“All right, already!” Greg smacked the tabletop and stood, the legs of his chair grating against the floor. “If it’s that important to you, Lauren, I’ll sign the papers.”
Yes! This was what she’d been hoping for. That Greg would finally understand her vexation and agree to dissolve their marriage, once and for all.
She snatched up her Montblanc and set the petition in front of Greg with rocket speed. His rough fingertips grazed the back of her hand when he reached for the ink pen; heated electricity skittered across her skin forcing her to suppress a shiver. He showed no sign of noticing.
“You should read them before signing,” she murmured, overwhelmed with satisfaction as she watched him scrawl his name on the line.
He set down the pen, his severe gaze raking her face. “Thanks for the advice, Counselor.”
Ignoring his disgruntled tone, Lauren picked up documents. “Judge Brooks, may I approach the bench? If you sign these now, it will expedite the process even further.”
“Hold up a minute, Mrs. Flynn.” The judge opened the manila file sitting on his desk. “This changes everything. We have property to take care of. We might as well do it now since we’re all present.”
She paused, her heart fluttering. “I beg your pardon, Judge, but there’s nothing to divvy up. I bought the house before we married. Greg’s name was never on the deed.” Lauren couldn’t count the number of times she’d thanked the heavens for that bit of saving grace. “All the inventory was liquidated and the store was sold, and it took everything to pay the business debts. I kept my car. He kept his truck. And I agreed he should keep his tools so he could earn a living.” She straightened the documents in her hands, tapped them on the table. “So you can see, there’s nothing else left to split.”
“Oh, Mrs. Flynn,” the judge almost sang the words while he shuffled through the papers in front of him, “now there’s where you’re wrong.”
Chapter 2
Life is tough, but it’s tougher when you’re stupid.
~ John Wayne
“You will never guess what Greg did.” Lauren slapped her attaché onto her desktop and continued without waiting for a reply from the woman who’d followed her into her office. “He hid a piece of property from me.”
Norma Jean Pruitt’s brown eyes went round. At sixty-two going on thirty, Norma Jean had been with Lauren since the first week that the office had been open for business. She’d hired on as Lauren’s receptionist, and over the years, had added differentials to her job description until she’d included a myriad of professional and personal titles, the most important of which was close-friend-and-confidant. Norma Jean’s vibrant energy hummed like a live wire; clients and colleagues alike often commented on the woman’s joie de vivre when they came into the office. She could instill hope in the dispirited, dry the tears of the dejected, spark courage in the fearful…she was like some sort of superhero for the soul. The practice didn’t bring in enough money to pay the woman the buckets of gold she was worth.
“It’s over an acre of ground out on Skeeter Neck Road.”
Norma Jean’s nose wrinkled. “Not the best part of town.”
Lauren pulled out her divorce file and handed it over. “Tell me about it.”
Norma Jean accepted the folder, tucked it under the ever present legal pad she cradled. “I thought everything was sold off when the hardware store went bust. How could he still have a piece of property?”
“Apparently,” Lauren said, tugging out several other folders and setting them on her desk, “he renovated someone’s house and it turned out the person couldn’t pay. Not in cash, anyway.” Her tone grated as she asked, “Is anyone surprised? Where does he find these people?” She sighed. “Anyway, Greg accepted the land as payment when it was offered. A barter, he told the judge.”
“Skeeter Neck Road runs through a lot of low, swampy land.” Norma moved to the window. “He’s not building a house out there, is he?” She adjusted the blinds to block out most of the sun’s glare.
“He sure isn’t.” Lauren set her attaché behind her desk. “Because Judge Brooks awarded the property to me.”
Norma spun around to face her. “What? Really?”
She nodded. “Greg tried to argue that the plot of ground wasn’t actual income; that he’d made the deal after we’d separated. That it shouldn’t come into play in any settlement. And that it wasn’t worth anything given its location and that the only thing on it was a dilapidated shed. But he’d already set himself up for a fall by telling the judge that he’s been stalling on the divorce because he didn’t want to end the marriage owing me so much money.”
