It feels good, locking that in, cementing the plan.
You’re right, Lauren, about everything. I shouldn’t have to settle. I shouldn’t have to settle for someone who doesn’t love me. I shouldn’t have to settle for someone who refuses to have children.
And I shouldn’t have to give Vicky half the money. It’s not her money. It’s our money. Yours, mine, and the baby’s.
And you’re right about when I should break this to Vicky.
“Tell her after you’ve filed,” you said to me.
That hadn’t been my plan. “I shouldn’t tell her beforehand?”
“File it first,” you said. “Then tell her. Trust me.”
I guess that’s the old adage, right? Better to seek forgiveness than permission.
? ? ?
As I finish the entry in my green journal, I tap my phone to see the time.
“Oh, shit.”
It’s after seven. I’m late, very late for my eight a.m. class. I guess I got caught up in what I was doing.
I hurry out of the office, pass the bedroom, and peek in. Vicky is still asleep, a slight whistle in her breathing.
I do wish things had been different.
53
Vicky
I wake from a nightmare, the sound of an anguished cry fading away as I open my eyes. I pop up in bed and grab my phone. It’s nearly nine in the morning.
I stretch, use the bathroom, and walk out of the bedroom. Down the hall, the light is still on in Simon’s office. I can’t help but smile. He knows how much I hate wasting electricity, how much I pinch pennies, a vestige of years of living payday to payday. Sometimes, I think he leaves on lights just to needle me, a little joke.
I go downstairs to the kitchen. There is coffee, the remnants of a pot that Simon made when he first got up at the crack of dawn. Usually, he makes a fresh thermos that awaits me when I get up. And usually, his travel mug is gone.
This morning, no fresh coffee. And his travel mug is resting on the kitchen island, top off, empty. He must have lost track of time and hurried out the door. I thought I heard him bounding down the stairs in a rush. Simon hates, hates, hates being late.
I make my own coffee and carry a cup upstairs. Glance at that light on in Simon’s office.
When I enter his office, his personal laptop is open on the desk, a green notebook sitting next to it.
The screensaver is on, a cartoon of Uncle Sam as Pac-Man, Pac-Sam, gobbling up constitutional rights as he moves about the screen.
I sit down at the desk and tap the keyboard. The password box appears.
I don’t need to rummage through his sock drawer to find his list of passwords. I already know the password to his laptop.
It’s I_Love_Vicky.
54
Simon
After class, I walk to the Chicago Title & Trust Building. The usual routine, the Starbucks, sitting down in the lobby, powering on the phone, inserting the SIM card. At ten, I send a text: Hello, princess.
She replies quickly:
Hello, Prince Charming. How r u?
The word “charming” is not a word usually associated with me. I reply: I can’t concentrate on anything but you. I forgot what case I was teaching this morning. You have me floating, lady.
She responds:
Can’t really talk right now. Tonight no good either. But tomorrow?
I text:
Tomorrow it is, my queen. Pretty soon, we’ll have all the time we need.
I shut off the phone and close my eyes. We’re really doing this.
? ? ?
On my way back to my office at the law school, I see my favorite person coming from the other direction. On any given day, I’d rather eat bark off a tree than force myself to have a conversation with Dean Comstock.
But I’m not in the mood to run or hide. Not now.
His expression changes when he sees me.
“Hello there, Simon,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets, lest I be under the impression that a handshake is in our future. “Aren’t you full of surprises.”
We haven’t talked since I submitted all my materials in the closing hours of the application period. I would’ve loved to see the look on his face when he heard.
“I thought we had an understanding,” he says.
“I don’t remember ever agreeing to anything, Dean.”
“No, that’s right. But I thought you understood that I was looking out for your best interests. What with your . . .”
“My what? My sordid history?”
“Since you put it that way, yes.”
I glance around, as did he, making sure we are alone in the hallway. I lean in slightly and lower my voice. “You’re going to trash me to the faculty, Dean? That your plan?”