If I Could Do It Again (13 page)

The phone disconnects then, and as I set it down, I realize I’m smiling.

He loves me and I really do belong to him.

“I understand what you’re saying, Mrs. Clarke, but he’s still entitled to a share of your business.”

I blink at the lawyer, then blink again. “But he makes so much more than me.”

“I understand,” she says, “but the courts will look at your potential earnings when making a decision, which, according to the market, is far higher than his. Since you began your publishing company after you married him, a judge would most likely award him a fifty-percent ownership of your company.”

Wait. What?

I squirm in my seat. This can’t be happening. After all this, all the bullshit he’s put me through, he can’t be allowed to win. “But I don’t want anything from him. I don’t need his money. Doesn’t that change anything?”

She shuffles some papers around, making a neat little pile, her eyes narrowed in contemplation. “That’s a good question,” she says eventually. “Since Nova Scotia family law is 50/50, legally, upon divorce, you’re required to equalize your assets. Basically, each party should leave the marriage on equal grounds. So he can still sue for his half of the marital assets, and your publishing company is an asset. He may never see a penny, though. It all depends on your earnings. For him to collect, you would have to out-earn him.”

Right. Of course he can.

I laugh once. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Your best bet, if he’s amicable, is to settle this outside of court. Drafting a separation agreement is top priority. I don’t advise it, but if you’re certain you want nothing out of this marriage, we’ll aim for having a no support and no property division clause, and with luck, he’ll agree to that. If not, I’d strongly advise reevaluating your stance on this matter.”

“Family law sucks,” I mutter, leaning back in my chair, my lungs deflating in a quick burst of air as though she just punched me in the gut.

No. Scratch that.

A quick hit would probably be easier to handle than this.

My comment makes her laugh. “Marriage in Nova Scotia is looked at as a partnership. It’s business, Mrs. Clarke. We’re a no fault, 50/50 province. In some cases, this could
suck
, but it can also be beneficial.”

I nod. I can see that. Maybe where there’s a stay-at-home mom, but for my situation, well, it just sucks.

I sigh heavily. “What about his threats?”

She straightens in her chair, folding her hands on the table in front of her. “Until he acts on them, there’s nothing we can do. If he does go to the media with your story, there may be some legal recourse for you.”

“But there’s no way to stop him, no guarantee a judge would rule in my favor if he tries to ruin my name.”

She shakes her head. “If his allegations are true, and he can prove that, then no, there’s no guarantee. The only promise I can make to you is that if you retain me, I will do everything I can to protect your assets and your business.”

I nod. I don’t know what to say, what to do. The man could very well ruin my life and there’s nothing,
nothing,
I can do about it.

“My initial retainer is seven-thousand,” she continues. “I’m confident that we can settle this matter with that.”

Seven-thousand.
I squirm in my chair as her price sinks in. It seems like such a waste of money, really, though I’d pay that to see the look on Richard’s face when he realizes how costly this divorce will be if he chooses to fight me.

Shit. I’d pay double her retainer just to see that.

That’s when it hits me. A thought—a longshot—but a thought nonetheless forms, and a genuine smile forms on my lips. “Thank you, Ms. Lane,” I say, gathering up all my financials and paperwork. “I’d like to go ahead with the agreement as discussed. Let’s see if he’ll go for a clean and simple separation.”

She stands up, shaking my hand, and has me pay the retainer through her secretary, assuring me that she’ll draft something up for my review right away, and then I’m on my way, back into the chilly October air.

Pulling my jacket closed, I head to the parking lot, glancing at my phone. It’s just before eleven o’clock in the morning; Joshua will be calling soon.

Getting into my car, I start it up and turn the heat up full blast, before I whip the car out of the parking lot.

It’s a twenty-minute drive to my house from the lawyer’s office. I stop at a U-Haul store and purchase a crap-ton of boxes, then at a Starbucks, ordering a Caramel Macchiato, and sip on it as I wait for my phone to ring, trying to think of something—anything—but the meeting I just had or the packing I have to do.

