The Damp, Gray Gone Ch. 01

"Yeah," McNally said unapologetically. "Well, it's there. Ninety grand. She wants to keep it."

"And everything else?"

"Fifty-fifty."

"Their pensions?"

"They each keep their own pensions. They're valued almost the same, so any paperwork to get 'em split would cost more than we're arguing about."

"Household furnishings?"

"Kyle's things stay with Kyle," McNally said. "Wherever he ends up. And I don't really want to waste our time arguing about anything else, do you?"

"Not really," Rebecca said. "Still."

McNally looked at me. "You think you and Whitney will have any problem splitting the personal property?"

I looked at Rebecca, who nodded, then at Whitney, who still wouldn't look at me.

"No," I said, turning back to him. "You're right. So long as I can keep my own stuff, I don't care about the rest of it."

"Whitney?" he asked.

"That's fine," she concurred.

He looked at Rebecca. "Think you can give us ten minutes or so?"

She nodded, and we left the conference room.

On the sidewalk in front of the office, Rebecca lit a cigarette and inhaled.

"So it's going well?" I asked, my body a bundle of frayed nerve endings.

"Oh yeah," she said, exhaling and smiling. "Better than I expected."

"How so?"

"Remember what I told you up front? Don't lie to me?"

I nodded.

"Now you see why," she said. "The whole custody issue blindsided him."

"You mean she lied?"

"It's not really a lie," Rebecca explained. "It's really more like an inability to objectively see the facts. She thinks she's the great mom always there for everything--whether she is or not--and that's how she paints it. She's afraid--swear to Christ, all clients are--she's afraid he won't like her or something if he thinks she's a lousy mom. Also, she can't really admit to herself that you're the one doing most everything."

"But she's admitted it to me. I mean, Jesus, she's a lawyer. She doesn't already know this?"

Rebecca shrugged. "She's never been in private practice. And she's a mother, too. That usually overrides everything else."

"So she's lying to herself?"

"Sorta like that."

"And how do you know it's not me that's lying?"

"Did you see the look on her face when you got done talking?"

"Not really. Just that she kind of shrank in the chair."

"Bingo. If you'd been lying, she'd have challenged you. But she didn't say a word."

"And McNally? He realizes that?"

"Of course."

"And?"

"And he's probably advising her right now that she doesn't stand a chance in hell of winning a custody battle. And that even if she does, it's gonna cost her a goddamned mint."

I pondered this while Rebecca finished her cigarette.

It was closer to twenty minutes before McNally called us back in.

"The 401(k) split," he said once we were all seated. "You didn't really answer me, Becca."

She grinned. "I'm looking to make this global," she said. "Settle everything. Custody and all."

He smiled, but it was a painful smile. "And if we concede residential custody?"

She looked at me, and I nodded back at her.

"Concede residential custody and she can have it."

"And if not?" he asked, his eyes on Whitney as he asked.

Rebecca also turned to Whitney to drive home the point.

"If she doesn't agree, then we'll seek a fifty-fifty split of everything, 401(k) included, and we'll still end up with residential custody."

Whitney looked up, her eyes finding mine and holding there.

McNally looked at her. "You want a couple of days to think all this over?"

Her lips moved, but no words came out. Her eyes stayed locked on mine, and I thought she was going to break down. Before she did, though, she shook her head.

"Write it all up," she said, holding her emotions in check. "I'll sign it."

I didn't react, amazed it was all so simple.

It was early-August, little more than five months after Whitney first told me she didn't love me.

And now, with all of the written discovery in and all of our assets disclosed to the other, it took less than an hour around a conference table to settle up and neatly divide ten years of married life together.

I seemed somehow disappointed that it could all be so goddamned simple to just end a family.

* * * * *

Rebecca told me how we should do it, and that's how we were doing it on a hot Saturday morning two weeks later.

The settlement papers were all prepared and signed, and the final hearing would be in four days. We had to our personal property split up now or the hearing would be delayed until we could.

So there we stood, in the den, putting stickers on the things we wanted. Yellow dot stickers for her, blue dot stickers for me.

We'd already gone through the kitchen, dining room, and master bedroom. We had the family room, guest bedroom, and den left. Only a few words had been spoken, and we hadn't disagreed on a single item. It was a somber affair, and I was ready to go throw myself in front of a fucking train. That or just let her keep everything. It would be a lot less painful.

"Remember this?" Whitney said, her fingertips tracing the frame as she looked at it.

"I'll never forget," I said, staring at the ten-years-younger version of us sipping margaritas on the beach at Cabo during our honeymoon.

"Remember what we did after we finished those margaritas?"

I smiled, remembering as she stood, led me to a distant rock outcropping, and attacked me with her womanly wiles. She damned near fucked me blind a hundred feet from a crowded beach, and I'd been so lost in the moment I'd forgotten to put my trunks back on until we were almost caught.

She turned and looked at me, searching my face for an answer to her question.

"What happened, Whit?" I said, my voice choking. "What went wrong?"

"I don't know," she said, her voice a whisper as the smile at the happy memory faded from her face. "I don't know."

I brushed the tears from my cheeks, slapped a sticker on my desk and chair, and turned to her.

"You can have everything else," I said. "Everything."

"Luke," she said to my retreating back. "I'm sorry, Luke. Really."

But sorry wasn't cutting it anymore.

Five months later, and she still wouldn't tell me why.

Or who.

Or what, for that matter.

* * * * *

"Dad?"

"Yeah, Kyle," I said, worried by the tiny tone of his voice. We were sprawled out on opposite ends of the couch, our stocking feet touching, as we read out books.

"I'm still gonna see her, right?"

I folded the book against my chest.

"Anytime you want," I said.

"Promise?"

"She's your mother," I said. "I'll never keep you from her."

"Okay."

Thus ended Week One Post Marriage.

She'd missed visitation on Wednesday night so she could get her apartment unpacked and set up. When I offered her the weekend starting tonight, she'd declined so she could finish getting settled in.

"She promised to be here on Wednesday, right?"

I nodded. "She's just trying to make her place nice for you, little man."

His face said he didn't really believe me.

"Hey," I said, deciding that now was the time to spring the surprise on him.

"What?"

"You still want that dog?"

His face lit up. "You mean it?"

"Sure," I said. I'd been wondering for a few months how to get Kyle excited about life again. He'd always wanted a dog, but Whitney had always refused and I had never cared. Now that it was all over and Kyle wasn't getting any better, I knew it was now or never.

"What kind of dog?" he said, tossing his book on the floor and crawling up to me.

"What kind do you want?"

"I don't know," he said, his hands now on my shoulders pinning me to the couch, his face a wide-eyed bundle of excitement.

"Well, why don't we start looking around?"

"Tomorrow?" he said.

"That'll work."

"Man," he said, his eyes glazing. "A dog."

Then he hopped off the couch.

"Where you going?" I asked.

"Next door to tell Tyson."

"Back in fifteen minutes," I called to him as he ran out the door.

"Sure thing," he called back.

I didn't really know it at the time, but the next day would bring some pretty major changes into our life.