Two by Two

CHAPTER 17: Moving Forward and Backward

When I was dating Emily-before I did something stupid-we spent the first week of July in Atlantic Beach, North Carolina. With two other couples, we’d rented a house close enough to the water that we could hear the waves breaking in unrelenting rhythm. Though we’d split the rent three ways, it was still a stretch for all of us, so we’d brought coolers packed with food we’d purchased at the grocery store. We planned to cook instead of going out to restaurants, and as the sun started to go down, we’d fire up the grill and start our feast. In the evenings, we’d drink beer on the porch to the sound of the radio, and I can remember thinking that it was the first of many such vacations Emily and I would end up taking together.

The Fourth of July was particularly special. Emily and I woke before the others, walking the beach as the sun began to rise. By the time everyone got out of bed, we’d set up our spot on the beach, complete with a steamer I’d rented to cook the scallops and shrimp that had been unloaded at the docks only a few hours earlier. We supplemented the seafood with corn on the cob and potato salad, and set up an inexpensive volleyball net. When our friends finally joined us, we spent the rest of the day in the sun, kicking back, wading in the surf, and coating ourselves with sunscreen.

There was a carnival in town that week, set up in the main traffic circle near the beach, about a quarter mile from where we were staying. It was one of those traveling carnivals, with rickety rides, overpriced tickets, and games that were almost impossible to win. There was, however, a Ferris wheel, and half an hour before the fireworks were supposed to start, Emily and I ditched the group and climbed aboard the ride. I figured we’d have plenty of time to rejoin our friends afterward, but as fate would have it, the ride broke down just as Emily and I reached the apex.

While stalled at the top, I could see workers tinkering with either the engine or the generator; later, I saw someone race off, only to return carrying a large and obviously heavy toolbox. The ride operator shouted up to us that he’d have the ride working again shortly, but warned us not to rock the carts.

Though the day had been sweltering, the wind was gusting, and I slipped my arm around Emily as she leaned into me. She wasn’t frightened, nor was I; even if the engine was fried, I was sure there was some sort of manual hand crank they could use to eventually unload everyone. From our vantage point in the sky, we watched people as they moved among the carnival booths, and stared at the carpet of house and streetlights that seemed to stretch for miles. In time, I heard the familiar thwump of a firework being launched from a barge off shore just before sparkling fingers of gold and green and red expanded across the sky. Wow, Emily breathed, something she repeated throughout the hour and a half we remained stuck on the Ferris wheel. The wind was pushing the scent of gunpowder down the beach, and as I pulled Emily closer I remember thinking that I would propose to Emily before the year was up.

It was around that time that our friends finally spotted us. They were on the beach, people in miniature, and when they figured out that we were stuck, they began to whoop and point. One of the girls shouted up to us that if we planned on spending the night up there, we should probably order a pizza.

Emily giggled, before growing quiet.

“I’m going to pretend that you paid the workers down there to stall the Ferris wheel on purpose,” she finally said.

“Why?”

“Because,” she said, “for as long as I live, I don’t think another Fourth of July will ever measure up to this one.”

On Monday morning, London woke with a red nose and continuing sniffles. Though she wasn’t coughing, I debated whether to send her to school, but when I suggested as much, she began to fuss.

“The teacher is bringing in her goldfish today, and I get to feed him! Plus, it’s coloring day.”

I wasn’t sure what coloring day entailed, but it was obviously a big deal to her. I gave her some cold medicine at breakfast, and she skipped off to class. I noticed when dropping London off that the teacher had a cold too, which made me feel better about my decision.

On my way back to the car, I caught myself wondering what Vivian was doing and immediately shoved the thought away. Who cares? I reminded myself, but more important, I had a commercial to film later that week and another client I needed to impress.

At the office I was swamped with work. I confirmed everything I needed to film Taglieri’s third commercial on Friday. I touched base with the tech guy for the plastic surgeon, and even managed to meet with an animal trainer who claimed to have just the dog I needed to film the fourth commercial for Taglieri. We set a date for filming on Thursday of the following week.

Which meant, fortunately, that I didn’t have time to think about Vivian much at all.