By the time I’m halfway home, I’m feeling okay, having a little more clarity on how I need to approach my divorce, and when my phone finally rings, I answer it, putting it on speakerphone, and accept the call.

“Hey. What’s good, baby girl?”

“Everything’s good,” I say, clipping the phone into the holder on the dash. “I just got out of the lawyer’s office and now I’m heading home to start packing.”

“Good.” He sounds pleased, like maybe he thought I wouldn’t actually go to my appointment. Or perhaps it’s that he thought I’d chicken out and not move out of the house. “How did it go, my love?”

“I don’t really know,” I say. “It was kind of confusing. She said he could go after my business because of my earning potential.”

“Is that something you think he’d do?” he asks.

I laugh once.
Probably.
“I don’t even know. Honestly, I don’t know what to think about any of it. She doesn’t seem to agree with me on what I want to do, but she did agree to give it a try, though she said if he doesn’t agree to my terms, then I need to reevaluate everything.”

“Well, do you feel comfortable with her? Like, do you think she’s a good lawyer and will be on your side?”

“Yeah, I like her,” I say. “I just think, maybe she’ll try to push me to fight for something.”

He lets out a deep sigh. “Baby girl, I really don’t think you should walk away with nothing. You shouldn’t be getting screwed because he’s an asshole.”

Fair enough, but I’m pretty sure fighting him in court will screw me.

“Yeah, but what if we can convince him to sign off on leaving me and my business alone?” I ask. “I don’t need his money, Joshua. I make more than enough on my own.”

And he will sign off. Once he wraps his head around how much he’ll have to give me, he’ll be willing to settle quietly.

I’m sure of it.

I hope.

“Baby, just because you’re offering to walk away from everything doesn’t mean he’ll go for it,” he says. “I really think that you need to just do what’s in your best interest. And with the way he’s been behaving lately, I don’t really trust him.”

“I still think that maybe I should try to do it this way. I won’t touch any of his stuff, and in return he won’t touch mine. I just want to get this done and over with. And I don’t want anything from him. I don’t want the reminders.”

Silence falls and seconds pass.

Five, ten, fifteen seconds … I count the seconds in my head, waiting for his thoughts, trying to think of a better way to make him see that trying to get Richard to settle quietly and privately isn’t a bad thing.

“If that’s what you think is best,” he says, though the tone of his voice tells me something entirely different. “It’s your company, your business, I would just hate to see you lose out because you don’t want to fight for what you deserve.”

I inhale deeply. “But I am fighting for what I deserve. I’m fighting for me. I’m fighting to get my life back. And I’m fighting for us. If I leave everything, then maybe,
maybe,
he won’t ruin my life.”

“Baby, he’s just threatening you to try to control you,” he says, a hint of anger in his voice. “That’s all that is. We both know that. And he sees it’s not working so he’s just basically trying anything he can to get you to stay, no matter what, whether it’s a threat toward your family, a threat toward me, it doesn’t really matter. He’s trying everything he can to get you to stay.”

But why?
I want to scream the question. The man doesn’t love me. He can hardly tolerate me on most days. Why the hell does he want me to stay? I just don’t get it.

It makes no sense.

Not even a little.

“I just think I can use all of that to my advantage now,” I say, swallowing down the well of anxiety creeping up my throat. “I just want to try at least. My lawyer is going to draft up an agreement and see what he says. Maybe he’ll sign it and we can be done with this.”

Joshua lets out a long sigh. “If you really feel like you can get him to sign off on not touching your business and everything like that, then that would be great, baby. I mean, it’s worth it to try. I just think he’s all over the place right now, and I just … I don’t really know what to think. He’s done so many horrible things to you already.”

