A Woman's Place: A Novel (22 page)

"Sent you off? It's my understanding that you were the one who instigated this trip. Wasn't it for your business?"

"What I meant," I said with an apologetic smile, "was that he was there all the time I was getting ready to leave, kissed the children, kissed me, stood on the porch and waved good-bye. He was totally pleasant. I had no idea what he was planning."

"It's my understanding that he wasn't planning anything. Not then. He gave you slack, what with your mother sick. Then came the mix-ups with the children's flight and your daughter's medicine. What with things that had happened before, he saw a pattern emerging and felt compelled to act."

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So he had read Dennis's affidavit. I wondered if he had read mine as well.

"I think he had this planned earlier," I said quietly.

"Do you have evidence of it?"

"Phone bills. Dennis has been calling his lawyer since last January." Jenovitz frowned, stuck the pipe in his mouth, and pushed some papers around. "There's nothing about that in your affidavit."

"No. I only went through the bills last night. It's been bothering me how Dennis has been so calm through everything that's happened. I had no idea a separation was coming, but he took it completely in stride. The only thing that made sense was that he had time to get used to the idea. I guess he has."

"It's my understanding that he's been mentioning divorce to you for months."

"Not divorce. Separation, and we always decided against it."

"You decided, says your husband. He raised it, you argued against it, he went along."

That was one way of putting it, I supposed.

Jenovitz asked, "Why did you argue against it if he seemed so unhappy?"

"He didn't. At least, not with our marriage. He was unhappy with work. That spilled over into other things. He would say that I didn't understand him, or that he didn't have enough freedom. He never once said that he didn't love me, or that he loved someone else, or that he was going to file for divorce whether I liked it or not."

"So you were taken by surprise. Are you acclimated now to divorce?" "I guess so. Yes."

He studied me for a minute, before saying, "That's a fast turnaround. How long has it been since the court order was issued?" The discussion wasn't going the way I wanted it to. Quiet and humble, in an attempt to appease, I said, "Ten days, and I didn't want to accept it. I did everything I could to get it reversed, but Dennis wouldn't budge. I suggested we talk. I suggested we stay in the house, both of us, and try to work things out. Dennis wouldn't hear of it, and the court went along. The judge wouldn't even give us a hearing on the Motion for Reconsideration. Now you're involved in the case." I frowned.

"I'm confused. Are you suggesting we should reconcile?"

"No. My job is to make a recommendation with regard to custody. The assumption is that this case will end up in divorce."

"Whose assumption?"

"The court's. Certainly your husband's, since he initiated the suit."

"That's right." I made my point. "He did, not me, and the court is standing behind him. Divorce isn't my choice, but every other door has been shut to me. I don't see any option. My husband doesn't want me. He's made that clear. So what am I supposed to do?" Page 113

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"Most women would be mourning."

"I am. I lie in bed at night and feel empty. I wake up in the morning and feel hurt. I think of what was good in my marriage. It had potential. That doesn't seem true anymore. I feel sadness. And regret." I didn't know what else to say, so I didn't say a thing. But neither did he, just sat there studying me, and I couldn't take it after a while. So, with a tight laugh and a hand through my hair, I said, "I'm sorry, Dr. Jenovitz. I think I'm flunking this test. I'm trying to be up front, but clearly you aren't impressed. I don't know what it is that you want to hear."

Still he didn't speak.

So I said, "Maybe I should be falling apart. Some women would be, I guess. I know."

His brows went up. He didn't ask how I knew, but the question was there, along with that painful silence.

I ended it by explaining, "My mother fell apart. My father died suddenly, no warning at all, not a day of ill health before that. I was eight, my sister was six. Mom panicked. Didn't know what to. Didn't do anything. For weeks."

"That must have been hard on you."

"I did what I could."

"You were only eight. What could you do?"

"Help with my sister. Keep her busy. Help around the house."

"What kept you from panicking yourself?"

"Ignorance, probably." I smiled ruefully, recalling the extent of it. "I didn't understand what it meant to have him gone. Oh, I missed him. But I was too young to see the broad picture."

"Do you see the broad picture now?"

"Of his death?"

