“I don’t know what you’re looking for here. This kid’s good, and he needs representation. You’re the right person for the job.”
“Why me?”
“Because I like the fact that you always bring your A game.”
Eyebrow up, I wait for the rest of it.
“All right . . .” He shakes his head, puts his hands up in surrender. “And because he was raised by his aunt, a lovely but no-nonsense woman who . . .”
“Would probably tell you to get lost.”
“I doubt it, but she’d probably listen better to you.”
“I don’t actually specialize in athletes raised by single women,” I snap, annoyed.
“Well, you kind of do. I mean, I can understand why they’d trust you.”
“And they would be right.”
He puts a piece of paper with contact info in front of me. Then he picks up his phone and sends me a text with links to Isaiah’s most recent game videos. “I told his aunt she might be hearing from you and that we’d like to come out and talk to her and Isaiah.” He shrugs as if the whole thing doesn’t really matter, but I can tell that it does. “Just think of him as a peace offering.”
“A person is not a peace offering.”
“Then what is?”
I sigh. “Why don’t you stop beating around the bush and tell me what you really want.”
There’s a brisk knock on the door. Erin pops her head in, takes a quick look between me and Rich. “I was, um, just checking to see if I can get fresh coffee for either of you?”
“Thanks. I’d love some.” I’m careful not to smile at her clearly protective tone. “Rich was just leaving.”
After she backs out and closes the door again, I stand. “Was there anything else?”
He stands, because otherwise he’ll have to look up at me. “We can discuss it when you have more time, but I just wanted to give you a heads-up that Larry and I had a conversation about creating a new tennis division.”
I look into his eyes. But I can’t read them. “I brought this up when I first joined the agency, and he wasn’t interested.” I study him as I think it through . . . “But a lot of players are making moves to smaller boutique firms.”
“Bingo.”
“But we’d need to take on at least one or two top players.” I stare at his face and all the way into his eyes, which is something I typically avoid, and realize that he’s far more interested in this subject than he’s letting on. What I don’t know is why. “Or we’d have to invest the time and money into building them.”
His eyes glitter. “I was thinking we might do both.”
Nineteen
Sara
I have now read, highlighted, and sticky-noted the copy of The Empowered Woman’s Guide to Divorce that Annell tucked in my tote bag when I wasn’t looking last Saturday. A lime-green sticky note with the words “I’m here” scrawled across it was stuck to the cover.
The book is written by a female therapist and a male lawyer who practices family law and is meant to cover both the emotional and legal aspects of what they describe as “your divorce journey.” Which was a little discouraging, since I was hoping that given the fact that Mitch is a liar, a cheat, and a thief, it might be a short trip.
Apparently, my hurt, anger, and fear are a part of this journey for everyone. So is my sense of loss. I thought I’d finally found a partner who would share my life and prove once and for all that I am not unlovable and therefore destined to spend my life alone. I was wrong.
Every night after work I pick up or throw together some kind of dinner for Dorothy and me. Then I sit down to do my divorce “homework,” which includes surfing county court, state bar, and judicial websites as well as attorney blogs and articles. As a result, I now know that Georgia is an “equitable distribution” and “no-fault” state. I also know that Mitchell doesn’t actually have to agree to a divorce.
The book claims that hardly anyone can really afford a divorce attorney without going into debt and has sections on less-expensive options, like mediation, negotiation, and even self-representation—something I consider for about five seconds until I remember Abraham Lincoln’s quote about a person who represents himself having a fool for a client. I already feel deeply stupid for not realizing what my husband was up to.
Today, I have free initial consultations with five family law attorneys. Happily, because of the homework I’ve done, I can use these appointments to ask more specific strategy-oriented questions. Not so happily, I now know a lot of things I wish I didn’t. By the time I get to my last consultation at four p.m., exhaustion has set in. Ditto for hunger and thirst.
Bonnie Traiman appears to be somewhere in her late forties or early fifties. Her brown hair is parted down the middle and hangs in waves to her shoulders. Her calm, appraising brown eyes and her genuine smile are the most comforting things I’ve seen all day.
Given how wilted I feel at the moment, I’m relieved that she’s not wearing a suit, like the sharp-eyed, perfectly turned out lawyers I’ve already met with. Or heels like some of the other female attorneys.
An eyeblink after we’ve shaken hands and introduced ourselves, I’m seated on a sofa and she’s handing me a Kind bar and a bottled water, which she pulls from a mini fridge built into a bookcase.
“Go ahead. Please.” She nods to the bar and drink on the coffee table. “You look like you’ve had a long day. We’re not on the clock until you at least finish the water. I’ll be right back.” She leaves me alone just long enough to devour the bar and gulp down the water. By the time she comes back and takes a seat across from me, I feel almost human.
“So. How many lawyers have you talked to so far today?”
“You’re number five.”
“Wow, that’s a lot of legalese for one day.”
“Yeah. And most of it’s been pretty disheartening.” The sofa, on the other hand, is pretty comfortable. If it were an option, I’d curl up in a ball right now and never get up again.
“I know this isn’t the kind of conversation anyone ever really expects or wants to have. Tell me what brings you here.” She’s definitely warmer than almost all of the “suits” I’ve spoken to today, and I appreciate that she doesn’t dillydally.
“Well, my husband has been working and living in Birmingham during the week and mostly coming home on the weekends for a little over eight months now. On New Year’s Day, I found out, completely by accident, that he has a . . . girlfriend . . . and they have a four-year-old child together and . . . she’s pregnant again.”