Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 100561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“Definitely the first one, but maybe a little of both.”
“I don’t expect you to completely change who you are, Em,” he says. “Just to include me in it more. Go. I can take care of all this. Do whatever you need to do. I’ll be here.”
“Okay. Hopefully it’s nothing major and I’ll be back soon.”
Nodding, he kisses my forehead. “Just keep me updated.”
I stretch to kiss him for real before reluctantly heading toward the bedroom door.
“Em,” he says, and I look back. “I love you.”
Tears prick at my eyes. I will never get over hearing him say that. “I love you, too,” I say, and walk out the door.
39 LUCA
There’s something weirdly familiar about waiting for Emery to get home. I finish unpacking and move both our bags back to the closet. I work in the yard for a little bit and play with Honey and stare at my phone, waiting for anything from my wife.
The silence is unsettling.
It feels familiar again, when I walk through the house, looking for ways to keep busy, Honey’s nails ticking softly on the wood floors behind me. The dishwasher needs to be unloaded so I start there before working my way through the rest of the kitchen. Em has an office, but the built-in desk in the kitchen is apparently mine. I realize I haven’t even gone through it yet, so I pull out the chair, waiting for a sense of familiarity to rise.
But it doesn’t. I open the drawers and begin sifting through the contents. Past Luca clearly wasn’t a junk drawer kind of guy, and the various items are neatly organized in clear plastic containers: pens, batteries, charging cords, Post-it notes. Nothing exciting.
The bottom drawer is a filing cabinet, with folder tabs neatly labeled and sorted by year, month, and project name. Crash and I seem to be doing okay, with all invoices paid within thirty days and a lot more recurring customers than I would have imagined. No wonder Crash is staying so busy. I itch to get back to work.
My fingers pause on a single unlabeled manila folder all the way in the back. Pulling it out, I open it on the desk in front of me. It takes me a beat to process what I’m seeing.
Brown, Pitt, and Yoon Family Law
Family law? I scan the page, my eyes skimming over and then flying back to the heading under the letterhead:
Re: Engagement Letter—Divorce Representation
Dear Luca Martín,
This letter confirms that you (the “Client”) retain Brown, Pitt, and Yoon Family Law (the “Attorney”) to represent you in your divorce proceedings. Please review the terms below; your signature will serve as our formal agreement.
My heart pounds as I search for a date. July 10.
Seven days before our anniversary.
I push back and stand, staring down at the words until they blur together.
I was going to leave Emery, or at the very least, I consulted an attorney because I was considering it.
My stomach recoils at the idea, but my heart… it aches like a broken bone, one that’s been badly set and healed so the pain never really goes away.
Reaching for my phone, I text Crash and ask where he is.
* * *
An hour later, the door opens. “Yo,” calls a deep voice.
“Crash?” I reply from the bedroom.
“Yup. Sorry it took so long.”
By the time I make it to the kitchen, he’s already rummaged through the cupboard and has half a cookie in his mouth.
“It’s fine. Thanks for coming over.”
“No problem. Before I forget, we won the bid on the pool landscape for the Anderson place. It’s a big job, so I might need to hire on a few temps.”
“Actually, I want to come back next week.”
He looks unsure. “The leg’s good?”
“It’s fine, yeah.” I’m not a hundred percent sure that’s true, but I do know I can’t keep doing what I’ve been doing.
“Well, that’s awesome.” Crash walks as he types out a text. “How was the second honeymoon? I brought your truck over, by the way. It’s in the garage and keys are on the hook.” Tucking his phone in his pocket, he stops in front of the desk. Every file is open, every random piece of paper or notebook spread out on top of it. He looks up at me from the chaos. I can only imagine what I look like: eyes tight, expression bordering on frantic. “Everything okay, man?”
“I don’t know.” I’ve tried to call Emery a half dozen times, but every time it goes straight to voicemail. I left two messages telling her to call me back.
Not that I have any idea what to say.
Does she know? Had I talked to her about it? Maybe we worked things out… but is it possible she’s keeping me in the dark about this, too? That doesn’t feel true, but it’s possible.
Perhaps sensing the mood and the quiet in the house, Crash glances around. “Where’s Em?”