The Case of the Killer Divorce (3 page)

Chapter 8

I read the letter twice, trying to make the words stick in my brain, but they kept breaking apart. I couldn't
seem to wrap my head around the concepts. Things like
prison, dead, no happy ending--
they couldn't be true, I didn't want them to be true.
All my life, I'd been looking for a man who wasn't there, who didn't even know I existed.

"You look so pale, Jamie. Are you alright?" my aunt asked. "I know it's a lot to
--"

"I'm sorry," I said, "I have to go."

She took my hand and squeezed it. "Why don't you stay for dinner? Adam will be home soon with the dogs. I know he'd love to see you."

I shook my head. "I can't, Aunt Peg. I need to be alone right now."

On the short drive to my house on Polk Street, I tried to clear my head and think about nothing. When that didn't work, I did the only meditation exercise I knew, focusing on my breathing while repeating, "I am breathing in, I am breathing out." Before I knew it, I was home. Being home usually makes me feel better, but when I opened the door, there he was, Mr. Paws. Along with inheriting my mom's house, I'd also inherited her cat, a cat that went out of his way to make me feel unwelcome. When I used to visit my mom, he would hiss at me and I'd hiss right back. My mom would just laugh and say, "Can't you two get along?"

Now that I was the person feeding him, he'd stopped hissing, but that didn't mean we liked each other. I'd chang
ed his name to "Mr. Pain in the Ass," to match his personality. It didn't make him like me any less, but only because that wasn't possible.

After I fed the ungrateful c
reature, I tried to watch TV, but I couldn't focus. I wasn't hungry, so I decided to take a shower and go to bed. Not that I expected to sleep much (sleeping is not my forte), but I was bone-tired and needed a break from the real world.

If this were a movie of my life, the script would read 'cut to dream sequence' and
then a bizarre scene would unfold…

I
'm in a crowd looking for my father. I know he's there, but I can't find him. Everyone is taller than me and some people have animal faces, which scares me. They push and shove past me like I'm invisible. Someone is yelling, but I can't understand anything. I am starting to panic and then I see a woman who looks familiar. I try to get her attention and, suddenly, she's standing next to me. It's Becca Solomon, but she looks different. Her eyes are black, like fish eyes, and there's blood on her clothes. She says "I warned him, but he wouldn't listen" and then she's gone. The crowd thins out; a man is walking towards me. He doesn't look like my father, but somehow I know it's him. I feel like I can breathe again. He smiles at me and the crowd disappears

I wake up feeling rested and at peace. My left side feels warmer than my right, which seems odd until I realize that the cat has crawled into bed with me and is purring softly. I pet him and he nuzzles my hand. My life gets stranger every day…

Chapter 9

The beauty of working for yourself is
that you can make your own hours and set your own schedule. The danger lies in turning into a total slacker. It's a slippery slope, I'll admit. One day, you decide to take it easy, go in late, blow off work, and next thing you know you're hooked on "Days of Our Lives" and eating ice cream out of the carton in your pajamas. Not that I've ever done that.

If anyone deserved a mental health day that Friday, it was me
. I think we can all agree on that. And I wasn't even taking the whole day; I planned to go in at noon. I checked my e-mail, too, so I was sort of working. Luckily, only one e-mail needed a response and it was from Becca. I shuddered, remembering my dream, but a quick gulp of hot coffee jolted me back to reality. Her question was--did she have to give Joe the kids if he showed up drunk? He always went out Thursday nights with his friends and got wasted (she said), and she was afraid he'd still be drunk at pick-up time in the morning.

I
n retrospect, a degree in psychology or counseling would have come in handy because I've had to learn this stuff on the job.

No,
I wrote to Becca
, you definitely should not give Joe the children if he's drunk, BUT, there needs to be corroboration of his condition. Perhaps you should have an objective third party there to make that determination.
It should not be your boyfriend, Charlie
. Keep a log of anything that happens, and remember--Joe is the father of your children. I know it's tough, but the two of you have to find a way to parent together for your daughters' sake. Hopefully, the tension will subside after the divorce is final.

T
hen, with the satisfaction of having done a full five minutes of work, I took my coffee and a book out to the patio so I could soak up some vitamin D rays and chill out. I must have dozed off at some point because I missed several calls.  One was from my office and two were from Becca. So much for taking a few hours for myself. It was hard to decide which was more unpleasant, talking to Lisa, who might be crying, or Becca. It was a toss-up. As a compromise, I listened to Becca's voice mail. In her first message, she sounded annoyed. Joe hadn't shown to pick up the kids and he was already an hour late. But her second message was alarming. She sounded hysterical and said the police were at her door, could I please call her immediately. My heart started racing like it always does in a crisis, be it mine or anyone else's, so I pushed the call back button and waited nervously for her to pick up.