The settlement agreement was delivered via FedEx on Tuesday afternoon. It also came via email, but I couldn’t bring myself to read either version. Instead, I called Joey Taglieri and asked if he would look it over. We agreed to meet at an Italian restaurant not far from his office the following day.

I found him at a booth in the corner, the table topped with a red and white checkered tablecloth and a manila folder lying on a pad of yellow legal paper. He was drinking a glass of mineral water and when I sat, he slid a piece of paper toward me, along with a pen. “Before we get into this, you need to sign a retainer agreement. I told you that I don’t do family law anymore, but I can make an exception for you. I can also recommend some attorneys, including the guy who handled my second divorce, but I’m not sure how much they’ll be able to help you for reasons I’ll get to in a moment. The point is, no matter who you choose, everything you tell me will be covered by attorney-client privilege, even if you ultimately decide to work with someone else.”

I signed the retainer agreement and slid it back to him. Satisfied, he leaned back. “You want to tell me what happened?”

I told the same story I had to Marge and Liz and my parents and Emily. By then, I felt as though I’d told the story a hundred times. Taglieri jotted notes along the way. When I finished, he leaned back and said, “All right, I think I got it. I also reviewed the document, and I guess the first thing that you should know is that it looks like she intends to file for divorce in Georgia, not North Carolina.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Georgia and North Carolina have different laws. In North Carolina, a couple has to be legally separated for a year before divorce can be granted. That doesn’t mean you have to live in separate places, but both of you have to understand that you’re separated. After the year is up, one of you files for divorce. The other side then has thirty days to file an answer, but that can be sped up a bit, at which point you get on the court calendar. When your time comes, divorce is granted. In Georgia, there is no separated for a year requirement. There is, however, a residency requirement. Vivian can’t file for divorce until she’s been a resident of the state for six months, but after that, it can be granted in thirty days, assuming everything has been worked out between the two of you. In essence, because she’s been living in Atlanta since September eighth-or maybe even before that-she’ll be able to obtain a divorce next March or April, instead of next year around this time. In other words, she cut six months off the process. There are a couple of other differences concerning fault and no fault that I doubt will pertain to you. I’m guessing she’ll file no fault, which essentially means the marriage is broken.”

“So she’s in a rush to dump me, huh?”

“No comment,” he said with a grimace. “Anyway, that’s one of the reasons I’ve decided to offer my services if you want them. I passed the bar in Georgia as well as North Carolina-go Bulldogs!-while the attorneys I used for my divorce haven’t. In other words, it’s either work with me, or get an attorney in Georgia. Also, I made some calls this morning… apparently, Vivian’s attorney is a real piece of work. I’ve never dealt with her, but she has the reputation of being a bully who likes to wear down the other side until they just throw in the towel. She’s also very selective when it comes to clients, so my guess is Spannerman pulled some strings to get her to agree to represent your wife.”

“What do I do? I have no idea where to start.”

“Just what you’re doing right now-you’ve retained legal counsel. And trust me, nobody knows what to do in the beginning unless they’ve been through it before. Long story short, in Georgia, there are documents that will have to be filed, everything from disclosure statements, marital settlement agreements, to an affidavit regarding custody. Her attorney will probably press to have everything ready by the six-month mark, so there’s going to be a lot of back-and-forth between counsel.”

“What about the settlement agreement she sent?”

“That’s essentially a contract between the two of you. It covers alimony and property division, things like that.”

“What about London?”

“That’s where it can get tricky. The courts retain the right to make decisions regarding custody, visitation, and child support. Now, the two of you can come to an agreement and the court will take that into account, but they’re not bound by it. If it’s reasonable, though, the court will usually go along with what the two of you decide. Because London is so young, she won’t have much of a say at all. That’s probably for the best.”

I suspected he’d have to go over all of this again. “What did Vivian want?’

Taglieri reached into the folder and pulled out the agreement. He began to flip through the pages. “As far as property division goes, for the most part, she wants half. That’s half the equity in the house, half the money in your banking and investment accounts, half of your retirement. She wants the SUV and half of the value of the contents of the house, in cash. She also wants an additional chunk of change, which I’m guessing is half the total you invested in your business.”

