Chuck called from the rear of the store then, "Dad, could you help me with this?" and Charles went back as requested.
Little Bobby, now calmed, finished his soda with a giant slurp, gave himself another push, twirled around a few more times, and then leaned over and threw up.
"My God!" exclaimed Annabeth. She raced to clean up the mess, washed little Bobby's face, her own hands, and was in the process of trying to catch her breath when Julie walked back in.
"Mommy!" exclaimed the boy, "I burned my hand!" He thrust out the bandaged paw for her to examine, then continued, "And I threw up!"
"Annabeth!" Julie turned the hand this way and that, then touched her son's damp forehead. "You let him burn himself and gave him so much ice cream he threw up? What were you thinking?"
"I'm sorry, I was busy."
"Too busy to pay attention to a child? How is that possible? To let him burn his hand like that!" Julie took hold of her son's uninjured hand and tugged him away.
Annabeth, feeling guilty and upset, followed her sister to the door. "Julie, wait."
Julie stopped, and Annabeth reached out to touch her shoulder. "I'm sorry. It's just been a very busy day. I'm not used to working yet. I didn't mean to take my eyes off him."
Julie scowled, "It's okay. You'll be fine, won't you?" She looked down at her son who was listening to the argument with fascination.
Annabeth feeling miserable, reached out and hugged her sister, who was wooden, yet still hugged back. She turned back toward the ice cream counter to see Charles watching her with a strange, sentimental look on his face.
It had been a long, exhausting day, and Annabeth was glad when she could leave for home. Sally sat on one of the porch rockers, waiting for her. The nights were still warm, the water that everywhere seeped up from the ground in ponds and puddles and flowed in from the Gulf in bayous that were like twining tendrils on the ragged coastline, also rose into the air, creating a heaviness that lay upon the skin and soaked into the fibers of every garment. It was warm but not unpleasant, and Annabeth waved to Sally as she pulled into her usual spot, slowly exiting the car. Everything hurt. How hard it was to work all day, to stand all day, to bend over that freezer and try to scoop the hard ice cream. Her feet ached whether she stood or sat; the muscles in her back and arms had clenched, and she doubted whether she could make a fist because her hands were so sore.
"Mom," said Sally, "You look so tired."
Annabeth dropped into the rocker beside her daughter. "I'm beat."
"Want to go inside where it's cooler?"
"In a minute. Listen to all the frogs."
Sally nodded, having heard this so many times before. "Let me get you something to eat at least. How about a sandwich?"
"That would be great."
Sally was gone only a short time, and she returned with a ham sandwich, some lemonade, and a plate of cookies.
"Thanks," said Annabeth, biting into the sandwich.
"Mom, I need to talk."
"Yes, dear?"
"I'm going home to Jackson. I just miss him so much."
"Of course you do. Even though you are together every evening," Annabeth laughed.
"I miss living with him. I miss waking up with him and falling asleep with him. Jackson is the best snuggler."
"Sure."
"I know you need me here."
"Sweetheart! I love having you here, but you have your own life and you should lead it. I understand that."
"You do?"
"Of course I do."
"I just got so upset about the divorce. About you being all alone. About me being just like you."
"I know." Annabeth put her hand gently on Sally's arm.
"But I don't want to break up with Jackson."
"Jackson is wonderful."
"I want to marry him."
Annabeth nodded.
"But I was thinking, it wouldn't hurt me to take a class or two. I was thinking about bookkeeping. I'm pretty good with math. Then I'd have a profession, not just a job."
Annabeth smiled, "That's an excellent idea."
"I thought it would make you happy."
"It does make me happy, but what matters is that you're happy."
"Oh, Mom." Sally's voice grew soft as she spoke these last words, then they sat there for a long moment, comfortable in silence, both rocking until Sally was ready to continue, "So is it all right if I go back tonight?"
"Of course it is."