“Well, at least he’s not at home for a couple weeks,” I say. “And by the time he gets back, I’ll be gone. What’s the worst he can do? Call me and yell at me? I can hang up on him.”

“Okay, baby, well whatever you think is best.”

He doesn’t sound reassured, but he doesn’t press this issue, and after a few minutes of random chitchat, he lets me go.

When I get home, I’m keyed-up, ready to get to work. I briefly consider calling my parents, but the thought doesn’t last. I know they won’t agree with me just walking away and leaving everything behind. And I don’t think I can handle their reactions to my failing marriage or my relationship with Joshua. Not now.

I head straight for my office, carrying as many boxes as I can handle, piling them on the floor. Then, I fire off a quick text to Becca.

ME: I’m at my house, packing. Are you certain you don’t mind me staying with you and using your garage as storage?

Her response comes quickly.

BECCA: Of course not. I’ll be over once I’m finished at work to help. Love you, babe.

ME: Love you, too.

Setting my phone down, I pick up one of the boxes, and quickly put it together, before turning to my bookshelves. I try not to think as I take the first books off the beautiful shelves and pack them into the cardboard box, though it’s a useless effort. With each book I place into the box, I think.

I think about this room,
my sanctuary.

I think about this house.

I think about the good times and the bad times and everything in between.

I think.

And I remember.

And I hardly get anything done.

And when Becca walks in hours later, I’m still in my office working on clearing off my bookshelves. She walks into my office, her eyes scanning the few boxes I managed to fill, and I can tell from her expression that she isn’t surprised I haven’t gotten more done.

She looks sorry—sorry and sad.

“It’s harder than you thought it’d be, isn’t it?” she asks, her eyes flickering toward my filing cabinet, where I abandoned a half-filled box.

This was something I hadn’t given much thought to last night when I asked her if I could crash with her for a little while. In fact, it didn’t really hit me until I was about to go to sleep and she told me she’d help me pack my things and move them into her garage for now.

I told her it wasn’t necessary, that I could just leave everything in the house until I figured things out.

She told me it’d be crazy not to, considering how erratic Richard has been acting. And she pointed out that even though he said he’d be gone for two weeks, he could fly home at any time and when he finds me gone, who knows what would happen to my things.

“Yeah, it is.”

She steps over to the filing cabinet and pulls one of the drawers open. “It’ll get easier, babe. Promise.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it will.” I grab some more books, feeling relieved and slightly more focused now that she’s here. “So, um, Joshua asked me to move to Pennsylvania.”

“He wants you to move out there?” she asks. “Already?”

Becca looks like I just hauled off and slapped her. Her eyes are so wide they look as though they could pop out at any second. She just stares at me with shock, and I almost feel guilty, smiling back at her timidly. We’ve been best friends since grade school, and the thought of moving so far away from her isn’t a happy one.

“Yeah.”

“Are you ready for that?”

I shrug. “I really don’t know.”

I turn to Becca as she flops down on the chair, staring off out the window, looking lost. After a moment, her skeptical gaze turns to me. “Have you told your parents yet?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I haven’t told them about anything.”

“You probably should,” she says after a moment. “They should hear the story from you before Richard decides to tell them.”

She’s right. I know she is, but …

“What if they don’t approve of Joshua?”

“You’ll deal,” she says firmly. “Just like you dealt when they didn’t approve of Richard.”

My cellphone pings. I roll over in bed, picking it up from my nightstand to take a look. It’s a text message from Richard.

RICHARD: I hear you’re trying to screw me. I’m surprised you’re willing to risk your reputation.

And then it pings again …

RICHARD: You wait until I leave the country to pull this shit?

And again …

RICHARD: After everything I’ve done for you over the last two years. Ruthless.

And again …

RICHARD: I hope whatever money you get from me gets burned when you move on to the next guy. Maybe your boyfriend convict can use some for his canteen.

I sit up in bed as tears—damn tears—burn my eyes. Oh, shit, he knows I went to a lawyer. He knows. How the hell does he know already?

