She rolled out of bed for her morning workout. Usually Sunday was one of her favorite days to run because she didn’t have to hurry off to the office, but today her feet felt heavy as she jogged toward the entrance to Piedmont Park. It was the coolest day of the fall so far, and she sped up to banish the chill from her bones and, she hoped, her soul.
Her best times of reflection often took place while her feet tapped out a steady rhythm. As the blood flowed into her legs her lethargy lifted. She breathed in air that wasn’t as pure as what she inhaled in Alto, but felt cleaner to her. By the time she finished her run, she couldn’t wait to call Peter and apologize. She was in such a hurry that she cut her cool-down time short. Unlocking the door, she went straight to the kitchen where she’d left her phone and tapped the number beside his face. While the phone rang she checked the clock on her microwave. Peter was also an early riser; she didn’t have to worry about waking him up.
The call went to voice mail.
For an instant Roxy toyed with the idea of a voice mail apology. Then the beep that started the voice message process forced her to speak.
“Uh . . .,” she said. “I shouldn’t have called. I’m sorry. Please call me.”
Roxy returned the phone to the kitchen counter. She knew the message was laced with ambiguity. Was she sorry she called? Sorry for the way she’d acted? Sorry she didn’t leave a message? Being at a loss for words or imprecise in her speech was out of character.
She trudged upstairs and found herself checking the phone every few minutes. Peter’s face didn’t appear.
Roxy muttered while she dressed, then called him again. She tapped her foot against the accent rug on her bedroom floor. “Answer!” she ordered him.
Ignoring her long-distance command, Peter didn’t accept the call, and it again went to voice mail. This time Roxy was ready.
“Sorry for the earlier confusion. I’d just come in from a run. Hope you’re having a good morning. Give me a ring. Maybe we can grab coffee.”
Roxy felt better about the message until she replayed it in her mind. It sounded like something a college sorority girl would say to a boy she was chasing across campus to score a date. Agitated, she went downstairs to brew a pot of coffee. While she waited she thought about the previous evening in Alto and how angry she’d gotten at her father’s hollow, vapid words. This prompted another spell of muttering.
The phone on her kitchen counter remained silent.
She went into the living room and turned on the TV. Sunday morning programming was a wasteland, and she channel-surfed, trying to find a show to distract her. She wanted to call Peter again, but there was no reason to do so. If he picked up his phone he’d see that she called. And if he wanted to call her he would.
The thought that he might not want to talk to her sent Roxy deeper into a funk. She drank a second cup of coffee and started a third. Desperately needing a large dose of endorphins to banish the blues, she toyed with the idea of going out for a second run. She glanced again at her phone to see the time and thought about what Peter might be doing.
And realized he would be going to church.
Fueled by anxiety and caffeine, Roxy bounded upstairs and changed clothes. As she brushed her hair, she noticed a hint of desperation in her eyes. She didn’t want to lose Peter as a boyfriend. But there was more to it than that. Before meeting Peter, Roxy’s soul had lived within an impregnable fortress constructed over many years of diligent effort. Repelling assaults from formidable adversaries had been proof of its invincibility. No one, not her father, not Mr. Caldweller, had been able to scale the ramparts.
She locked the door of her townhome, got in the car, and drove to the church.
“Are you ready?” Ray called down the hall to Billy’s bedroom. “We need to leave in five minutes if we’re going to make it to Sunday school.”
“Can I wear my green shirt?” Billy replied through a partially open door.
Ray didn’t have his son’s wardrobe memorized. “Sure,” he said.
He stepped into the single-sink bathroom he shared with Cindy and peered around her to straighten his tie. Sunday morning at their church remained as formal as an appearance in court.
“You look nice,” he said.
Cindy, who still had two curlers on the top of her head and hadn’t yet applied lipstick, raised her eyes.
“Are you kidding?” she asked.
“You have great natural beauty. I don’t know why you bother to enhance it.”
Cindy smiled and bumped him away from the sink with her hip.
“I’m feeling better in the mornings,” she said. “And even if Roxy coiled up like a snake at the news, I’m glad I told your family about the baby.”
“Yeah. It was an interesting evening. I lay awake last night for a while thinking about it.”
“You did?” Cindy asked in surprise. “You usually fall asleep in less than a minute.” She finished applying her lipstick and took the rollers out of her hair. “What were you thinking?”
“Mostly about Dad; wondering if he’s really turning the corner with his drinking.”
The two of them had moved to the kitchen when Billy appeared, wearing khaki pants and a green shirt with a largemouth bass leaping out of the water on the front.
“You know better than to wear that to church,” Cindy scolded. “Take that off and put on your blue collared shirt.”
“Dad said it was okay,” Billy protested. “And Pops told me yesterday that Jesus went fishing all the time. He says the Bible tells exactly how many fish Jesus caught.”
“Pops talked to you about Jesus?” Ray asked in surprise.
“And the Bible?” Cindy added.
Roxy arrived at the church. She’d been in such a rush to get there that she paused for a moment to gather her thoughts before getting out of the car. If Peter didn’t show up soon, she would leave before the meeting started.
