One thing was certain: On the top-ten list of ways to thoroughly screw up your life, having sex with an employee was somewhere in the first three slots. The laws on sexual harassment were brutal.
Where was gambling on the list?
His thoughts returned to the Final Four, but the phone was ringing now. Wounded and angry people out there needed lawyers.
Ten minutes later, Tillie stuck her head through the crack of his door and said, “Simon, got a minute?”
“Sure.” He wasn’t working yet, still pondering free online tips from Vegas oddsmakers.
She took a step in and said, “I still have an open file on Eleanor Barnett. She hasn’t called in some time. You want to close it?”
Simon thought for a moment as if he really had to make a decision. “Give it a week or so. I doubt she’ll be back.”
Tillie nodded and disappeared. She returned to her desk and typed notes on her iPad, for personal use only. She had just caught her boss in a lie, one that was probably of some significance, though she didn’t know for sure. A friend who worked in a realtor’s office had seen Simon in the deli last Friday when Matilda took the day off. He was having lunch with Tony and Mary Beth Larson and an older lady. She called Mary Beth to chat about an insurance matter for one of their clients. They talked all the time and enjoyed the local gossip. Out of the blue, Matilda asked if Mary Beth and Tony had witnessed the execution of a will last Friday. Mary Beth hesitated, just long enough to arouse suspicion, and said yes, they had. For a Ms. Eleanor Barnett, a lovely lady.
Matilda took it in stride as if she was on top of things and ended the call. If Eleanor Barnett signed a will, who typed it? In her twelve years with Simon they had prepared and executed hundreds of wills, and, to her recollection, he had never typed a single one. Nor had he presided over the signing without involving Matilda.
Simon could be a complicated soul and had his flaws, but he was not a liar. When telling stories and spinning yarns he could embellish with the best of them, but on serious matters he would never lie.
Until now.
During the lunch with Tony and Mary Beth Larson, Simon could not help but notice that Netty was easily impressed with a grilled chicken Caesar that did not appear to be fresh. He suspected her diet was the typical bland fare of an old widow who seldom cooked and ate from a can.
Simon invited her to another lunch. She accepted with great enthusiasm, which was not surprising. He suggested Chinese, then Afghan kabobs, then falafel. She had never heard of the last two and was suspicious of the first. With great patience, he explained that he enjoyed foods from everywhere and wanted her to have the same experience. If they tried something they didn’t like, no big deal. They would simply go somewhere else next time. Game on. She couldn’t wait to get out of the house. He offered to pick her up at home, primarily because he was curious to see where and how she lived. If her Lincoln was fifteen years old, how about her furniture and rugs? He assumed she had simple tastes, but was it all an act to fake out family and friends and keep prying eyes away from her fortune? Simon spent far too much time pondering these things.
Netty stiff-armed him by insisting that they meet at the restaurant. She was proud that she was still able to drive while most of her friends had had their keys confiscated. Who were these friends? He had so much to learn.
They met at a Greek restaurant Simon had visited before and liked. It was on the edge of town, on the main highway headed toward Washington, far enough from Main Street. He desperately wanted to avoid any chance of bumping into Wally Thackerman at lunch, something that happened maybe once a year. The odds were slim, but weird things happen and he could not imagine the aftershocks of such an encounter. There would be suspicions, then accusations, then fights and so on. Wally would automatically assume Simon was poaching a client, and a wealthy one at that.
They ordered lamb stew with kabobs, rather heavy dishes, with pita bread and water to drink. She wanted to know about his family. She didn’t have much of her own and was curious about his. Simon tried to shift the conversation back to her side of the table. He certainly didn’t want to brag on his children, nor would he dare discuss the broken marriage. He painted a pleasant portrait of things at home and figured he could be more truthful later. He asked about her stepsons, Clyde and Jerry Korsak, and realized immediately that was out of bounds. Her niece and nephew remained a mystery. It had been at least forty years since the entire family had been together for a summer weekend in the Catskills, a disastrous gathering that ended badly and sent everyone scurrying in different directions, evidently for good.
She had been married to Vince Barnett back then. Vince had clearly been her favorite husband, her first love. They had married young, tried desperately to have a family, traveled a lot because they were childless, and she was devastated when he died suddenly at the age of forty.
After about forty-five minutes, the lunch grew tiresome. Netty seemed to have few interests and seldom left the house. She spent hours watching daytime television as she pieced together jigsaw puzzles. They said goodbye in the parking lot and Simon watched her weave away, one foot on the brake, straddling lanes, oblivious to the angry horns behind her.
As he drove back to the office, he was stuck with the nagging thought that she might live another ten years. Then he was angry with himself for once again dwelling on her demise. It was imperative that he stop thinking about her last will and testament and focus on simply being her friend.
Chapter 11
After grappling with a dozen lame excuses to delay the imperative, Simon and Paula finally reached an agreement, a rarity. They would tell the children at the same time, then somehow survive the aftermath. Inflict the pain, have a good cry, then pick up the pieces. They steadied themselves by reminding each other that many of their friends had managed to survive the same dreadful conversations, and then moved on. The kids would be all right.
On a Friday night, Simon took Buck and Danny to a mall to watch a movie, and afterward they ate ice cream in a food court that overlooked a cheesy waterfall. How does one broach the subject? There was no easy way. He cleared his throat and said, “I guess you guys know that Mom and I are not getting along too well.”
The boys glanced at each other and their eyes said it all. They knew the inevitable but did not want this conversation. The moment they had been dreading had arrived.
“Is that why you’re sleeping at the office?” Buck asked.
“Yes it is.” Paula had told the children the truth when it had become obvious. “We have decided to get a divorce.”
He let the word hang in the air for a few seconds as he watched their reactions. Danny, the younger, was more emotional and his eyes moistened, though he seemed determined to be tough. Buck would be the harder case.
He said, “Mom says you don’t love her anymore.”
“I’ll always love your mom. We created you guys and Janie and we are extremely proud of you.” He had practiced these words many times and they sounded flat and too rehearsed. “But just because you love someone doesn’t mean you can get along. Mom and I simply cannot get along anymore.” To a sixteen-year-old and a fourteen-year-old, or to any kid for that matter, this sounded like impenetrable crap. All kids want their parents to be together and happy.