Ironically, it was during an episode of late-night Rehab Dad that spurred the thought to pursue my rights.
“We never know what we’ll find when we tear into an old wall. Sometimes, we have setbacks like a leaking pipe or an insect infestation. But other times, there’s a reward, like this.” The camera zoomed in on a hidden fireplace, sealed over with plaster wallboards. I could see the potential beauty in it once it was cleaned up and restored.
Potential. Clean. Restore.
All I want is to know I tried.
When Naomi comes to visit on Wednesday, I startle her with my announcement.
“I need you to drive me to an attorney’s office.”
My sister’s eyes, so similar to mine, although more trusting than suspicious, stare at me.
“Which attorney?” she questions after a long pause during which she watched me hunt for my jacket, check my appearance one more time in the mirror, and reach for a manila file folder containing one sheet of paper—my marriage license.
“Julius & Caesar is the name.”
Naomi snorts, and I double-check I have a house key, cell phone, and wallet. I’m not a purse person, so I tuck these items into the various pockets of an old barn coat, which is two sizes too big for me.
“You realize there’s irony in a name like that for an attorney’s office.”
I stare back at my sister. I don’t have time for her library humor today. Though, on second thought, I’ll need it once we return.
“Can you drive me or not?” I ask, falling into the familiar rhythm of snapping out interrogatives. I take a deep breath and mutter an apology under my breath. Naomi blinks, her head flicking back as if I’ve startled her.
“You okay, Bev?”
“No. I want a divorce,” I admit, and Naomi blinks again. Slowly, her face cracks. The grin grows at the corner until finally, a full-wattage, wide-mouthed smile graces her face.
“I’m so proud of you,” she says, and tears threaten my eyes. I won’t cry, I tell myself. No more tears for Howard.
“I just want to be free.” Let love in. The thought whispers through me, and I recall telling my sister the same words. I want to be free to love again. To love Jedd. I want to say yes if he ever decides to ask me to marry him in earnest, not while flirting up against a wall. But I can’t worry about that yet. First, I need this step.
I’m nervous being at the law offices of Julius & Caesar. Naomi wasn’t wrong in suggesting there’s an irony to their name, but the irony isn’t in their title. With a limited number of attorney offices in Green Valley, I found Janice Julius’s name in a pile of papers left behind by Ewell. Her office is in Merryville, and I thought I’d feel more comfortable speaking to a woman about my situation until I see who the woman is.
A beautiful brunette with raven black hair, despite her over forty appearance, and brilliant blue eyes greets us as we sit in the cramped lobby to their offices.
“Hello, I’m Janice Julius.” I stare at her, not accepting her offered hand as déjà vu arrests me in my seat. Janice looks at my sister, whose eyes are boring into the side of my face, but I can’t look away from the woman.
“You need an injury law attorney?” The thick Hispanic accent of a man in his mid-thirties interrupts my stare down.
“What?” I choke on the question. He points with a dragging finger up and down my leg.
“You need. An injury. Attorney?”
My brows pinch, and Janice turns to the man. “She isn’t hard of hearing. She’s here for a divorce.”
The demeanor of the man shifts as he brushes a hand down his tie. He clears his throat, placing a fist over his lips, and then reaches forward to introduce himself with a handshake.
“Ramirez Caesar, at your service. Number one divorce attorney in Merryville.” His voice is miraculously clear of his accent.
“I’m pretty certain you’re the only divorce attorney in Merryville.” Janice shakes her head at her partner, and I realize I haven’t shaken either hand offered to me. I slowly stand, not liking my position of being lower than either of them as I greet them.
“I’m Beverly Townsen.” My eyes narrow in on Janice, but she evidently does not remember me. However, I’ll never forget the shocked hurt of her pretty face as she looked out a screen door—now on my porch—and questioned Howard.
You promised it would never happen again.
Howard one-upped that promise. He impregnated the girl.
The reality of who I am was slow to dawn on her professionally polished face. Horn-rimmed glasses that would look nerdish on some looked stylish on her. Bright red lips. A crisp navy-blue suit. She was everything I was not, and Howard gave her up for me.
He didn’t have a choice.
“I think I’ve made a mistake,” I say, placing a hand on my belly, willing myself not to vomit in the tight confines of this room.
“You don’t want a divorce?” Ramirez Caesar asks.
“She wants a divorce,” Naomi speaks up for me.
“I don’t think you should represent me,” I blurt, looking at the beautiful woman before me. I hate how threatened I feel by her presence even though she did nothing wrong to me. I wronged her, and she’s standing here as if nothing ever happened. I repeat my name with emphasis. “I’m Beverly Townsen.”
“I know who you are,” she says patiently although her brows pinch for a fraction of a second.
“Oh, you know one another. This is good. Good, good,” Mr. Caesar states. “But I’m still the divorce attorney in this office.” He turns a pinched smile on his partner and turns back to me. “If you’d like to follow me.” He waves a hand and steps back for me to lead the way to his office.
Naomi follows me down the short, narrow hall, and Ramirez calls out, “First door.”
We enter another small room with an oversized desk with piles of folders on the floor. Mr. Caesar steps over them and collapses into his seat. He swipes a hand through his jet black hair and smiles at me as he folds his hands on the desk, equally cluttered with pens, papers, and more file folders.
“So whose ass do we want to dump?” he begins, and Naomi snorts.
On the return drive to my home, I mentally review all I’ve learned after I filled in Naomi on the particulars of my history with Janice Julius. The woman engaged to Howard. Eventually, Ewell’s attorney. I don’t know the story of how the two connect, but it doesn’t matter.
My divorce is considered a fault-based divorce in the state of Tennessee, which is proven by Howard’s voluntary desertion of Hannah and myself.
“We need to give public notice in the local paper. The Valley Chronicle will suffice, and maybe another notice in Knoxville. In general, it states your claim to divorce,” Ram explained, telling me that twenty years of absent Howard should be enough evidence to prove abandonment, but the legality of a formal announcement shows due diligence on my part to officially divorce. I bite my tongue at having to show good faith toward Howard for anything. However, I want everything legal and binding to officially remove Howard from my life. The whole process could take months, but hopefully less if Howard doesn’t respond within the court-appointed posting schedule.