Making her way across the lobby, she saw a handful of people milling around. Peter wasn’t one of them. There was a station set up for free coffee and tea in one corner of the meeting room. Roxy passed on coffee and fixed a cup of hot, decaffeinated tea. Another cup of coffee would make her so jumpy she couldn’t sit still.
While she sipped the tea, people rapidly began to fill the room. There was still no sign of Peter. The band started tuning up. Roxy took her phone from her purse to see if he’d called, when someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned around to see Heather Lansdowne.
“Roxanne, right?” Heather asked. “We met the other day at the deposition.”
“Yes,” Roxy said with a smile. “But I go by Roxy.” She glanced over Heather’s shoulder toward the entrance area.
Heather turned and looked too. “Are you waiting for someone?”
“My boyfriend.”
“Want to sit with me until he gets here?”
Roxy hesitated. “Okay,” she said.
To her relief Heather liked to sit halfway back from the front of the room. The service followed the same format. Roxy didn’t make an effort to sing the unfamiliar songs and noticed Heather didn’t join in either, which made Roxy relax even more.
The young minister continued his series of messages taken from the Sermon on the Mount. The focus of the morning was on loving your enemies. The verses contained noble aspirations that weren’t practical. He expanded the definition of enemies to “the negative people in your life.”
Roxy’s mind drifted. She positioned her phone in her purse so she could see if Peter called.
As the minister built up to his conclusion, Roxy tuned in so she could tell Peter what he’d talked about if he asked her later.
“It’s only possible to love the negative people in your life if you’re experiencing the love of God on an ongoing basis. Are you experiencing God’s love in your life? If you say no, can you give me a good reason why you wouldn’t ask God to reveal his love to you? His love for the world is not only universal; it’s profoundly personal. Let’s pray.”
“Father God,” the minister prayed, “reveal yourself today not only to those who are seeking you but also to the ones who’ve listened to this message without believing these words of Jesus are either practical or possible. Would you come now by your Holy Spirit and give them a glimpse of who you are and the incredible desire you have to love, save, heal, transform, and restore them?”
Suddenly Roxy had an unexpected mental picture of a giant teardrop poised above her head that burst and washed over her. The image was so vivid that she touched her hair to see if it was damp. The minister continued to pray that the congregation would receive grace to relate to their enemies and the negative people in their lives, but Roxy didn’t go with him. Instead she pondered what she’d seen and wondered what it meant. She didn’t feel any emotion, just intense curiosity. Nothing like that had ever happened to her before. The service ended and Heather turned to her.
“That was challenging,” she said. “Especially to all the lawyers in the room.”
“Not really,” Roxy responded, touching her hair again. “The parties on the other side of cases aren’t enemies. Maybe to our clients, but not for us. I stay personally detached.”
An unbidden tear rolled out of her right eye and down her cheek. Heather, who was about to speak, stopped and stared. Roxy brushed it away.
“What’s wrong?” Heather asked.
Roxy couldn’t respond. She blinked her eyes as more tears cascaded down her face. Heather grabbed some tissues from her purse and pushed them into Roxy’s hand. Other people sitting on their row began leaving, but when they saw the two women they moved in the opposite direction. Roxy bowed her head and tried to take steady breaths to keep from sobbing. She felt Heather lightly touch her on the back.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” Heather asked.
Roxy shook her head. She was past the point of embarrassment, a realization that released a fresh torrent of tears. Heather gave her another wad of tissues, and Roxy blew her nose. She wanted to leave, but knew she would attract more attention moving than she would remaining seated. Finally the tsunami subsided. Roxy wiped her eyes again and turned toward Heather.
“Sorry,” she said.
“It’s okay,” Heather replied, wide-eyed. “Do you need me to do anything for you?”
“No,” Roxy said, taking a deep breath that sounded like the beginning of a sob as she released it. “I’m ready to go.”
The two women stood up. Roxy kept her eyes lowered as they left the room.
“Where are you parked?” Heather asked when they reached the elevators.
“On the second floor of the ramp.”
“I’m in a lot across the street,” Heather said. “Do you want me to—”
“There’s no need,” Roxy said, doing her best to offer a reassuring smile that she suspected fell far short. “I’ll be fine.”
“Okay,” Heather said doubtfully. She took out a business card and scribbled on the back. “This is my cell phone number if you start feeling worse.”
“I’m not suicidal,” Roxy said, realizing the young attorney’s concern. “I think most of my tears were from a good place.”
The skepticism on Heather’s face remained. Roxy could only guess what she looked like.
“We’ll get together for coffee soon,” Roxy added.
She took a few steps toward the parking deck, then paused and looked over her shoulder. Heather was watching her. Roxy waved her hand.
And fled.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Corbin sat in his car for a few extra moments before entering the office. He’d spent the morning like a tennis ball, bouncing back and forth between competing paradigms. On the one hand he was clinging to the threads of hope picked up at the AA meetings. On the other, he found himself inexorably drawn to ingrained patterns of thinking and behavior. Before leaving for work, he barely avoided choosing a shot of whiskey over a cup of coffee.