Forever the romantic, Norma Jean said, “Awww…” Her brown eyes softened, her ruby lips parting slightly. “You have to admit, Lauren, that’s kind of sweet.”
Lauren just shook her head. What was it with people? They couldn’t see the truth about Greg even when it was staring them right in the face.
“Judge Brooks awarded me the land, the shed and all its contents. Then he ordered his clerk to file my divorce papers within the next five business days. And he told Greg he was to deliver the deed to the land to me by then.” She sat down in her desk chair and slid her knees under the desk. “So next week I’ll be officially divorced and the owner of a plot of land out on Skeeter Neck Road.” Absently, she reached for the folders in front of her and snatched up her pen, muttering, “Why do I have this feeling that I’ll be free of one albatross only to find myself saddled with another?”
“Now, Lauren,” Norma Jean scolded. “Don’t be so pessimistic.”
*
A rawboned young man, Scotty Shaw had big hands and knobby shoulders he had yet to grow into. His Ichabod Crane neck looked ill fitted to support his large head. Had he more meat on his long-boned body, Lauren would have taken him for a running back or a wide receiver; however, there didn’t appear to be enough muscle and sinew to carry his six foot frame let alone make him a college football star.
He shifted gracelessly in the leather wingbacked chair, his bony knees veering together then sliding apart as Lauren glanced over the police report he’d brought with him. She read the facts, pursing her lips tightly to keep from smiling. Sometimes she struggled not to laugh at the antics that landed these kids into trouble.
What were you thinking? was the first question she wanted to ask. But she knew better. It was obvious that Scotty Shaw—and every other Sterling University student who showed up on her doorstep in dire need of legal representation due to a single moment of stupid, rash or reckless indiscretion—hadn’t thought about the possible consequences of his actions.
“So, Scott,” she began, “you were arrested and charged with Disorderly Conduct—”
“I was just walking down the street, minding my own business. I swear.” His slate blue eyes went wide, giving him a little-boy-lost look.
“—and Alarm and Offense—”
“I never touched that lady or her husband with my…” He paused, two fire engine-red patches splotching his hollow cheeks. He scooted to sit straighter. “I swear I didn’t. You have to believe me. She’s the one who made contact. I was just standing there minding my own business, waiting for the light to change so I could cross the street.” His gaze shifted nervously. “She’s the one who started the conversation. She’s the one who reached out and slid her hand up the—” He stopped again. Swallowed. “Up my—” Another pause. He frowned. “Her husband went absolutely ballistic when she touched it.”
It in this case being a five foot plastic, blow up penis, ‘complete with furry scrotum’ the arresting officer had noted in his report, which Scotty had carted under his arm the full length of Main Street on his way to a Saturday night frat party. Had he remained on University property with his indecent paraphernalia, his only probable consequence would have been a reprimand from the Dean of Discipline. But several town residents had become involved in the ensuing altercation, not to mention the Sterling police who tended to be tough on the colle
ge kids, taking the stance that cracking down early in the fall semester meant fewer offenses later on in the year. The hardnosed attitude of town law enforcement toward the students provided Lauren with a hefty chunk of her yearly income.
“The guy shoved me away from his wife, whipped out his cell and dialed 911 before I could take a breath. I tried to run, but he grabbed my arm and wouldn’t let go. He was strong for an old dude.” One knee began to bounce. “And the car accident wasn’t my fault, either. That woman should have been paying attention to traffic; not gawking at what was happening on the sidewalk.”
Lauren sighed. A pedestrian incident and a traffic accident. Scott had caused a lot of paperwork for the Sterling PD. The attending officer must have been totally ticked to pile on the charges like this. Looking up from the arrest report, she asked, “And you resisted arrest because…?”