Annabeth sat, watching the tail lights of Sally's car grow fainter as she drove off until she rounded a curve and could no longer be seen. She smiled, thinking of her daughter, so in love. The night, like warm vapor all around her, drew her into a reverie and from that mist rose up memories of her own past, and she sighed softly, full of sweet longing, yearning for those days again. R.J. was such a wonderful lover. She recalled the nights in his arms, the mornings they would wake up together and then slide closer, her head resting comfortably for a long time on his shoulder, his arm around her back, her hand a tender weight on his rough cheek. She remembered the nights he would get in late, find her asleep, and how he would begin touching her and she would awaken all afire, ready to be smothered by R.J. and his need for her. Alone there on her porch, she blushed, envisioning all the things they'd done together, and all she wished to do yet. She thought of the nights most recently when he was absent and she lay alone in that big soft bed, a sense of longing like a rage in her heart that could never be quenched, and sighing, she grew more melancholy, weary from the day and for the long night ahead.
8
Annabeth drove toward town, toward her father's law office, a knot in her stomach. Going over financial things was just a formality, nothing to worry about. It wouldn't be that bad. She rode past Hawkins Auto, speaking aloud, "Oh, my!" She'd been meaning to get that seat belt check for two or three weeks and kept forgetting. She was just so busy with work, yet she made so little money. She thought briefly of her finances. There was enough for food and to pay the electric bill, the water bill, but just barely. And when she had a few dollars saved something needed fixing, as was usual in the upkeep of an older house. Annabeth sighed, then pulled into a parking spot outside Will Copeland's office.
Although the rest of the world was sliding into fall, in the Florida panhandle the summer heat still raged. Annabeth touched her cheek with hands still cool from the car's air conditioning. She was flushed, but that was probably worry. She walked toward the three story brick building, wishing she could turn around and go in some other direction.
"Annabeth."
She turned toward the voice, knowing whose it was. The knot in her stomach tightened. "R.J." She looked into her husband's eyes.
"Sam called me, you know. He got some laugh on me."
She wanted to say, Oh you look so tired and to reach out and touch his cheek, but she did not.
"He was pretty damn happy to steal my collection of classic cars. Brought up that whole card game thing."
"He accused you of cheating again? How silly."
"Yeah well, he paid you like five hundred bucks less than the cars were worth. I hope you're proud of yourself."
"I'm sorry about Sam, R.J., but what choice did I have? My car wouldn't run anymore."
"Probably just needed plugs."
"No, it needed thousands in repair."
"So you go out and buy yourself a new car? Why didn't you buy a Mercedes?"
Annabeth's eyes narrowed. She had never participated in a scene in public, and in fact had rarely even argued with R.J. in the past. She lowered her voice, but spoke with an intensity that was uncharacteristic for her, "I don't see you driving a car that breaks down every two blocks."
"Hey, babe, I work for a living."
Annabeth was about to reply so do I, but thinking it was pointless, she turned and walked away from her husband.
Annabeth exited the elevator and walked into her father's offices, bumping into Hugh McGraw, who had stopped at the front desk to speak to
the receptionist.
"Annabeth" he said warmly, opening his arms and offering her a hug.
"Hugh! It feels like ages since I've seen you. How are you?"
"Fine."
"You?"
"I'm here for this legal meeting, you know, the divorce."
Hugh nodded. "Don't worry. Quentin will take good care of you. Kyle Sennet is no match for him at all."
"How's Maggie?"
"She's fine."
"I'm just so upset about this whole thing with her. I've been by the house a bunch of times and I've called. She won't speak to me. It's crazy. Sally and Jackson got back together last week."
"I know. Doesn't make any sense to me either. I'm sure she'll come around. She's been spending time with Louise Watkins. That sure can't last."
Annabeth laughed then became serious. "I just don't know what else to do. We've been friends for nearly forty years. My God. Forty years."
"Now I feel old."
