Page 27 of Summer Romance
“How are you paying a lawyer? I didn’t approve that.”
Um, how are you renting a more expensive apartment? I didn’t approve that. A decade of rage simmers just under my chest. It’s a familiar feeling, like it wants to get out but doesn’t know how. I place my hands on the kitchen island between us and take a deep breath. When I look up, my face is as soft as I can manage. “No, it’s not like that. It’s not even a real lawyer. Frannie’s kid brother, Scooter, is a PI attorney and he said he’d come with me and take notes if I helped him organize his parents’ house.”
Pete laughs and downs the rest of his Gatorade. “Scooter?”
“Yes, that’s his name. Can you imagine?”
16
I tell Ethan I’ll pick him up on Friday because I have the urge to drive. I feel like I am sick of being in the passenger seat.
I pull into his driveway just as he walks out wearing a powder-blue tuxedo and ruffled white shirt, straight out of a 1970s prom photo. His pants are an inch too short, and his expression is serious. He opens the car door, takes a deep breath, and says, “What do you think?”
I am stunned. I try to imagine Pete’s face when I show up with him as my lawyer. “Scooter. What the hell?” I burst out laughing. It’s the last thing in the world I thought I’d do today, and the laughter wipes out the morning’s nerves.
A smile creeps up the corners of his mouth. “Okay, this was worth it already. And, God, the look on your face is priceless. I have no clothes down here, and all of my dad’s suits are too small. I found this in his closet, and it called out to me.” His smile is huge now, like he’s successfullyexecuted a practical joke. “You hired Scooter, might as well go all in.”
“Pete’s not going to know what to think,” I say.
“That’s the plan,” he says.
We drive throughtown and I can’t help but feel self-conscious about how I’m dressed. If Ethan’s playing the part of Burt Bacharach in Vegas, I’m playing the part of downtrodden housewife. I’m in a denim skirt (that’s a hard skirt) and a T-shirt with a cardigan in my bag in case of air-conditioning. I want to be in my navy suit or even in Mrs. Hogan’s Carmen Miranda costume. I just don’t want to look like a doormat.
The mediator’s name is Lacey. She’s younger than I am, which is fine except for the fact that she’s blond and charming. She greets Ethan with a smile that tells us she’s in on the joke about his outfit, and I have the weirdest urge to tell her that, no, it’s just our joke. We introduce ourselves, and she shows us into an office that feels more like it’s for therapy than for divorce. She has several paintings of covered bridges on the walls, which I’m sure are subtle metaphors for our journey into this next stage. We join Pete at a round table, which makes me feel, wrongly, that there are no sides.
“Pete, this is Scooter,” I say.
“I didn’t know Frannie had a kid brother,” Pete says. He’s in khaki pants and a white polo shirt and is eyeing Ethan suspiciously.
“I live in Massachusetts,” Ethan says. “Haven’t been around much. Thanks for letting me sit in on yourmeeting.” He takes his legal pad out of his briefcase and carefully places a pen on top. He smooths the ruffles on his shirt and gives me a serious look, and I bite the inside of my mouth to keep from laughing again.
Lacey starts by explaining how this is all going to go. Today is the first of three meetings. She asks us both for verbal confirmation that we are going to split all existing assets in half and gives us each a copy of the asset list that Pete put together for our review. The house, the checking account, the savings account, a brokerage account with barely anything in it, the 401(k)s, two cars, a jar full of gold coins.
“Looks right,” says Pete.
“When did you two buy these gold coins?” Ethan asks.
Pete looks up from the paper and narrows his eyes at him. “Why?” he asks.
Ethan turns to me for an answer. It’s a funny moment, because it’s been a long time since anyone has asked me to chime in. I hear my mom answering for me, and I feel it like an ache in the back of my heart. When it comes to anything with Pete, I’ve gone silent.
I say, “We didn’t, my mom left them to me.” I remember taking the ceramic cookie jar full of gold Krugerrands from the apartment and placing it on my kitchen counter next to the coffeemaker. It’s a treasure in plain sight, just like she liked it. They’re worth about sixty thousand dollars, an inheritance from her mother that she never touched.
Ethan is looking at me. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t know that about your mom.”
“It was two years ago,” Pete says, like two years isforever. Like he can’t believe my mom being dead is still a thing.
“Well, I’m sorry,” Ethan says, and turns back to his list. “Then that’s separate property.” He crosses the coins off the asset list. “What’s next?”
Lacey nods and crosses it off her copy too. Pete lets out a breath, and we move on.
Lacey says, “You’ve agreed to split the house. What’s the timing on that?”
Pete says, “I’ve agreed to let Ali and the kids stay there until Cliffy is eighteen, then we sell and split the proceeds.”
“Twenty-two,” says Ethan.
Pete drops his pen on the table and leans back in his chair. “Twenty-two what?”