"Of divorce. Isn't that what we're dealing with here?" He didn't like me. I had known he wouldn't, and he didn't. Did I see the broad picture? Oh, God, more and more by the second, and it was scaring me to death. "Yes, we're dealing with divorce. And yes, I see the broad picture."

"Describe it to me."

I touched my mouth, wanting to protest. He was asking me to voice thoughts and fears that were still so new as to be raw. Either he wanted to see how insightful I was, or he was, plain and simple, a sadist. I hated him a little just then, but didn't dare refuse.

"The broad picture of divorce?" I asked, placing my hand in my lap with care. "It means that the intact family I always wanted is no more. That one of us will miss some of the children's special times. Holidays and family celebrations will be split up. Birthdays. Graduations. The kids will be torn. Pulled in two directions at once." Page 114

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"That didn't happen on Halloween."

"No. They did okay on Halloween, but maybe that's just because this is still so new. Like when my father died. My ignorance. Maybe they're experiencing the same thing right now. What'H happen when they're older and they understand more?"

"They may do just fine."

"I hope so."

"Do you?" he asked.

For an instant I couldn't respond. Then, sharply, I asked, "Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, you are the one who is against this divorce. Some mothers in your situation would make everyone involved miserable."

"I love my children," I protested. "No one, not even my husband, can deny that. Hurting them has been my single greatest fear. I'd have done most anything to have spared them the confusion, the upset, the pain of divorce, but now that it seems inevitable. I'll do most anything I can to ease them through it."

"The question," Jenovitz said before I had taken another breath, "is whether you're of a sound mind to do that. That's what I'm trying to find out, Mrs. Raphael. You may not like my questions, but the court expects me to ask them. I'm doing my job as best I can." I held my tongue, didn't say a thing, let him wallow in the silence this time. But he didn't seem to mind it as much as I did. Barely a minute had passed before I said, albeit calmly, even agreeably, "I'm sorry. Ask whatever you want. I promise to answer as best I can." He drew on his pipe, exhaled a thick stream of smoke. "You do fly off the handle."

"Not normally. Really, I don't. I've always been the calm one in the house. I've had to be to counter Dennis's moods." I was hoping he would pick up on that and ask more, but he didn't. "Your husband says you're under a great deal of strain."

"Only because of the divorce. I wasn't before. I was handling things just fine."

"Your mother's condition has to be stressful."

"Well, it's another thing to think about. To worry about. The stress I'm feeling comes from wanting to fly out to see her but fearing that it'll be held against me, that someone will think that because I'm absent, I'm negligent. The thing is, it's normal for a husband or wife to leave the children with the other to spend time with a dying parent." Jenovitz shrugged. "You're free to go."

"Last time someone said that to me, I came home to chaos."

"But was the chaos of your own doing? You've taken on a great deal, Mrs. Raphael. The question is whether you're up to it. Your husband says no."

"The chaos had nothing to do with my visiting my mother." I pointed at Page 115

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his file. "Those examples my husband uses to show I'm not in control are the kinds of things that happen to people all the time. Good Lord, could have been the one going to court to show that my husband messed up the kids' arrival times and lost my daughter's medicine, or, worse, let her eat something she shouldn't have eaten. Would the court have taken the kids away from him for that?"

Jenovitz gave a smoky sigh. "You know that's simplifying the situation. There were additional elements in the complaint. Besides, your husband's life is simpler. You're the one running every which way trying to do everything."

My stomach was starting to twist. The office wasn't large, and the air was thick. I was feeling more discouraged by the minute. He regarded me speculatively.

Quietly, I said, "I'm not running every which way. I have my sister to help with my mother, my husband to help with the children, and my CEO to help with the business."

He nodded. His eyes moved down the paper before him and stopped. His tongue ticked around the stem of his pipe. "Tell me about the CEO."

"His name is Brody Parth," I said. "He was my husband's business partner before he became mine. He is godfather to both of our children."

"Are you sexually involved with him?"

"No."

The pipe left his mouth. "That's an unequivocal no?"

"An unequivocal no."

The pipe went back in. "Why does your husband say you are?"

"You'd have to ask him that."

"I did. He showed me pictures."

"That picture was taken from outside Brody's kitchen window the night Dennis had me evicted. I was upset. Brody hugged me. He was a friend offering comfort. That's it."