Quentin Asprey appeared in the hallway, and walked over to introduce himself. "Mrs. Welner, I'm Quentin Asprey." He was a slender man of about six feet, his hair sandy and streaked with highlights caused by all the sun he got on the weekends. He had the typically freckled complexion of people in the sunbelt and a large beaky nose that curved toward his mouth. A mustache would have done wonders for his looks, but his upper lip was bare.
"I'll talk to Maggie," said Hugh, smiling sympathetically, then turning toward the younger attorney, added, "If you need any help with this divorce, I'm available."
Annabeth followed Quentin into his office where they sat down at a round table in the corner. This small firm was successful by local standards, but they had no need of a meeting room or a big conference table that could seat twenty. Business was usually handled in a more informal manner.
"How are you doing?"
"I'm fine," answered Annabeth.
Quentin nodded, "Good, I'm glad there are no immediate problems. Today we're going to go over financial statements. It's probably very routine, so don't worry." Reaching for a document already on the table, Quentin continued, handing it to Annabeth, "Sennet sent over this statement. Take a look. This is your husband's version of your assets. Eventually we'll come to an agreement on what everything's worth and then we'll decide how to divide it all up."
"I didn't know our house was worth this much."
"Is R.J.'s income accurately represented?"
"Yes, that seems right."
"Are the business assets listed accurately?"
"Gosh, I guess so. How much can those old vending machines be worth?"
"Do you know how many he has now?"
"No, not really. He was gone for days at a time on his route," her voice lowered and she spoke with sadness, "But who knows how much of that travel was business."
"It says here he's partners with his mother."
"She loaned him some money to buy the first couple of machines. Oh--Mr. Asprey--"
"Call me Quentin. Yes?"
"There was some money in our bank accounts--the ones he closed. That's not listed here."
Quentin nodded. "All right."
The buzzer on his desk rang and Quentin stepped over to answer the phone. "Send them back," he said, and then to Annabeth, "They're here."
Kyle Sennet looked like the sort of lawyer who advertised for business in the classified section of the local paper, the type to work out of a small office outside of town and handle whatever cases that came his way for fees as high as he could wrangle, things like bankruptcies, divorces, an occasional accident case or drinking, drug and misdemeanor charges. In short, he was the sort of attorney her father scorned. He was a slight man with too-long hair and an ill-trimmed beard that drooped, giving him the air of a disenchanted elf. Annabeth wondered if he wore a business suit when he appeared in court, because now he sported jeans and a T-shirt featuring a sports car with Daytona Beach printed over it. He carried an inexpensive attaché case, which he placed with a thud on the table at which Annabeth sat. He nodded toward her as though she were nobody indeed then reached out to Quentin, who shook the offered hand in a way which was friendly yet managed to convey the sentiment that the man was no colleague at all and was lucky to be allowed in the office.
R.J., who followed his lawyer in, offered a hand to his wife's attorney, but instead of taking it, Quentin nodded toward a seat at the table. "We have your little document here," he said, looking down at R.J.'s financial statement as though it were a trashy novel.
Annabeth looked toward her lawyer. He was totally imperious!
"Good," said Sennet, apparently unaware of Quentin's disdain. "We all want the same thing here, a fair distribution of marital assets and a speedy divorce. My client has moved forward with his life and so has yours."
"Why be so hasty? We're talking about a long marriage here. Perhaps a legal separation is all that's needed right now." Quentin's voice was calm.
"What?" interjected R.J., his voice growing louder, "You jerkin' with me?"
Sennet placed his hand briefly on his client's shoulder, calming him. "We were thinking an immediate divorce. We file the papers today or tomorrow and both these people have their freedom in thirty days. That's the beauty of our system here in Florida."
"I just don't see that happening. You have incomplete, inaccurate financial records. No effort has been made to pay maintenance. It's a complicated, messy, situation." Quentin shook his head, his voice remaining calm. "We intend to file a motion for temporary support. These things take time."