I suddenly felt as though I’d been donating blood for a week. “Is that all?”

“Well, there’s also alimony.”

“Alimony? She earns more than I do right now and she’s dating a billionaire.”

“I’m not saying she’ll get it. I suspect she’ll use it, along with the rest of the proposed property division, as leverage to get what she really wants.”

“London.”

“Yeah,” he said. “London.”

After my meeting with Taglieri, there was no time to return to the office. Instead, I drove to the school and got there early; I was at the front of the car line. I was looking over the separation agreement-it crowded out all other thoughts-when I heard a tapping on my window.

Emily.

She was wearing tight faded jeans with tears at the knees, along with a formfitting top, and the sight of her made something lift inside me. Opening the door, I stepped out into the sunlight.

“Hey there,” I said. “How are you?”

“I feel like I’m supposed to ask you that question. I’ve been thinking about you the last few days and wondering how Sunday night went.”

“It went as well as something like that could, I guess. Vivian did most of the talking.”

“How’s London doing?”

“She seems all right. Other than the fact that she’s still getting over a cold.”

“Bodhi, too. He just came down with it yesterday. I think more than half the class is sick right now. It’s like a leper colony in there.” She seemed to study me for a moment. “Other than that, how are you holding up?”

“So-so,” I admitted. “I had to meet with an attorney today.”

“Oh, yuck,” she said. “I hated that part of it.”

“It wasn’t a lot of fun,” I said. “It still feels like a dream, like it’s not really happening. Even though I know that it is.”

She looked straight at me and as she held me in her sights, I was struck by the length of her eyelashes. Had they always been that long? I found myself struggling to remember. “Did you have your questions answered?” she asked.

“I wasn’t even sure what questions to ask. That’s what I was looking over in the car. Vivian sent a proposed separation agreement.”

“I’m not a lawyer, but if you have questions, you can call. I might not be able to answer all of them, of course.”

“I appreciate that,” I said. I could see more cars pulling into line, a steady flow now. As far as I could tell, I was the only male in the pickup line. As I faced Emily, I suddenly heard Vivian’s voice in my head-rumors!-and wondered if any of the mothers in the car line were watching us. Automatically, I took a slight step backward and slipped my hand into my pocket. “Did David leave for Australia?”

She nodded. “Yesterday evening.”

“Was Bodhi upset?”

“Very. And then, of course, he wakes up sick as a dog.”

“And no word when he’ll be back?”

“He said that he might be able to visit for a few days around Christmas.”

“That’s good.”

“Sure. If he actually shows. He said the same thing last year. He’s good at saying things. The problem is, he’s not always so good at follow-through.”

I wondered where London would be this Christmas. I wondered where I would be.

“Uh-oh,” she said, tilting her head. “I said something wrong, didn’t I? You sort of drifted off there.”

“Sorry. I was just thinking about some of the things the lawyer said to me today. It looks like I might have to sell the house.”

“Oh, no. Really?”

“I’m not sure there’s another option. It’s not as though I have enough cash on hand to simply pay Vivian off.”

That was putting it mildly; if I gave in to all her demands, I’d be flat broke. Add in alimony and child support, and I wasn’t even sure whether I could afford a two-bedroom apartment.

“It’ll all work out,” she said. “I know it’s sometimes hard to believe, but it will.”

“I hope so. Right now, I just want to… escape, you know?”

“You need a break from all this,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “Why don’t you guys come with Bodhi and me to the zoo in Ashboro this Saturday?”

“What about art class?”

“Puh-lease.” She tossed a length of her thick hair over her shoulder. “The kids can skip a day. And I know Bodhi would be thrilled. Has London ever been there?”

“No,” I said.

The directness of her offer was disarming and I struggled to come up with a response. Was she asking me on a date? Or was this more about Bodhi and London?

“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll let you know.” By then, I could see teachers beginning to congregate near the door, students assembling by classroom. Emily noticed it too.

“I should get back to my car,” she said. “I don’t want to hold up the line. It takes them long enough as it is. Good seeing you, Russ.” She waved.

“You, too, Emily.”