"There are telephone records. There are hotel records. They're pretty suggestive." "So are the ones between Dennis and his lawyer. He works with Phoebe Lowe far more than with Art Heuber."

"Are you changing the subject?"

"No. I'm making a point."

"Making a point, or trying to justify your relationship with Brody Parth?"

"Making a point. There's no more proof that I'm having an affair with Brody than there is that Dennis is having an affair with Phoebe. I don't see why I'm being accused, and he isn't."

Jenovitz sat like a rock, staring at me.

"Look," I said, frustrated, "Brody is my CEO. That explains telephone Page 116

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and hotel records. He's also a long-time friend, which explains the hug he gave me, and the amount of time he always spent at our house. Brody was like a member of the family. Having an affair with him would have been like committing incest." But Jenovitz claimed to have seen pictures, plural. To my knowledge, only one had been presented in court.

"Have you already met with Dennis?"

"I saw him last Friday."

Ahhh. In the slot I might have had myself. I wondered how that had happened, wondered when I would get first dibs for a change.

"Does that bother you?" the psychologist asked.

"No." I looked at the bright side. "I'm glad he came in. I was worried he'd try to hold things up. Thanksgiving is less than a month away. I'm hoping this will be resolved by then."

Jenovitz sat back in his chair, sucked in on his pipe, and studied the ceiling.

"Will it?" I asked nervously. I had to believe there was a limit to what the court was making me endure. Totally aside from the motions that Carmen swore she would file until we won, she said the GAL had thirty days. I was counting. "Is there anything I can do to make it happen faster?" I asked when he didn't speak. Then, with an anxious laugh,

"This is very painful for me."

"Understandable. It's a situation that you can't control." That was quite a statement, it was direct and judgmental. I didn't know whether it came from his own observation, or from Dennis. In either case, I disagreed. "It isn't about control. It's about being without my children. It's about having my every move watched. It's about not knowing what the future holds."

"It's about control."

I gave him the benefit of the doubt. "Maybe," I conceded, "but not in a negative way. It's not about controlling people. It's about controlling me, about determining what I do, about deciding on a course of action and seeing it through. It's about being in control of, yes, okay, the situation. I've been doing that since I was eight. I did it then, because no one else was doing it, and someone had to. I did it during my marriage, because Dennis wasn't doing it, and someone had to. Is that wrong?"

"Not unless it holds other people back."

"It hasn't. At least, I don't think it has. No, how could it? I'm a booster. I boost Dennis's ego, boost the kids' egos. I've taught them they can take control and be anything they want to be. How can that possibly hold them back?"

"It can backfire. If you tell the children they can be anything they want, and then your son doesn't make a team or your daughter doesn't get the part she wants in a play, they can feel they've let you down." I was shaking my head well before he was done. "They wouldn't feel that. I wouldn't let them. We talk, my kids and I. We talk about feelings." I was vehement about that. It was one of the things I had missed as a child and had vowed my own children would have, an open ear, unconditional support. I didn't want either of them suffering the way Page 117

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Rona did.

"Your son isn't talking."

"Not yet. Mainly because I'm not there. He's used to talking with me, but it's hard to push a button and suddenly get into deep emotional talks with a child when the court limits you to two visits a week. Dennis is with him more than I am. He'd have more opportunity to talk with Johnny. I don't know if he has. Heart-to-heart talks were never his long suit."

"He says the boy is tense and won't open up."

"The boy is angry." I was angry myself. In my wildest nightmares, this wasn't what I wanted for Johnny. "He thinks I've abandoned him. That's what the court has done to us."

Jenovitz set the pipe in his ashtray. "A word of caution, Mrs. Raphael. That kind of attitude can be harmful to a child. He'll pick up on your resentment in a flash."

"Not if I don't let it show. I haven't said a word to him against the court, or against my husband. I'm very careful."

"But you do resent the court's judgment?"

"What kind of parent would I be if I didn't? My place is with my children, not exiled from my home."

"According to your husband, you're quite happy in your new home."

"Happy? There are moments when I like where I am. But, happy? No. I'm making the best of a bad situation. That's what I'm trying to say. That's what I do in life."