"There are no minor children, and your client is perfectly able to work."
"I am working," interjected Annabeth.
R.J. laughed. "I heard about your soda jerk job."
"The job she has now is temporary, simply because her husband abandoned her after stealing their joint funds. You and I both know that in a marriage of this length, the judge is likely to grant support for life."
"For life?" R.J. grew livid. "Even convicts get paroled."
"And," continued Quentin, bestowing on his opponents a withering glance that caused R.J. to hold his temper at bay, "The fact that your client is currently living in an adulterous relationship with a woman young enough to be his daughter isn't likely to grant him any favors with the court."
R.J. and his lawyer looked helplessly at Quentin as he continued to speak, "Thus it seems quite likely to me that this case will go to court. Why should we sign away any of our rights? This is no simple divorce. Could take years."
"Years!" exploded R.J., "All right, look, what do you want?"
"First of all, we want the funds stolen from the bank accounts to be restored."
"I don't got that money no more. I had expenses."
Annabeth glanced at her attorney. What a scary guy he seemed. So combative.
R.J. swallowed hard. "Annabeth stole my classic cars and sold them behind my back."
"We have listed her automobile as part of the assets we expect to claim. Your van is worth more than twice what her car is worth."
"That don't make up for a collection of cars it took years to get."
"As I said before, divorce can be messy. Can string along for years. And of course lawyers bill by the hour."
Sennet squirmed in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with this line of reasoning. "Well, we can surely come to some agreement regarding maintenance. And your client will be entitled to a lump sum when the house is sold."
"And we will be selling the vending machine business as well?" countered Quentin.
"What?" exclaimed R.J., "No way I'm gonna sell my business. How else can I provide maintenance?" he asked sardonically.
"My client wishes to remain in her home."
"It's our home, not her home," said R.J., a tinge of desperation in his voice.
"I spent twenty years fixing it up," said Annabeth softly.
"And I paid for all them repairs," countered R.J., turning and looking angrily into her eyes.
"Look," said Sennet, "There is a way ou
t of this. What's the difference in the value here?" He ran his finger along the columns, adding figures that Quentin had already totaled. Your client can simply pay the difference and then my client will let her have the house."
"We'll consider that possibility. What we need to do now is to settle the maintenance issue."
"What about four hundred a month? There are no children at home and there's no mortgage on the house."
"Don't insult us."
"You know what my client earns."
"I intend to find out."
Annabeth was astonished to hear R.J. say, "Look, I'll pay a thousand a month. Probably break me, though." He didn't have that kind of money to spare, did he?
"We're all too well acquainted here. It's a shame, really." Quentin's voice was deceptively calm. "I think we should just let a judge sort all this out. A judge would be far better able to determine what's fair and for how long. We'll set a court date, you'll have your hearing by the spring, the divorce sometime later and it'll be lots easier for us all." He paused for a long moment, then turned toward Annabeth asking, "Do you mind waiting a bit?"
"No," she answered softly, feeling intimidated not only by the proceedings but by her own lawyer.
"Are you outta your mind?" raged R.J., "I want this divorce now, not who knows when down the road."
"Yes, I can see that," conceded Quentin. "We'll just have to work harder to cooperate then."
R.J., surprised by this comment, nodded. "That's right. Okay, look, twelve hundred, but that's really it. Won't do nobody good if I go bankrupt."
Quentin nodded, his face serene. "That seems fair, based on your current earnings. And of course Annabeth keeps the house."
"What!" exclaimed R.J., "Are you out of your mind?"
"You keep your business, she keeps the house. And you pay maintenance for twenty-five, no twenty years. Unless of course she remarries."
"This is bullshit," replied R.J., who rose then and stormed out of the office.
Sennet rose afterwards, offering his hand to Asprey. "We'll be in touch."
Both Quentin and Annabeth watched as he walked from the room. "I thought that went very well," said the attorney.
A Change of Heart Page 11