I watched her walk away, trying to decipher the meaning of her invitation, but as she drew farther away, I felt the distinct urge to see more of her. I might not be ready and it might be too soon, but I suddenly wanted that more than anything.

“Hey Emily,” I called out.

She turned.

“What time are you thinking of leaving?”

When we got home London was feeling a little better, so we went for a bike ride. I let her take the lead, following along as we traversed the streets of the neighborhood. Her biking ability was improving with every ride. I still had to caution her to move to the side of the road when a car approached, but kids on bicycles were a common sight in the neighborhood, and most drivers gave us a wide berth.

We rode for an hour. Once home, she ate a snack and went upstairs to dress for dance. It seemed to take forever, and after a while I went up to check on her. I found her sitting on the bed, still wearing the same outfit she’d worn earlier.

I took a seat beside her. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

“I don’t want to go to dance tonight,” she said. “I’m sick.”

Her cold hadn’t adversely affected her bike ride, so I knew something else was going on. Namely, that she didn’t like dance class or Ms. Hamshaw. And who could blame her?

“If you’re too tired or still feeling sick, you don’t have to go.”

“Really?”

“Of course not.”

“Mommy might get mad.”

Your mom left us, I thought. But I didn’t say that.

“I’ll talk to her. If you’re sick, you’re sick. But is there something else going on?”

“No.”

“Because if there is, you can tell me.”

When she added nothing else, I put my arm around her. “Do you like going to dance?”

“It’s important,” she said, as if reciting a sacred rule. “Mommy used to dance.”

“That’s not what I asked. I asked if you like it.”

“I don’t want to be a tree.”

I frowned. “Honey? Can you tell me a little more about what’s going on?”

“There’s two groups in my class. One group is going away to dance at the competition. They’re the good dancers. I’m in the other group. We have to dance, too, but only for our parents. And I have to be a tree in the dance that we’re doing.”

“Oh,” I said. “And that’s bad?”

“Yes, it’s bad. I’m just supposed to move my arms when the leaves grow and fall.”

“Can you show me?”

With a sigh, she got up from the bed. She made a circle with her arms above her head, her fingertips touching. Then, separating her arms, she wiggled her fingers as she lowered her hands to her side. When she finished, she took a seat beside me on the bed again. I wasn’t quite sure what to say.

“If it makes you feel any better, you were a very good tree,” I finally offered.

“It’s for the bad dancers, Daddy. Because I’m not good enough to play the frog or the butterfly or the swan or the fish.”

I tried to imagine what those animals would be doing and how the dance would unfold, but what was the point? I figured I’d see it soon enough.

“How many other girls are trees?”

“Just me and Alexandra. I wanted to be the butterfly and I practiced really hard and I know all the moves, but Ms. Hamshaw said that Molly gets to be the butterfly.”

In the world of a five-year-old, I supposed this was a very big deal.

“When is the show?”

“I don’t know. She told us but I forgot.”

I made a note to check with Ms. Hamshaw. Before or after class, obviously, so I didn’t offend or disrupt her.

“Do you want to go to the zoo this weekend? With me and Bodhi and Miss Emily?”

“What?”

“The zoo. Miss Emily and Bodhi are going. She invited us, but I don’t want to go if you’d rather not.”

“A real zoo?”

“With lions and tigers and bears. Oh my.”

She furrowed her little brow.

“Why did you say ‘Oh my’?” she finally asked.

“It’s from a movie called The Wizard of Oz.”

“Have I seen it?”

“No,” I said.

“What’s it about?”

“It’s about a girl named Dorothy. Her house gets picked up by a tornado and she lands in a place called Oz. She meets a lion and a tin man and a scarecrow, and they try to find the wizard so she can go back home.”

“Is there a bear and a tiger in the movie, too?”

“Not that I can recall.”

“Then why does the girl say it?”

That’s a good question. “I don’t know. Maybe because she was afraid she might run into them.”

“I’m not afraid of bears. But tigers are scary. They can be really mean.”

“Yeah?”

“I learned that when I watched The Jungle Book.”

“Ah,” I said.

“Is Mommy going to come to the zoo, too?”

“No,” I said. “She’s working.”

