Chasing Sunsets (3 page)

“Ms. Tucker,” Mr. McPherson droned, “allow me to stop you and tell you what I think.”

I immediately became silent.

“What I think we have here is jealousy in its pure and simple form.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but the G.M. raised his hand to stop me. “Don’t say anything else, Ms. Tucker. I have the floor now.” He looked at the papers before him again and then back at me and Charlie. “The two of you are adults—at least I presume you are—and you are the loving parents—which is obvious—of two fine boys. Ms. Tucker, your husband asked for a divorce, which you clearly did not want.” He tapped the papers. “But it seems you didn’t get your way on that. So now you want control over your ex-husband’s whereabouts. What he does and who he does it with. Should I presume you haven’t dated since the divorce?”

My face grew hot. I blinked and willed myself not to cry. Date? Who had time to date with a full-time teaching job, two active sons, a large home to keep up, family who demanded so much time. If weekdays were about work and the boys, weekends were about the house, family, and church. Besides, every male I knew was a pal of Charlie’s; none of them were about to ask me out. “No, I haven’t dated anyone,” I answered.

“Well . . . I think your boys will be just fine with their father during his visitation with them.” He looked at Charlie. “But, Mr. Tucker, I should warn you; these boys are obviously old enough to spill the beans on you and old enough to be molded by what you do. Remember that you do have influence over the character they’ll develop in this life. Make your time with them about them, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You understand what I’m getting at?”

“Absolutely, sir.” Charlie’s voice didn’t quiver at all. I dared to look at him again. His jaw was firmly set.

“Your honor,” Mr. Jansen interrupted, “we’d like to bring up the matter of the countersuit.”

The general magistrate looked from Mr. Jansen to his bailiff, who reached over the expanse of the desk and pointed. Mr. McPherson’s eyes followed the bailiff’s finger, then he picked up a fresh sheet of paper. “What is this about?” He sounded exasperated; I hoped that would be to my benefit.

“If I may,” Charlie began, “my ex-wife managed to keep the boys from me during this past spring break vacation. I’m asking that the week I lost be tacked on to my time with my sons during summer break.”

Mr. McPherson looked at me. “What do you have to say about this?”

I placed my hands on the table and leaned forward. “Our sons told their father they didn’t want to go with him for the week. They had an opportunity to go with my father and stepmother to Cedar Key—they have a house there—and when they asked their dad, he okayed it.”

“Mr. Tucker?”

“That’s not entirely true, your honor. The boys talked to me about it, but I never said it was okay. If they told their mother that, then I guess I’ll have to have a little talk with my sons.”

“Charlie,” I blurted.

“Ms. Tucker . . .”

From behind me I heard Anise’s gentle shushing, like a mother calming her child.

I quieted my mouth and my heart as best I could.

“Mr. Tucker, what happened after you realized your sons would not be joining you for the week?”

Charlie leaned forward and rested his forearms against the table before him. “I called my ex-wife a number of times . . .”

I opened my mouth to protest but refrained.

“I drove past the house, but I didn’t see my wife’s car. I even tried to call Chase on his cell phone, but it always went straight to voice mail. Of course, once I found out that he was in Cedar Key it made sense. Cell service isn’t always good there.”

“Your honor, my ex-husband most assuredly
did
tell our sons that they could go. Our sons are not liars, and I resent the implication that they are.”

“Ms. Tucker, I think we both know that children will tell tall tales to get what they want.”

“Not my sons.”

“Spoken like a true mother. Now, what about Mr. Tucker’s implication that he tried to call you?”

“If he did, my phone never rang. Well, I mean my phone rang, but I have caller ID, and I didn’t see any evidence of him calling the house.”

“I called your cell,” Charlie said.

I looked at him and then back to the general magistrate. “Or my cell phone.”

“It was always off. You can’t say your phone registers calls when it’s off. Your phone is just like mine, remember? And I know mine doesn’t.”

“Then why didn’t you leave a message? Or call the house?”

“Ms. Tucker . . .”

“I’m sorry, sir. This is the kind of thing he is notorious for doing.”

Charlie chuckled quietly beside me. “Notorious . . .”

“Mr. Tucker, keep your comments to yourself, please.”

I turned back to see Charlie’s reaction. Mr. Jansen’s look warned Charlie to be quiet. Charlie nodded.

“Now, Mr. Tucker, what do you say to this?”

Charlie raised his hands, then dropped them. “I’m sorry, your honor. I didn’t leave a message because I was married to my wife for sixteen years—my ex-wife, excuse me—and I know her.” He looked at me, then quietly added, “Probably better than she knows herself. She turns off her phone so she can say there was no communication thereby keeping herself innocent in all this.”

I shook my head. I knew this tactic and I knew it well. He attempted to show the G.M. his tender side. That he loved me. Or had loved me very much at one time. As I had loved him.

“As for the house, like I said, I drove by and didn’t see her car in the driveway so I assumed she was with the boys and her parents.”

“My car . . .” I started to say to Charlie, then turned to the front. “My car was in the garage, your honor.”

“Mr. Tucker?”

Again Charlie raised his hands and dropped them. “We always parked in the driveway.”

“Before the divorce, yes. After, no. With Mr. Tucker’s stuff gone—which took up every square foot of space in the garage—I am now able to park in the garage.”

“All right,” Mr. McPherson said. “I’m ready to rule on this. Mr. Tucker, would you like to make up the time you lost?”

“I would, sir.”

“All right, then. Ms. Tucker, I am ruling on behalf of Mr. Tucker on this issue.”

I felt my heart sink to my stomach, my legs turn to rubber.

“Mr. Tucker, when does your summer visitation begin?”