He nodded. "It's one way of feeling in control." Okay, so I liked feeling in control. "Is that so awful? Excuse me, Dr. Jenovitz, but I'm getting mixed signals here. Isn't it my alleged lack of control that got me into trouble in the first place?" A bell rang. The psychologist's next client was announcing his arrival, just as I had mine an hour before. I had been hoping for more time--the longer we talked, the sooner the study would be done. But Jenovitz was emptying his pipe of ash with one hand and flipping through his datebook with the other. "How's your schedule?"

"Wide open."

"Same time next week?"

"I'll come in again this week, if you'd like."

"No. This is a good slot for me." He made a notation. I moved forward in my chair, but didn't rise. "How many times will we meet, do you think?"

"Three, four, depending on how things progress." He stood. "Next time, bring me a list of the children's teachers, coaches, doctors, any other adults who know them well. Names and phone numbers, please." Page 118

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"Do you meet with them?"

"A phone call will usually do." He moved toward the door. "I may want a written report from the school. I'll see."

"When will you talk with Kikit and Johnny?"

"When I know more about you and your husband." He opened the door and waited beside it.

Gathering my coat, I approached him. The door wasn't the one I had used before, but led directly to the stairwell, apparently to save the current client the awkwardness of seeing the coming client. So there was no one to hear what I said. Still, I lowered my voice.

"They don't know about you. What should I

say?" "Nothing for now."

"They don't know there's a contest here."

"That's fine."

"I don't want them fearing they have to take sides."

"And you think I'll make them choose, one parent or another? No, Mrs. Raphael. I won't do that. Credit me with a little sensitivity. Please?" I wanted to do that, truly I did, but driving home from Boston, I struggled with it. If Dean Jenovitz was sensitive, I hadn't seen evidence of it. He hadn't been warm or understanding, hadn't been encouraging or solicitous. He must have known I was nervous, yet he hadn't tried to put me at ease. He certainly hadn't tried to hide his opinion of me.

"Take heart," Carmen told me when I called from the car. "If he heard the worst from Dennis, that's fine. He'll get great reports from the people he calls. They know you far more than they know Dennis, and they like you. It's uphill from here."

"He didn't seem particularly upset by what's been done to me. He didn't seem overly committed to justice."

"His focus will be the children."

"Can I trust him with them?"

"Yes. He's better with kids than adults. The grandfather in him comes out. Good thinking to ask how to tell John and Kikit about him. He'll give you advice, and give you points for asking." I hadn't done it for the sake of points, and was feeling vaguely sick, though how much of that was still from Jenovitz's pipe I didn't know. "I can't tell you how distasteful this is to me, Carmen. It's like a game--timing, strategy, calculated moves--only the ante is my life."

"I know. And I apologize if I make it sound petty. It's not." She paused. "So Jenovitz didn't pick up on Dennis and Phoebe?"

"No. He turned it around and said I was accusing Dennis of something to justify my affair with Brody. I need proof. How do I get it?"

"We get it. We hire Morgan Houser. He's a private investigator, and he's Page 119

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good. He'll find out if they're currently having an affair. That's easy. It may be harder to prove that they were involved before the separation, though proof of that will help us the most."

It would definitely boost our case. I wasn't sure it would boost my morale. I cringed thinking of Dennis in bed with another woman. Now or before, it didn't matter.

My silence must have tipped Carmen off. More quietly, she said, "If proof is there, we need it. Selwey agreed to hear the Motion to Recuse, but his clerk says he isn't happy about it. No judge likes being accused of bias. My guess is that the hearing will be a token one." Still, it was a hearing. My spirits rose. "When?"

"Thursday morning at ten."

"I'll be there."

"I have a meeting scheduled with Art Heuber later that day to talk about what Dennis wants by way of a settlement. We could use a bargaining chip. Proof of Dennis's infidelity would give us that." Proof like that smacked of blackmail. Yes, Dennis had used much the same against me, but I resented having to stoop to his level. It would be another instance where I was being forced to be someone I didn't like at all.

Such irony. I was a peace-loving soul newly prone to fist-clenching rage, a level-headed person newly prone to the shakes, an optimist newly prone to dread. They had accused me of being someone I wasn't, and in so doing made me into someone I wasn't. It wasn't any more fair than the whole custody situation was fair.

Ahh. The custody situation. The bottom line. I might resist using blackmail to strike a better alimony deal, but when it came to the children, I would use it in a heartbeat.