She seemed to consider that. “Okay,” she said. “Since Bodhi’s going, we can go, too.”

When Vivian FaceTimed later that evening, I noticed she was dressed as though she were about to go out to dinner, no doubt with Spannerman. I said nothing to her about it, but as she visited with London, the thought stewed in the back of my mind.

Eventually London wandered back to me, holding out the phone. “Mommy needs to talk to you.”

“Okay, sweetie,” I said, taking it. I waited until she was gone before raising the screen.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“I wanted to let you know that I’m going to be out of town this weekend and it might be hard to reach me.”

Every part of me wanted the details, but I forced myself not to ask. “Okay.”

She had apparently expected me to press for more information, as my single-word answer seemed to throw her off. “All right,” she went on after an awkward pause. “Anyway, I’ll definitely be in Charlotte to see her next weekend, and I’d like to stay in the house again.”

“Without me,” I said. I tried hard not to appear wounded.

“I’m thinking about London here, so yes, without you. And, of course, her birthday is two weekends after that, and I’d like to do the same thing. Stay in the house, I mean. Her birthday’s on a Friday, but I want to put together a birthday party with her friends on Saturday. You should obviously come to her party, but after that, it would probably be best if you let us have the rest of the weekend to ourselves.”

“It’s her birthday weekend,” I protested. “I’d like to spend time with her, too.”

“You’re with her all the time, Russ,” she said, raising her chin.

“She’s in school. And at her activities. You might think I get a lot of downtime with her, but I don’t.”

She gave an annoyed sigh. “You get to see her every night. You get to read to her. You get to see her every single morning. I don’t.”

“Because you left,” I said, enunciating slowly. “Because you moved to Atlanta.”

“So you’d keep me from seeing my daughter? What kind of father are you? And on that subject, you shouldn’t have let her miss dance class today.”

“She has a cold,” I said. “She was tired.”

“How is she supposed to improve if you keep letting her miss class?”

The accusatory tone made my back stiffen.

“This is first one she missed. It’s not the end of the world. Besides, I don’t think she even likes dance class.”

“You’re missing the point,” Vivian said, narrowing her eyes at me. “If she wants a bigger role the next time they have a show, she can’t miss classes. You’re setting her up to be disappointed again.”

“And my point was, I don’t think she’ll care, since she doesn’t like dance in the first place.”

I could see her chest rise and fall, a flush creeping up past the neckline of her black cocktail dress. “Why are you doing this?”

“What am I doing now?”

“What you always do! Finding fault, trying to pick a fight.”

“Why is it that when I tell you what I think or offer an opinion that’s different than yours, you accuse me of trying to pick a fight?”

“Oh, for God’s sake. I’m just so sick and tired of your crap, I can’t even tell you.”

With that, she disconnected the call. It bothered me more than it should have, but I noted with grim satisfaction that it bothered me less than it would have had we still been together. In fact, it bothered me less than it would have yesterday. Perhaps that was progress.

At work for the next two days, I hopped from one project to the next, just like earlier in the week. I touched base with the patients that the plastic surgeon had recommended, and scheduled times on October sixth to get them on camera-that was going to be a long day.

On Friday I filmed the third commercial, making sure to place the camera below desk level so we could shoot the young actress from below. This way, her age was emphasized to comic effect.

The takes were so good that even members of the camera crew laughed. Perfect.

That evening, I brought London to dance class as usual.

Despite a clear lack of enthusiasm, she’d come downstairs dressed in her outfit and reminded me that we shouldn’t be late.

I didn’t ask again whether it was something she wanted to do; I’m sure that Vivian had rebuked London just as she had me, and I had no desire to put London in an awkward position. I, more than anyone, knew how guilty Vivian could make someone feel.

Seeing her sitting on the couch in the family room with her shoulders slightly caved in, I took a seat beside her.

“What would you like to do after dance?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she mumbled.

“Because I was thinking that maybe, just maybe, you and I could…”

I stopped. A couple of seconds passed before she looked over at me. “What could we do?”

“It’s nothing,” I said. “Never mind.”

“What is it?”

“Well, the thing is, you might not want to do it…” I pretended to lose interest.