When my phone chimes again, I want to throw it across the room.

But I don’t.

Of course I don’t.

Call it curiosity if you want, but the masochist in me looks at the new message.

RICHARD: Did you really think I wouldn’t have someone watching you while I was gone? I know you were at Matheson and Associates yesterday. Really, Victoria? I’m gone a day and you’re already getting a lawyer?

I know I shouldn’t respond. Poking the bear never helps, but I’m sick of keeping my mouth shut. Tired of letting him walk all over me, so I type a response, and send it.

ME: If you’re going to be like this, then you can just speak to my lawyer. Obviously you already know who that is. I’m being more than fair here and really, if you bothered to wait for the proposal, you’d see that. Besides, you’re the one who threatened me, I’m just trying to protect myself here.

And then I wait.

And I wait.

And I wait some more.

I’m about to get out of bed, thinking a nice hot shower will calm my nerves, when Richard finally responds.

RICHARD: Listen. Can you please stop acting like you’re the victim? I’m the victim. I’m sure your father will agree …

My father … Anger flares, causing my tears to stream from my eyes and drip down my cheeks. What’s wrong with him?

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself, before I respond once more.

ME: You’re not a victim, Richard. If you’d just wait for the papers from my lawyer, you’d see I’m being more than reasonable.

His response comes quickly this time, my phone chiming seconds after I send the message.

RICHARD: Yeah, I’m sure you’re being reasonable.

And then it pings again.

RICHARD: If you think you’re going to screw me, I’ll make sure you leave with nothing.

I stare at the message.

And stare.

And then I stare some more.

I want to tell him off. I want to call him names and scream, but I don’t.

I can’t.

I just don’t have the energy for it.

Turning my phone to vibrate, I set it back down on the nightstand and climb out of bed, my legs wobbly. Geez, why am I letting that asshole get to me like this? I sniffle once and scrub at my face, wiping any trace of my tears away, and then I head to the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

I shower and shave and stress, the goddamn messages making me edgy. Maybe I’m crazy, but I was hoping—praying—that for once, Richard might be reasonable. I stay under the hot spray until my fingers and toes wrinkle, and then I get out and slather on lotion, making every inch of my body smell like vanilla bean. As I head back into my bedroom, hair and body wrapped in towels, I hear my phone vibrating against the oak nightstand.

Hesitating, I eye it for a beat before curiosity gets the best of me once again and I walk to it, glancing at the call display.

Joshua.

I answer it hesitantly, practicing smiling as I wait to accept the call, though it feels forced, anger and heartache still pulsing through my system. When the call finally clicks through, his voice greets me immediately. “Hey, gorgeous. Is everything okay?”

“Hey. Yeah, everything’s good.”

“I’ve been calling for twenty minutes. Where were you?”

There’s a hint of concern in his voice, and a touch of bitterness that makes my stomach twist. My eyes fall down to the towel wrapped around me. “Um, I was in the shower,” I say. “Sorry about that. I turned my phone on vibrate and didn’t hear it ringing.”

“Why’s your phone on vibrate?” he asks.

My stomach is in knots. I don’t want to tell him about the messages, not even a little, but I know I have to. Sighing, I mutter quietly, “Well, Richard knows I saw a lawyer yesterday.”

He’s silent for a moment. “Oh, yeah. I thought he was in Hawaii. How’d he find out already?”

“He said he has someone watching me. He started texting me this morning and they were pretty nasty so I turned off my ringer.”

“Oh, baby, don’t let him get to you,” he says. “Give him a bit of time and when he calms down, tell him to talk to your lawyer. There’s no reason for you to respond. Just let him calm down, baby. Everything’s going to be okay. I promise.”

