her demands are outrageous, and we need to respond with our own set.” He slides about five pages of typed paper in my direction. He’s taken Gwen’s requests and countered them in a side-by-side argument, in a compare and contrast sort of way. Seeing the list of things Gwen wants hurts. They make my heart break. Full custody of our daughter, the house, car—mostly everything we have—she wants it all, and Terence is countering with a fifty-fifty split for Ruby, sell the home, and divide assets.
Clearing my throat, I set the papers back onto the desk and shake my head. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Divorce is hard, especially when one party is blindsided.”