“Tell me!” she pressed.

I forced out a long exhale. “I was thinking that since Mommy isn’t here, maybe you and I could have a date night.”

London knew all about our date nights, even if she wasn’t aware of all that transpired between Vivian and me.

Her expression was one of wonder. “A date night? Just you and me?”

“That’s what I was thinking. After dance, we can get dressed up, and cook dinner together, and then after that, we could either color or do some finger painting or maybe even watch a movie. But only if you want to,” I said.

“I want to.”

“You do, huh? What do you want to eat?”

She brought a finger to her chin. “I think I want chicken,” she said, and I nodded.

“That sounds delicious. That’s just what I wanted, too.”

“But I don’t want to finger paint. It might get on my dress.”

“How about coloring? I’m not very good, but I can try.”

She beamed. “It’s okay that you’re not very good, Daddy. You can practice.”

“That sounds like a great idea.”

For the first time since I’d started ferrying London to and from her activities, she was in a good mood on the way to dance, though the class had nothing to do with it. Instead, I listened to a constant stream of ideas about what she could wear that evening. She debated which dress to wear, and whether to pair it with a sparkly hairclip or bow, and what shoes would match best.

Once inside, Ms. Hamshaw motioned for her to proceed to the floor, but she suddenly turned around and ran back to envelop me in a hug before dashing to the door. Ms. Hamshaw evinced no reaction, which I supposed was as much as she could offer in the way of kindness.

While London was in class, I ran to the grocery store and picked up the makings for dinner. Knowing that we had an early morning the following day-we would meet at Emily’s at eight-I opted for a rotisserie chicken from the deli, canned corn, sliced pears, applesauce from a jar, and clear grape juice. If we started eating at half past six, she could still be in bed close to her normal bedtime.

What I hadn’t factored in was that five year-olds can take a long time to get dressed for date nights with their dads. At home after class, London raced up the stairs and forbade me to help. I went to my closet and got dressed up as well, even donning a blazer. I prepared dinner, which took all of five minutes, and then set the table, using our good china. Candles completed the picture once I poured the grape juice into wine glasses. Then I leaned against the counter to wait.

I eventually moved to the table and sat.

After that, I wandered to the family room and turned on ESPN.

Every now and then, I would walk to the stairs and call up to her; she would insist that I stay downstairs, that she was still getting ready.

When she finally descended the stairs, I felt a prick of tears behind my eyes. She’d chosen a blue skirt along with a blue and white checkered top, white stockings and shoes, and a matching blue hairband. The grace note was the imitation pearl necklace she’d put on. Whatever my reservations about Vivian’s frequent shopping expeditions with our daughter, even London knew that she’d made an impression.

“You look beautiful,” I said, rising from the couch. I shut off the television.

“Thank you, Daddy,” she said as she carefully approached the dining room table. “The table looks really nice.”

Her attempt to be as adult-like as possible struck me as almost unbearably adorable.

“I appreciate that, sweetie. Would you like to eat?”

“Yes, please.”

I went around the table and pulled out her chair. When she was seated, she reached for her glass of grape juice and took a sip. “This is very tasty,” she said.

I served and brought the plates to the table. London carefully spread her napkin in her lap and I did the same.

“How was school today?” I asked.

“It was fun,” she said. “Bodhi said he wants to see the lions tomorrow at the zoo.”

“I do, too. I like lions. But I hope they don’t have any mean ones like Scar.” I was referring, of course, to the villain in the movie The Lion King.

“They won’t have any lions like Scar, Daddy. He’s just a cartoon.”

“Oh,” I said. “That’s right.”

“You’re silly.”

I smiled as she daintily picked up her fork. “I’ve heard that.”

After dinner, we colored. London happened to have a coloring book that featured zoo animals, and we spent an hour at the kitchen table, creating animals that could only have existed in rainbow-filtered worlds.

Though she’d only been in school for a few weeks, I noticed that her coloring had improved. She was able to stay inside the lines, and had even taken to shading various parts of the pictures. Gone were the smears and squiggles of only a year ago.

My little girl was slowly but surely growing up, which for some reason made my heart ache in places I didn’t know even existed.