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With a clenched jaw and a dangerous haze of red clouding my vision, I grate, “Who. Is. He?”
She sighs, and I feel the shift — she’s readying herself to surrender, to trust me with her burden. A labored breath later, she squeezes her eyes shut and lets it all come tumbling out, fast and borderline incoherent. “He is Ethan; my soon-to-be ex-husband. The final hearing on my divorce is in the morning, and if I’m not there, Ethan will make sure I lose everything. Every damn thing I’ve worked for my whole life. My savings, car… home! I fixed it up! The hovel, as he called it, is now the prettiest little house on the block, worth three times what we paid. I painted, converted the basement, turned the yard into a work of art. I even watched a TV show and taught myself how to build the cute little fence around the front! He couldn’t tell you what color the mailbox is! He only wants it because he knows how much it means to me; so that I can’t have it!”
“You’re married?” My head tilts itself.
“Well… typically, in all fifty states, in order to get divorced, you need to have been married first, yes.” I’m grateful for her sarcastic smile, staving off the tears, glistening with their approach. “So yes, technically, I’m married… but only by legal definition. Any of the words, gestures, and promises I’d use to define ‘marriage’ ceased to exist in our… arrangement… a long time ago.”
“What happened?”
“Trevor,” she groans, “I just told you, with way more intel than intended, which I’m blaming on panic-induced delirium. What more could you possibly want? A PowerPoint? With all the reasons I finally filed in a color-coded list?”
“Now you’re just being ridiculous; you have no laptop with which to create a visual presentation… so, you’ll have to make do verbally,” I reply in my best attempt at dry humor, hoping to dissuade her from shutting me out again no sooner than I got her talking.
“Awful lot of discussing me, and none the wiser about you, Trevor Kincade. If that’s even your real name. Let me guess; FBI? CIA? Yeah…” Her mouth twists with amusement. “I can see it; either that, or the guy they send in to berate people to damn death until they talk? Oh, my God, I’ve got it! The IRS! That’s it; I’m right, aren’t I?”
I laugh, entirely, not something I do often. “No. To all three.” She rolls her hand, urging me to continue. “I…” I rub my jaw. “The short answer? I make money; a nice amount of it. Far more than I spend.”
“You don’t have to be so specific.” Her faint giggle’s true volume lay within her expression.
“Oh, Lily,” I chuckle once more. “You are a delight. An uncensored, motiveless delight.”
Further solidifying that fact, she curtsies. Precious.
“Getting back on course, sweetheart, you were saying? Before the bit about the FBI.”
“So much for hoping you forgot,” she sighs, her shoulders and spirit sagging. “Ethan must’ve thought he heard me say, somewhere in our vows, that is was okay to acquaint himself with anyone in a skirt, or dress. Yoga pants. Easily removed jeans. Booty shorts. Any shorts.”
“I think I’ve got it.”
“Meanwhile, I was busy finishing my Masters, keeping our home pristine, his dinners hot and on the table right when he walked through the door, and doing all the bookkeeping for his business, while also always making time to acquaint myself with only him! I own shirts, and dresses, and… I’m actually quite fond of yoga pants! Didn’t matter. One day, I clicked the wrong folder on his home computer, you know, to do his bookkeeping for him… and something made me pause, take a gander. He was paying rent on a plush condo for his favorite acquaintance”— she pauses to breath, and squelch a sob— “with our money. Anyway, now he’s claiming I didn’t bring anything to the marriage, so I should leave with nothing. That’s why I have to be there. To defend myself. If not, he’ll win again, and along with my trust, dignity, and years of wasted time, he’ll get my home and every last penny too.”
Needing to process, plan, plot — either this Ethan’s death and/or irreversible maiming, a real toss-up — I remain silent a few minutes too long, only causing her more anxiety, I realize, upon hearing the tremor that founds her next whisper.
“Now you know, and I feel like a fool all over again. It was nice meeting you, Trevor. The end? Eh, not so much, but I’ll live. And, I really do have to go.”
“You most certainly do,” I bite, though not at her, and pull out my cell to angrily punch ‘Call’ to summon Maxwell.
