My mouth opens to object and he holds out a hand to silence me.
“Whether it’s with her or someone else, you’re going to slip up eventually—and no matter what Kate’s done, I don’t think that’s the guy you want to be. File so you’ve got a clear conscience when it happens.”
I roll my eyes, but I think about what he said the whole way home. Am I going to slip? I thought I was fine, until Lucie entered the picture. It can’t be with her, but the amount of time I spend fantasizing about it probably indicates that Harrison is right.
I never cheated on Kate, and that’s pretty much the only way I wasn’t a shitty husband. I’d like to hold on to that, if nothing else.
12
LUCIE
I arrive at the lawyer’s office fifteen minutes early on Monday morning, fielding texts from Jeremy while I wait for the meeting to begin.
JEREMY
You want me to drop off your old maternity clothes? Based on your current weight, it looks like you’re definitely going to need something bigger.
Heard you’re putting on a show every morning at school drop-off, by the way. Good luck with that. None of those guys would touch you with a ten-foot pole.
I haven’t gained weight. I’m not putting on a show. But, Jesus, I hate the fact that what he says even has me questioning if it’s true. I hate that it’s so easy for him to make me feel inferior, and it says more about me than him that he succeeds.
An hour later, Darryl Fessman, Esquire, shows up—all smiles and bluster and apologies—and leads me back to his office, where he proceeds to blather about the weather and ask how the kids are handling the divorce before he finally tells me he requires ten grand upfront—because apparently normal people are supposed to just have that much money burning a hole in their pocket. I didn’t have it before Jeremy emptied my checking account.
The money worries me, but the picture he offers of my future is slightly better than the one I’ve been envisioning. He insists I’ll get enough interim support to live off of and that, as primary caregiver, I’ll be given possession of the house for two years. I shudder at the idea of moving back into the McMansion Jeremy’s so proud of and shudder more at the idea of telling him I’m taking the house, but this isn’t the time to start cowering.
I answer his questions, and nothing I say seems to faze him…until he asks for my husband’s name.
"Boudreau," he repeats, frowning. “No relation to Enson Boudreau, right?”
"That’s his uncle. Is it a problem?"
He winces. "He’s the DA and that’s a very litigious family, in general. It won't make anything easier, that's for sure."
My pen presses so hard into my notebook that the paper tears. “What won't it make easier? Money? Custody?"
He looks at me. Any enthusiasm he had for taking this case is gone. "It will make everything more difficult," he says, pushing his legal pad away. "If he’s at all like his uncle and father, it’ll take a lot of money to fight him.”
“What if I don’t have a lot of money?”
He sets his pen down. “Then you should carefully consider if this is really what you want to do, because it’s not likely to go as well as you think.”
My stomach twists. Because I didn’t expect it to go well in the first place.
IS this really what I want?
I’ve asked myself the question a hundred times since lunch and I continue to ask it as I clean up dinner.
I know I don’t want to stay with Jeremy until the twins leave for college—enduring the insults, the threats, the cheating—but maybe what’s best for me is no longer relevant. The kids’ lives would be so much better in a thousand ways if I went back: a big house, amazing trips, and all the stupid things that matter to teenagers. Most importantly, I’d be able to stay home with them. I could help Henry with his reading and whatever else is coming down the pike.
I just don’t know.
My head jerks when the back door closes. The twins know they’re not allowed to go to the lake without asking, but sure enough when I look through the kitchen window, Henry’s traipsing across the backyard toward the dock, where Caleb’s got pieces of an engine spread out on a tarp.
By the time I reach them, Caleb is showing Henry how to sweep a rag inside some metal tubing. My breath holds when he attempts to hand it to Henry, who is apt to simply stare at him or walk away.
He instead takes the tubing and rag from Caleb’s hands and begins to do what Caleb asked. There’s another of those painful twists in my chest, the ones I feel so often where Henry is concerned.