"Becca? It's Jamie
. What's going on?"

"Jamie
--the police are here, I can't talk right now." She sounded like she was crying.

"
But, what's wrong? What happened?"

She sobbed. "
It's Joe--he's dead!"

Chapter 10

I
was shocked. What could've happened? Maybe a car accident or a violent crime, or a heart attack. Younger guys than Joe had dropped dead suddenly. That's why they call those early attacks 'widow makers'. Well, there wouldn't be any more bickering now, and there wouldn't be a divorce either. Those poor kids, Leah and Lainie, had been through so much already and now to lose their dad--it was tragic. There wasn't much I could do for that family, except leave them to their grief. Of course, if Becca needed anything, I'd try my best to help her.

It occurred to me that I hadn't finished preparing the order from our last hearing
. Now I didn't need to, I'd be filing a dismissal instead. While I thought I'd seen everything before, this was a first for me, and I needed to think it through. Because Becca and Joe were still married at the time of his death and there was no prenuptial agreement, she would inherit all of their joint assets. Also, Joe had a life insurance policy with his wife and daughters as beneficiaries, so that would kick in. Finally, the girls were entitled to receive Social Security death benefits through their dad until they turned eighteen. Becca would be all set financially but, emotionally, she and her children had a long road ahead of them

Thinking about those young girls losing their dad was almost too much for me.
Had my own dad been in a Cuban prison all these years? How could I not look for him now that I knew? And how terrible would it be to find him, yet be powerless to do anything? I wish my mother had told me about him sooner, but I understood her reasons. She knew I wouldn't let it go, that I wouldn't stop until I found him, and that it could only lead to heartache.

M
aybe I could find the answer quickly and be done with it. If I knew my father was dead, at least I'd have closure, and I wouldn't have to wonder for the rest of my life. Who was I kidding? Nothing was ever easy, but at least I had some resources I could use. There were immigration attorneys I could call, I had Duke and Grace and all their connections, and I had the internet. And I couldn't have lived in a better place. There were close to a million Cubans in South Florida, many of them with relatives in Cuba; surely, one of them could help me find my father.

A
s it turned out, I wouldn't be going to the office after all. I sat down at my computer with a steaming cup of coffee and a cat in my lap (yes, that's what I said) to begin making lists. It was time to start 'Project Dad'.

Chapter 11

I'm not embarrassed to tell you I started with Wikipedia. I wanted to get an overview of the political situation in Cuba and also the history since Castro took power. I was especially interested in a crackdown on Cuban dissidents in 2003 known as 'Black Spring', where the government had imprisoned seventy-five dissidents, including journalists and teachers, who were later adopted by Amnesty International as prisoners of conscience. The prisoners were eventually released and exiled to Spain, except for the ones that had died in prison. The website listed all of the prisoners, even the dead ones, but my father's name was not one of them.

I then looked for local organizations that could help me and
 the first one I found was 'The Cuban Liberty Council' in Miami, which was dedicated to promoting democracy in Cuba, and providing assistance to human rights and opposition groups in Cuba. That sounded promising. I kept looking and found an even better one: the 'Free Cuba Foundation', a non-profit/non-partisan organization working towards the establishment of an independent and democratic Cuba through non-violent means. Their goals were to provide information on the situation inside of Cuba; provide a platform for human rights and democracy activists; and provide a means for the internet community to engage in campaigns to free political prisoners, or improve their conditions
. They also provided a list of current political prisoners.
I was relieved to see my dad wasn't on that list either. That's not to say he couldn't be in prison for some other reason.

I knew it was a long shot, but I also ran my father's name through the SSDI (Social Security Death Index). He
wouldn't have a Social Security number unless he was here legally or a citizen, and he wouldn't be on the SSDI unless he was a
dead
citizen, so I wasn't surprised when nothing came up. I even looked for him on Facebook. I was just deciding what to do next when my phone buzzed. It was a text from Becca. Finally! It had been over three hours since we'd talked.

Sorry I didn't call
,
she texted
, but I'm too upset to talk to anyone. The police think Joe died from an overdose. They won't know for sure until the autopsy. My girls haven't stopped crying. This is so awful…

An overdose? I didn't see that coming. Joe didn't seem like the type--a drinker, yes, but not a druggie.
And he hadn't struck me as suicidal, either. I know for a fact that he'd been looking forward to seeing his kids, and it seemed like he relished making Becca miserable.