I hesitate and my head starts throbbing, a dull ache right between the eyes as my anger reawakens, flowing through my body. “I did respond,” I confess. “I told him that I was being reasonable and he could speak to my lawyer, and he said I’m trying to screw him, that he’s a victim and my father would agree. How the hell am I trying to screw him? He’s the one that’s threatening to ruin my business. I don’t get it. What have I done to screw him?”

“Baby,” he says, and then sighs. “I don’t think you’ve done anything. You’ve been perfectly honest. You told him you were writing me, you told him you were visiting me. You never lied to him, you never cheated on him, and if you’re worried about him contacting your parents, maybe you should just get it over with and tell them first.”

His words strike me hard. I never really doubted it, never really thought I was doing anything wrong, but … “Do you really believe that? Do you really believe I haven’t done anything wrong?”

“Oh, baby girl, yes, I do believe it,” he confirms, his tone gentle, but it’s suddenly a hard pill to swallow.

“Even though I was still living with him when I met you?”

“Victoria, you’re an amazing woman and you did nothing wrong,” his says firmly. “It was over between you two when we started writing. We fell in love, so why wouldn’t we want to be together? I love you and I want you in my life.”

I close my eyes, flinching at his words. “We’ve only spent ten hours together, face to face.”

“They were the best ten hours of my life.”

****

Two hours later, I’m back at my house. It’s too quiet and my head is too loud. There’s so many things I need to do, but I’m at a standstill, waiting for Richard to calm down. Waiting for my lawyer to finish the agreement.

The ball’s out of my court.

I hate that I don’t have any power.

I should be packing, but I’m not. I lay back on my bed, too stressed to do much more than just lie here. My bed smells like laundry detergent, the sheets freshly washed. Richard must have washed them after screwing his new toy here. His messages won’t leave my mind, his threats mingling in, replaying over and over, like a bad song stuck on repeat.

Sighing, I try to push him from my head and pick up my phone, scrolling through the contacts. Joshua’s right. I need to call my parents before
Dick
does.

I make it down to their number, my finger hesitating above it. I have no idea what I’m going to say or what I’m going to do, but I do know my parents, and news like this is best done publicly. Glancing at the time, I see that it’s eleven-thirty in the morning. Lunch. I can take them out for lunch.

It takes less than thirty seconds to convince my mom to meet me for lunch. My dad takes a little over a minute, but he agrees, and forty minutes later, I’m sitting at a table at Avanti’s sipping on some water waiting for them to arrive.

A bell over the door chimes when they step inside, Mom two steps ahead of Dad. I stand up, waving her over, and when she spots me, her face splits with a smile.

“Victoria!” My mother rushes over, nearly sprinting for me. She wraps her arms around me as Dad comes up behind her, shaking his head.

“Hey, Mom,” I say, hugging her back before wiggling out of her arms and wrapping mine around Dad. “Hey, Dad.”

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long?” Dad asks, hugging me back before he takes a seat. “Your mother was dawdling.”

“No worries,” I say, smiling. “I only just got here myself.”

Dad nods, his bright blue eyes regarding me curiously. “So what’s this all about?”

“Can’t I just want to have lunch with my parents?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says, a small smirk curving his lips. “But if it were just lunch, we’d be sitting at my table while your mother made club sandwiches, not at a restaurant.”

“Oh, George, give her a break,” Mom says, cutting me an apologetic smile. “Enjoy yourself, will you? It’s not very often we get to spend time with our little girl.”

The waitress appears, asking what we would like to drink, and we place our orders, the entire time I’m acutely aware of Dad’s probing gaze.

My stomach clenches as my brain works, trying to find the right way to start the conversation, but I’m pretty sure there’s no right way to tell your parents that you’re leaving your asshole husband and have fallen in love with a convicted murderer.

Right, there’s no good way to do this.

Just get it over with, Vic.

Oh God, I want to puke.

Picking up my menu, I hide behind it, my voice barely a whisper when I say, “There’s something I need to tell you guys. I screwed up and I don’t want any of your judgment, so just listen to me and let me get it all out before you say anything.”

