“Sure.” She smiles so sweetly, I just can’t believe it. I’m going to be a dad.
Everything seems fine until we walk into the courthouse and greet our lawyer, Andy Quinn. I take a step closer and whisper, “I don’t know whether to kick your ass or kiss you.”
He answers in this low voice, eyes on the judge. “Blame Melanie. I was just following her instructions.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Taylor?” This voice booms from the front of the room where a man of about seventy with a thick head of white hair sits at his bench.
“Yes, sir.” I step forward with a hand at the small of Blakely’s back.
The judge shuffles some paperwork, peering through half-round reading glasses. “I understand you would like an uncontested divorce, correct?”
Blakely looks at me real sad as I look back, probably with the same forlorn stare. Damn, right now, nothing could be further from what I want.
Andy speaks for us. “Yes, your Honor.”
Blakely’s mouth drops into a little frown, tears form, and damned if my eyes aren’t wet, too.
“Very well. Mr. Quinn, to me. You two may go.” The judge dismisses us and we’re led outside the room.
“We flew all the way out here for that?” Blakely says exactly what I’m thinking as I pace outside the brick building.
After a bit, Andy exits and walks over to greet us. “All set. Listen, I need to check out of my hotel. I’ll get in touch as soon as I hear more.”
“No problem. Thank you.” We shake hands and he gives me a wink. What for, I’m not sure.
On the drive back, the silence between me and Blakely is so thick, it threatens to choke us. When she starts to weep, I pull over at the next exit and park in front of a Walmart.
“Babe, what’s wrong?”
She shakes her head and blows her nose but won’t turn her head to look at me. Fuck, she’s the shrink, not me, but it gives me an idea. I lean over her waist and release her seat so she’s almost horizontal, staring at the roof.
“What’re you doing?” She reaches to find the handle but I grab her hand and kiss the tip of her pretty nose.
“Think of me as your psychiatrist. Tell me. What’re you feeling.”
“I am so not doing this.” She sniffs.
“I can sit here all day.” I give her my best don’t-fuck-with-me look.
“Okay, okay. I feel upset.”
I chuckle. “Are you shitting me? We already talked about this. Upset is not an emotion. You can do better than that, doc.”
Blazing eyes shoot me a glare. “Why do you think I went into this field? I studied emotions because I suck at them.”
“Not so. Mel says you’re one of the best psychologists in the city.”
“I’m not talking aboutbeinga psychologist, I’m talking about dealing with myownemotional baggage.”
It’s so true, I can’t hold back a guffaw. “Okay, so like I said, you let me be the doctor. I can get you started… You’re crying so can I assume you’re sad?”
She digs into her purse for another wad of tissue and nods.
“Fine, fine, my little patient. Can you tell me why?”
I pray it’s because she didn’t want a divorce but she surprises me. “Do you ever wish you could go back in time and change everything, starting with your birth?”
Thick blond lashes, wet with tears, search my eyes and I lie. “Sure, I do.” In truth, I never look back because it’s pointless.