I texted my condolences:
I'm so sorry, Becca. That's terrible news! Please let me know if I can help in any way. Don't hesitate to call me. All my best, Jamie

As you can see, we family law attorneys have a skewed view of the world. How could we not? Everyone around us is acting crazy; lying all the time, fighting over stupid stuff, like microwave ovens, or toy trains they claim are family heirlooms. For the sake of our sanity, we have to walk away sometimes, go hang out with fun people. My go-to fun person was Grace, which was why I had her on speed dial.

"Is it happy hour yet?"
I asked, when she answered the phone.

"
It's five o'clock somewhere, I imagine. What are you drinking, a Cuba Libre?"

"A frozen rum runner is more like it."

"You got it, Amiga. Lucky it's Latin Night at Tekila's! See you in thirty."

I changed my clothes and went off to find my dose of sanity.
The first place I planned to look was inside a tall glass, with a cherry on top.

Chapter 12

Tekila's is a casual bar on Hollywood Boulevard with a different theme every night. It's also a Mexican restaurant. Grace and I like to go there on Fridays for Latin Nights because we love the upbeat music and the quirky, fun people who dance to it. Not that we danced. I find walking without tripping enough of a challenge. Luckily, my name isn't Grace, so I don't have all that pressure.

I couldn't wait to unwind with my best friend and chat about our week
, although I had no intention of talking about Becca. Her sad story was the reason I needed to get away in the first place.

The city of Hollywood is about thirty square miles altogether, so everything is close by. It only took me twenty minutes to get to Tekila's, even with rush hour traffic. Grace was already seated at the lacquered bar, dressed in her 'Casual Friday' clothes, which were still pretty chic, sipping a Margarita on the rocks, extra salt. I could see a frozen rum runner on the bar, waiting just for me. The glass hadn't even started to sweat.

"Wow!" I said, sliding onto the bar stool. "How did y
ou get here so fast--jet pack?"

I scooched my drink closer and latched my mouth onto the straw. Instantly, sweet, tart, icy rum runner started gliding over my tongue, numbing and exciting it at the same time. I sighed with contentment. Funny how something so co
ld could make me feel so warm.

"I teleported," Grace said with a laugh. "Try to keep up, Jamie, will ya? Actually, I was around the corner picking up a transcript. I have a big trial
coming up and my client is giving me an ulcer. At this rate, I'll have to start buying Rolaids by the case.
"

"Poor you!" I said, patting her arm with my cold, wet hand. She yanked her arm away
and I laughed.

"He-ey!" She protested.

"I'm just trying to take your mind off your troubles," I said. "You're welcome." Then I went back to slurping my drink.

"I hope you get brain freeze," Grace said, matter-of-factly.

"Oh, I plan on it. But that won't stop me from ordering another one. How's your Margarita, lady?  Does it meet your high standards?"

Grace snorted. "My standards are pretty low when it comes to Margaritas. All I need is a shot of tequila and some salt, and I'm happy."

"Speaking of low standards," I said, signaling Jan, our favorite bartender, for another round, "Did you finally dump that loser, Christopher, or did you take him back,
again
?"

Grace polished off her drink just as Jan placed a fresh one in front of her.
Her timing was always impeccable.

"Sorry, I can't h
ear you, the music's too loud."

"Grace, seriously? You took him back?
He totally mooches off you, he barely works, and he's not even nice. And now he's making
me
look like the bad guy. I ought to give you the spiel--where's your self-respect, you deserve better, the whole thing, but I'm not gonna do it. You wouldn't listen, anyway."

"You're right."

"I know I am."

"I mean, you're right about me not listening." Grace said. "Look, I'm not crazy, Jamie. I see Christopher for who he is, but I still like him. He's funny and spontaneous and we have a good time together. I never said he was
Mr. Right
; he's just
Mr. Right Now
. Okay?"

"
Alright, sorry. Just trying to look out for my BFF. I'll shut up now. Feel free to give me advice about my love life anytime," I said.

"I would, but…"

"But, what?"

"You don't have a love lif
e." Grace gave me a sideways look.

"Oh, yeah, that's right. I don't." I sipped my second rum runner. Two is my limit, s
o I had to make this one last.

"What are we going to do about that?" Grace asked, tapping her foot to the music as she watched a couple salsa dancing across the room. They were good.

"One problem at a time, Grace," I said. "Right now, I'm looking for my dad, and I don't even know where to start
. How am I supposed to obsess, if you keep trying to distract me?"

"Whoa, hold on a minute," she said, putting her drink down and giving me her full attention. "Yesterday, you were too freaked out to ask your aunt about your dad, and now you're devoting your life to finding him? Did I miss something?"

"Yeah, you did. I'll catch you up, but I'm going to need some tacos first
. "