The young man’s jaw jutted with affront. “I didn’t mean to resist anything. That cop threatened to poke a hole in my…in the…” Frustration knitted Scott’s brow and he went quiet. Finally, he exhaled, his shoulders sagging. When he spoke, his anger seemed to have fizzled.
“I just lost my head, is all. I wasn’t thinking. I was furious that those cops could just take something that belonged to me. Something that cost me a whole week’s allowance, Ms Flynn. And that’s not including postage and handling.”
His chin dipped as he sulked. “It’s all Brian’s fault. He borrowed my bike pump last week and never brought it back. Then he wouldn’t answer his cell on Saturday. I must have rang him two dozen times. I couldn’t go to the party without seeing what it looked like first, you know? But Brian was off doing who knows what.” He shook his head, shoving his hair off his forehead in frustration. “So I ended up blowing it up myself.” Scotty’s blue eyes met hers, pleading for understanding. “It took forever. I thought I’d pass out. I couldn’t let the air out after working so freakin’ hard to inflate it. So I decided to just take it to the party.” He shrugged and gazed off toward the window as he murmured, “What harm could it do?”
She rested her elbow on the desk and pressed her curled index finger to her lips. Troubled clients often took her silence as sympathy, and that was okay with her at the moment as Scott was obviously feeling lower than low. However, conjuring compassion for someone who had pulled such an idiotic prank was difficult. Besides that, she was struggling not to chuckle. Had he honestly thought he could carry a five foot plastic penis down Main Street in broad daylight and not catch trouble from someone?
Her breath left her in another quiet sigh. At times, youth and inexperience made perfectly intelligent people act like idiots. As Lauren pulled open a side drawer on her desk and took out a yellow legal pad, she said, “I’ll need an eighteen hundred dollar retainer.”
“Eighteen hundred dollars?”
She didn’t take offense at his tone; she’d heard it hundreds of times before from people who sat in that very chair.
“Scott, I need a couple hours to research case law. Then I’ll need an hour, maybe longer, to prepare my argument in case I have to offer one. And we’ll be in court up to three hours waiting for your case to be heard.”
“But I don’t have that kind of money. I’m a full-time student. I don’t have a job. My dad gives me fifty bucks a week spending allowance.” His big hands tensed on the arms of the chair. “Do you think I could get away with going to court without a lawyer?”
“I wouldn’t recommend it.” She picked up her pen and clicked it three times. “All the charges are misdemeanors, but each one carries a maximum sentence that includes a fine plus jail time.”
Scott’s pale face went paler. “Jail? I could go to jail?”
She nodded. “It’s not all that likely since it’s a first offense, but you can never tell with these things. And you did resist arrest. That tends to make the judge less forgiving.”
His breathing accelerated.
“Scott—” she set down her pen and laced her fingers on top of the legal pad “—have you called your parents?”
“It’s just my dad.” He paused the merest fraction of a second before softly adding, “For the most part.” He looked at her, unblinkingly. “Anyway, I was hoping I could get through this on my own. Dad’ll kill me if he finds out about this.”
It’s just my dad. For the most part. Lauren wondered what that meant exactly.
She tilted her head a fraction, smiling. “I seriously doubt your father would take things that far. He might be disappointed, and none of us wants to disappoint our parents. But sometimes that can’t be helped, Scott. You need some support. Emotionally and financially.” She flattened her mouth apologetically. “I can hold your hand. I can talk you through the legalities of your situation. But, unfortunately, I can’t work for free. You won’t find a lawyer in this town who will.”
Sure, she’d like to be a do-gooder, a good Samaritan who cast aside all responsibility to help out every Tom, Dick and Scotty in need. Who wouldn’t? But she had people depending on her. Norma Jean needed the paycheck Lauren wrote every week. There was office rent, a car lease and house mortgage to pay, not to mention utilities. And her father needed her help. She needed an income.
Lauren blinked a couple of times when she realized her blood had begun to simmer. Her jaw was clenched. She gulped in a deep, relaxing breath, realizing, too, that the anger roiling through her wasn’t this young man’s fault.
