The Good Mother by Sue Miller

Author:Sue Miller
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Literary, Contemporary Fiction, Classics, Literary Fiction, Literature & Fiction
Publisher: Harper Perennial
Published: 2016-03-08T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

WHEN I CALLED MY LAWYER ON MONDAY, he was reassuring. This kind of thing happened all the time, he said. Threats about custody, they were like a post-divorce sport. It would probably turn out that Brian was negotiating for something—less money, more time, something like that—and was introducing the issue of custody as a red herring, just to soften me up.

“What I’d do if I were you,” he said, “is just go on about my business. You planning to go down there on Friday? Go on down there. My guess is no one’ll say anything about any of this. The name of the game is intimidation.”

“So you wouldn’t worry about it?” I asked. I hadn’t told him about Leo, and I was glad it seemed that now I wouldn’t have to.

“I sure as hell wouldn’t,” he said. “In these kind of situations, don’t worry about a thing till you’re holding the papers in your hand. You get some kind of papers, then you call me back and we’ll worry together. That’s what I’m here for.”

He was a heavyset, avuncular man, balding and oddly graceful in small things. I had met him only once, during the divorce proceedings, when I went downtown to his office to review the agreement with him. He had urged a few changes; had acted frustrated by my unresponsiveness. “You’re not really getting your money’s worth out of me,” he’d said, shaking his big head. And I’d felt almost apologetic that I didn’t want more from Brian.

He had come with me out to the elevator when I left, and as I watched him walk away, I was struck by his gait, something dainty and controlled in it, as though before he put on all the weight he’d been a dancer, an athlete.

I told Leo that Muth thought it was all right, didn’t think we should worry.

“You told him about the thing with Molly,” he said.

“No, but he said that it was most likely just a threat, anyway, that Brian would turn out to be working out something else, like less money or something.”

“But you didn’t tell him what happened,” he persisted.

“Do you want to call him back?” I burst out. “I don’t think we need to worry about it.”

He looked at me. I’d been awake and dressed long before he’d gotten up, and had called the lawyer promptly at eight-thirty. We hadn’t touched or kissed this morning. We’d moved around the kitchen getting our separate breakfasts, doing our separate chores, like an old married couple sunk deep in habitual solitude, but without that sense of comfort or familiarity.

“No, fine,” he said. He was sitting at the table, wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing when we made love the night before. His white skin was puffy around his eyes. “Whatever you say.”

“I say let’s forget it,” I said angrily.

“I hope we can.”

On Wednesday morning, I was sitting alone in the living room in my nightgown—Leo was still asleep—when the guy came with the papers. As soon as the doorbell rang I knew what it was.

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