It had been three weeks since he’d taken a draw from the law firm, and he’d left a stack of bills on the kitchen counter. Another stack waited for him inside the office, where he’d stuffed them in the top left-hand drawer of his desk. And now he had to come up with three thousand dollars to send Dr. Westbrook to get the Colfax litigation going. It was enough to convince him to return home and drink himself into oblivion. But difficult circumstances were familiar territory, and Corbin knew grinding his way forward was the only option on the table.
He entered through the back door and made his way to Janelle’s desk. The secretary was staring at her computer screen and glanced up when he approached.
“I’ve heard from two bill collectors already this morning,” she said. “If we don’t pay the medical record copy service, they’re not going to fulfill our requests to the local doctors’ offices in future cases. That will shut us down and make it—”
“Pay it,” Corbin said.
“And the other one is for our computer research service. They’ve extended us three months and restructured the contract. If you don’t make a minimum payment, they’re going to pull the plug.”
“Pay it.”
“And if I heard your dictation correctly, you want to wire three thousand dollars to Dr. Westbrook in the Colfax case. If you do that, it’s going to be tough to make payroll on Friday. Are you holding back a week on Ray? We can squeak by if I only pay him one week instead of two.”
“We didn’t talk about that. I told him I’d pay him biweekly. I’ll let you know. Any good news?”
“Not yet,” Janelle replied. “But the day is just getting started.”
Corbin went into his office, and a few minutes later Ray knocked on his door and entered, some letters in his hand.
“I went by the post office on my way into work to get the morning mail,” he said.
“That’s Janelle’s job. She usually waits until ten o’clock in case something comes in later.”
Ray held up the envelopes. “I didn’t open these,” he said, “but when they’re marked Final Notice and Past Due on the outside, there’s not much doubt what’s inside.”
“I’m working on it,” Corbin replied defensively. “Juggling the bills is part of running a solo law practice.”
Ray pressed harder. “Has it always been like this or has it gotten worse?”
Corbin’s attempt at calm evaporated. He pointed his finger at Ray’s chest.
“You marched in here the other day and demanded that I hire you when you lost your job at the DA’s office. So until you’re willing to assume shared responsibility for the bills of this firm, I don’t want to hear anything from you about it. Is that clear?”
Ray’s face reddened, and Corbin waited for a counter explosion. Instead his son turned and walked away. Corbin took several deep breaths, then buzzed Janelle.
“Where’s Ray?” he asked.
“I don’t know. When he left your office he headed straight toward the back door. What happened?”
Roxy returned from her morning run and was drinking a Gatorade in the kitchen when her phone vibrated and an unfamiliar number appeared. Doubting a known caller would attempt to reach her this early in the day, she thought about letting it go to voice mail, but then she answered anyway.
“Hey, it’s Peter.”
“Where have you been?” she asked sharply. “I called you more times than I can remember yesterday and didn’t hear a word from you.”
“I left my phone in my pants pocket, and it got washed. Right now it’s sitting in a bag of rice to dry out, but I think it may be a goner. I had to spend the day at the office with a long conference call to a client in Mumbai. My team and another group in Chicago had to brainstorm solutions. We bounced ideas back and forth and wrote some patchwork code on the spot because it was a rus
h job. Do you believe me?”
“If I didn’t, it would take too long to cross-examine you and get to the truth.”
“Great. I’m sitting in my car in front of your place and wondered if I could see you for a few minutes.
Roxy wiped her face with a towel. “I haven’t taken a shower or—”
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep my distance.”
She went into the foyer and let Peter in. His eyes looked tired.
“Why are you up so early if you worked late?”
“So I could catch you before you went to the office. I want to apologize for putting so much pressure on during the trip to Alto. I have no business pretending to be a counselor or amateur psychologist. Not that you need one, but once I saw how upset I made you, I knew I had to—”
“Enough,” Roxy said. She held up a hand to stop his flow of words. “I reverted to an eight-year-old on Saturday and pitched a tantrum in the car.”
“Still, I’m sorry. And it was worse that we didn’t talk yesterday.”
“Yeah, I went to the church hoping I’d see you there.”
Peter’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.
“And I had the biggest emotional meltdown yet,” she continued with a sigh.
As she told him what happened, Roxy toyed with the idea of leaving out the teardrop vision, but the rest of the events at the church wouldn’t make sense without it.
“So I’m standing next to a woman I barely know, bawling my eyes out. It was a great morning.”
“I wish I’d been there.”
“You like watching me cry?”
Peter stepped closer, took her hand, and looked into her eyes. “I don’t enjoy watching you cry unless the tears are good,” he said.
“And you believe those were good tears?” she asked.
“Don’t you?”
Ray circled around to the side of the office building and leaned against the painted brick. Having his face rubbed in the firm’s financial struggles at the post office, then listening to his father stonewall him with unsubstantiated promises of payment, was a tough way to begin the day. Nothing about his father surprised him, but the impact of his current irresponsibility on his own family hit him hard.
A House Divided Page 27