No, it sure wasn’t. Her financial situation was no one’s fault but Greg’s.
She stood and smiled, offering her hand to Scott. “As Norma Jean explained, your initial consultation is free. Your court date is weeks away. You’ve got plenty of time to decide what you want to do.”
He rose from the chair, shook her hand. “Thanks for your time,” he murmured.
The fear and confusion shadowing his gaze spurred a gentleness in her. “This isn’t the end of the world, Scott.”
He nodded, but looked clearly unconvinced.
“Call your father. I’m sure he’d want to hear from you. I’ll bet he’ll be more understanding than you imagine. But whether you do or not, I can’t urge you strongly enough to hire a lawyer. Like I said, it doesn’t have to be me. But going to court without legal representation wouldn’t be wise.”
He nodded again and then walked toward the door.
She said his name and he turned to face her. Lauren hoped her next statement didn’t sound heartless, but she could no more have left it unsaid than she could have stopped breathing.
“If you do decide to hire me, you’ll have to bring a check with you the next time you come.”
Scotty Shaw left her office looking like a whipped puppy.
Chapter 3
Marriage is a three ring circus:
engagement ring, wedding ring and suffering.
~ Unknown
Skeeter Neck Road dipped and twisted its way through the western Maryland countryside. Sumac, thorn bushes and other weedy scrub carpeted the swampy areas, and what sounded like an army of frogs serenaded Lauren as she drove with her windows down. Where the land was elevated, she passed small stands of trees; pine, butternut, ash.
Driving out to find a piece of property she didn’t exactly own just yet was probably the last thing she should be doing this morning. She should have stayed home, enjoying a second cup of coffee while reading the Saturday edition of the paper. Reveling in her last hours of solitude before her dad moved in with her later today.
Lauren rubbed her fingertips back and forth across her forehead. She loved her dad dearly and would have done anything for him. But the two of them hadn’t lived under the same roof in years. He’d lived alone since she’d moved out to attend college, and with the break up of her marriage, Lauren’s home life had been pretty solitary for the past year as well. This new living arrangement wasn’t going to be easy. For either of them.
Yes, she should be home enjoying the last vestiges of peace and quiet she would have in the foreseeable future. However, curiosity had spur
red her out the door on this glorious morning. She’d contacted a friend in the deed registry office yesterday for the exact location of the property she’d been awarded by Judge Brooks.
She kept glancing at the dashboard, and when the odometer hit eight point five miles, she slowed the car. According to her friend, the property was located on the east side of Skeeter Neck Road just under nine miles out of town.
Her father had called Thursday night, grousing at her about taking what he felt was Greg’s property.
“Just because the judge gave it to you,” he’d said, “doesn’t mean you have to accept it.”
Lauren had succeeded in keeping her tone sweet as she’d replied, “And leave you explaining to everyone in town that you raised an idiot? Dad, I’d never do that to you.”
Braking the car to a crawl, she inched past a dirt drive and craned her neck to see around the trees fronting the patch of land. A large barn took center stage; she could make out bare wood showing through faded red paint in spots on the building. She drove on, looking for a plot with a shed as Greg had described to the judge this week.
She passed a field that stretched into next week, a recent harvesting having left behind row upon row of some kind of plant stubs. When the odometer hit ten miles and there was no end of the field in sight, Lauren made a three point turn and headed back the way she’d come. She arrived at the dirt lane leading to the barn again and stopped.
“Well, this makes no sense,” she murmured, steering the car onto the packed dirt drive. Maybe she could find a farmer or someone else who could provide her with directions.
She pulled the keys from the ignition, got out of the car and shut the door. The cool morning was quiet save for the slight breeze rustling through the leaves of the trees. The leaf tips were taking on their autumn color; soon the landscape would turn into a glorious tapestry filled with shades of gold and crimson.
Indie Chicks: 25 Women 25 Personal Stories Page 17