Dad laughs. “I haven’t heard you say that since you were sixteen.”

“This isn’t funny, Dad,” I say, cutting him a look. “I really screwed up, and I don’t know how to handle it.”

And then, I launch into my story. I tell them about Richard, about how he’s treated me since we married and what it’s done to me. I tell them about Joshua, filling them in on the letters and the phone calls and visits. And I tell them all about Richard’s threats and his affair, explaining that he’s taken her to the Hawaii house and that Becca and I have been packing up all my things, barely pausing when the waitress returns with our drinks.

“Victoria,” Mom says, reaching for my hand as Dad shoos the waitress away, asking her to give us a moment. “Sweetie, are you okay? You’re looking a little green.”

I force a quick shake of my head. “No. No, I’m really not okay. Richard and I are splitting up and he’s being an asshole about it.”

Dad’s smile disappears and he leans back, cocking his head to the side. “I’m not surprised. I never liked that little bastard.”

Dad’s remark startles a laugh out of me and Mom cuts him a dirty look. “George.”

He shrugs. “Don’t give me that look, Susanne. I’m just telling it how it is.” Then, he focuses his gaze on me. “Have you found a lawyer yet?”

“Yes,” I answer. “Rachel Lane from Matheson and Associates. She’s working on a separation agreement now.” I stall for a moment, eyeing them both. “I want to settle it quickly. The only thing I’m asking for is that he leaves my business alone.”

“Don’t short change yourself,” Dad says. “You never know what could happen in the future, sweetie. You are entitled to half of everything.”

I sigh. I knew Dad wouldn’t just accept that part. “I know, but so is he. According to the lawyer, the courts will look at my potential earnings and could very well award him a share of my business, too. But the truth is, I don’t want anything from him. I just want to be done and I don’t want the reminders.”

Both my parents are silent for a moment, both looking slightly shell-shocked and a little angry. I scan my menu and sip my water, all the while, wishing I had ordered a glass of wine (or two).

On the positive side, at least they’re focused on Richard being a dick, rather than Joshua.

“Tell me more about this Joshua character,” Mom says, eventually. “How long have you been in love with him?”

Or maybe they’re not.

I let out a sharp laugh. “I’m in love with him?”

“Sweetheart.” Mom makes a
tsk
sound. “Your eyes light up when you talk about him.”

My eyes meet hers and she smiles a smile only a mother could. It’s open and reassuring. It’s the kind of smile that says
everything’s going to be all right
and
we love you,
all wrapped together.

“We’ve been writing for four months now,” I say hesitantly. “He tells me I’m beautiful every day, Mom. Every single day. He says that one day I’ll see myself like he sees me. It’s his mission.”

Doubt nags at my chest as I say the words, tightening my throat.

It hurts.

Oh God, it hurts too fucking much.

The wounds that Richard inflicted on me run deep, an emotional scar left on my soul.

Tears sting my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. He doesn’t deserve any more of my tears, but I’m quivering, my body trembling from head to toe as I try to hold them in.

“Victoria, take a breath,” Dad says, his voice stern, as he wraps an arm around my shoulder, pulling me into him.

I suck in a breath, then let it out, only to suck in another. “Sorry, it’s just getting to be too much.”

“Well,” Dad says. “Clearly, it’s over between you and Richard. I’ll deal with him, honey. The threats will end. I promise you that.”

“Dad …”

“The point, honey,” Mom says, cutting off my protest, “is that you see that it’s over, and now you can move forward from here.”

Dad nods. “As for this Joshua character—” he stalls, taking a deep breath. “Look, sweetheart, I’m not going to tell you how to live your life. If this is what you want, I’ll support you, but be careful.”

I let his words hang in the air for a moment, deciding that he’s right. I need to be careful. “He wants me to move out there and I like the idea. I think, maybe for a few months, I could go and try it out. See how it goes.”