“A sacrament-like marriage-means living a life better than your natural instincts, so that you’re modeling God. And God never gives up.”
That, I thought to myself, wasn’t entirely true. There were plenty of places in the Bible where God backed Himself into a corner and, instead of toughing it out, simply started over. Look at the great flood, at Sodom and Gomorrah.
“Jesus didn’t get to drop that Cross,” Father Grady said. “He carried it all the way uphill.”
Well, in one respect the priest was right. If I stayed in this marriage, either Charlotte or I was going to wind up being crucified.
“How about you and Charlotte come see me together sometime next week?” Father Grady said. “We’ll figure this out.”
I nodded, and he patted my hand and headed toward the altar again.
Lying to a priest was a sin, too, but that was the least of my worries.
Adina Nettle’s office was nothing like Guy Booker’s, although they apparently had gone to law school together. Adina, Guy said, was the one you wanted if you were getting a divorce. He’d used her twice now himself.
She had overstuffed couches with those lacy things that look like they belong on valentines draped over the backs. She served tea but not coffee. And she looked like everybody’s grandmother.
Maybe that’s why she got what she wanted in settlements.
“You’re not too cold, Sean? I can turn down the air-conditioning…”
“I’m fine,” I said. For the past half hour, I’d drunk three cups of Earl Grey and told Adina about our family. “We go back and forth to different hospitals, depending on what the problem is,” I said. “Omaha, for orthopedics. Boston, for pamidronate. Local hospitals for most breaks.”
“It must be very difficult, not knowing what’s going to happen.”
“No one knows what’s going to happen,” I said soberly. “We just have emergencies more often than most folks.”
“Your wife must not be able to work, then,” Adina said.
“No. We’ve been trying to make ends meet ever since Willow was born.” I hesitated. “And I can’t say it’s any easier with me living in a motel.”
Adina made a note on her legal pad. “Sean, divorce is financially devastating to most people, and it’s going to be even more so for you, because you and Charlotte are living from paycheck to paycheck-plus you’ve got the added stressor of your daughter’s illness. And there’s a strange catch-22 here, too-if you want custody, that means you’re going to be working less, making even less money. When you’re not working, your children are with you. You won’t have any free time anymore.”
“That doesn’t matter,” I said.
Adina nodded. “Does Charlotte have job skills?”
“She used to be a pastry chef,” I said. “She hasn’t worked since Willow was born, but last winter she started a little stand at the end of the driveway.”
“A stand?”
“Like a vegetable stand. But with cupcakes.”
“If you cut back on your hours to be with the children, will you be able to afford to keep the house? Or will it have to be sold so that you can have two smaller households?”
“I…I don’t know.” Our savings were shot to hell, that much was clear.
“Based on what you’ve told me, with all of Willow’s adaptive equipment and her schedule, it seems that keeping her in one location would be easier for everyone involved…even when it comes to visitation…” Adina glanced up at me. “There is one other option. You could live at the house until the divorce is finalized.”
“Wouldn’t that be-a little uncomfortable?”
“Yes. It’s also cheaper, which is why a majority of couples who are in the process of divorcing choose to do it. And it’s easier on the children.”
“I don’t get it-”
“It’s very simple. We draw up a negotiated plan, so that you’re in the house when your wife isn’t and vice versa. That way you each have time with the girls while the divorce is pending, and the household expenses are no greater than they are right now.”
I looked down at the floor. I didn’t know if I could be that generous. I didn’t know if I could stand to see Charlotte in the thick of this lawsuit and not want to kill her for the things she said. But then again, I would be right there, a call away, if you needed someone to hold you in the middle of the night. If you needed reinforcement to believe that the world would not be anywhere near as bright without you in it.
“There’s only one catch,” Adina said. “It’s not ordinary in New Hampshire for a father to get physical possession of a child, especially in a case where the child has special needs and the mother has been a stay-at-home caretaker the child’s whole life. So how are you going to convince a judge that you’re the better parent?”
I met the lawyer’s eye. “I’m not the one who started a wrongful birth lawsuit,” I said.
After I walked out of the attorney’s office, the world seemed different. The road looked too clear, the colors too jarring. It was like getting a pair of glasses that were overcorrected, and I felt myself moving more carefully.
At a stoplight, I looked out the window and saw a young woman crossing the street with a cup of coffee in her hand. She caught my eye and smiled. In the past, I would have looked away, embarrassed-but now? Were you allowed to smile back, to look, to acknowledge other women, if you’d taken the first steps to ending your marriage?
I had two hours before my shift started, and I headed toward Aubuchon Hardware. The irony didn’t escape me-I was shopping at a home improvement mecca, although I didn’t currently have a home. But while staying in the house this weekend, I’d noticed that the ramp I’d built for your wheelchair three years ago was rotting out in one spot where we had some standing water this spring. My plan was to build you a new one today, so you’d see it when you returned from your conference.
The way I figured it, I’d need three or four sheets of three-quarter-inch pressure-treated plywood, plus a stretch of indoor-outdoor carpeting to give traction under the wheels of your chair. I headed for the service desk to try to estimate the cost. “You’re talking about $34.10 a sheet,” the employee said, and I found myself backpedaling through the math. If the wood alone cost over a hundred bucks, I’d have to work more overtime, and that wasn’t even counting the cost of the carpet material. The more hours I spent at work, the less I would have with you girls. The more money I spent on the ramp, the less I’d have for another night’s motel room.
“Sean?”
Piper Reece was standing three feet away.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, but before I could answer, she held up her hands, revealing a packet of wire connectors and a GFCI receptacle. “I’m replacing one. I’ve been pretty handy lately, but this is the first time I’ve fooled around with electricity.” She laughed nervously. “I keep seeing the headline: ‘Woman Found Electrocuted in Her Own Kitchen. Counter was not clean at the time of death.’ It’s supposed to be easy, right? Like, the chances of being zapped during a do-it-yourself project can’t be nearly as high as the chances of getting into a car accident on your way to the hardware store, right?” She shook her head and blushed. “I’m babbling.”
I’ve got to go. The words were in my mouth, smooth and round like cherry pits, but what came out was this: “I could help you.”
Stupid, stupid, stupid ass. That’s what I kept telling myself I was, once the back of my truck was loaded with three sheets of pressure-treated plywood and carpeting and I was headed to Piper Reece’s house. There was no real explanation for why I hadn’t simply turned my back and walked away from her except for this: in all the years I’d known Piper, I’d never seen her as anything but confident and self-assured-to the point where she was too sharp, too arrogant. Today, though, she’d been completely flustered.