“Next Monday, your honor.”

“Then let the record show we are extending his four weeks to five beginning next Monday, May 31st, and concluding . . .” He looked at his assistant.

“Five weeks is Monday the 5th of July.”

Mr. McPherson looked at Charlie. “Bring them home on Sunday evening, typically?”

“Yes, sir, 6:00. But that’s the fourth and a holiday.”

“Then we’ll make it Monday the 5th at 6:00. And Mr. Tucker, I do not want to hear that you spent these weeks with women while your boys spent time with your parents. Spend the time with your sons, you hear me? This time is precious, and believe me, it’ll be over soon enough.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ms. Tucker, I take it you won’t try anything to keep him from his sons.”

I started to protest. I’d not done that . . .
ever
. But to say so would only be spouting words into the air. I merely shook my head.

“Court is dismissed then. You are free to leave.”

Forty minutes after my being sworn in, Heather, Anise, and I stood by Anise’s car—a glacier pearl Nissan Murano—staring at one another as though in shock. I pretended not to notice when Charlie and Mr. Jansen walked across the parking lot, Charlie strutting like a peacock to his car, which he’d parked right next to mine. I kept my eyes focused on a crepe myrtle, though peripherally I could see all I needed to. I heard the chirp-chirp of the car’s alarm system being deactivated and the car door click open.

“Tell my sons I’ll call them later tonight,” he called out.

I turned my face from the sound of his voice, my chin to my shoulder. “Oh, God,” I whispered to the asphalt below my feet. “How could this have happened?”

Heather cleared her throat, and I looked at her just in time to hear Charlie’s car purring to life. “What?” I asked, the word barely making it past the knot in my throat.

She looked down at her watch. “I hate to commiserate and run, but I’ve
got
to get back home before the kids do and . . .”

I looked at her hands. They trembled.

I nodded. “I understand. Thank you for being here.” My voice cracked over my last words.

My sister wrapped her arms around me and squeezed. “It’s going to be all right, you hear me? We’ll spend the entire five weeks pampering ourselves. We’ll go shopping and we’ll lunch together. We’ll lay out by my pool every day and we’ll get manis and pedis once a week.” She drew back, cupped my face in her still shaking fingers, and said, “And for one whole week we’ll go to the beach. My treat.” Then she blushed. “Well, mine and Andre’s.”

I nodded. Bless her for this, even though I knew it would never happen. Not all of it anyway.

“Okay, then.” She leaned over and kissed the side of my mouth. “I love you. You know that, right?”

I nodded again. Then she turned, said a brisk “good-bye” to Anise, and was on her way.

I collapsed against the Murano. “What am I going to do?” I asked as the sobs overtook me.

Anise immediately took the place Heather had occupied earlier. In the arms of my sister I felt loved, but in Anise’s I felt safe. “You will begin by coming to the house for dinner tonight.”

I shook my head. “I can’t, Anise. I can’t.”

Anise took me by my shoulders and shook them ever so gently. “Yes, you can. Your father insists upon it.” The way she said “insists” made it sound more a command than a kind invitation.

“When did he say that?” I asked between tears.

“Earlier today. He said that no matter what happened today, he wanted you and the boys to come to dinner.” She kissed the side of my head. “And so you shall.” She linked her arm with mine then escorted me to my car. “Where are the boys?”

“Home, I presume. Unless they went to a friend’s to play.” My chest heaved several times. “Oh, Anise, how am I going to tell them?”

We’d reached the car then, and she pressed me against it as if to let go would be the worst possible thing to do. “Tell them what, Kimberly? That they’ll be spending time with their father this summer?” Her gray eyes stared firmly into mine. “Charlie may not be thinking clearly, but he won’t hurt them. Not physically, anyway. You talk with them before they go and be sure to speak with them after. Any emotional damage you’ll just have to deal with. That sounds awful, but it’s the way of it.” She sighed. “Kim, you’ve raised them well. They’re good boys. You’ll see. They’ll be fine.” She smiled. “Besides, give Charlie enough rope, and he’ll hang himself.”

I blinked the final tears away from my eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, if he is as much of a playboy as I suspect he is, then he’ll soon grow tired of two boys underfoot.”

I gave a half-smile. “True.”

“I think the judge in there was pretty direct in his order that he spend five whole weeks with Chase and Cody. Now, who do you think will be more anxious for them to come home? You or him?”

And with that, I giggled, though my heart was shattering into a million fragmented pieces.

One thing I would say on Charlie’s behalf: he’d given me remarkable sons. They were very much the image of their father, in stature and in coloring, though Cody’s hair was streaked with blond, like mine. Over the years family members had teased, saying, “If you hadn’t carried them, we’d be surprised to hear they were yours at all.”

But they were mine. They were my heart. My reason for getting up in the morning, for going to work every day, for coming home at night. They were my reason for breathing, especially since their father had left our—at one time—perfect family.

Thinking of them, and thinking back over the sixteen years of my marriage, I wondered—I wondered
again
—what I had done wrong. Where I’d failed as a wife to Charlie.

It had all been so idyllic. We’d met at the Christmas party of a mutual friend my junior year of college. At six-three, Charlie towered over nearly everyone else in the festive and warm room. I’d noticed him immediately, and he was equally drawn to me. Or so it seemed at the time. We wondered how we could have not met each other until then, but thanked God that he’d brought us to each other when he did. During that Christmas break we were nearly inseparable. No matter where we went, our dates were spent talking. Talking about everything. I shared things that were from the deepest parts of myself. He did the same. By the time I’d returned to college, we’d met each other’s families and decided to be exclusive.

At Easter, Charlie—already employed by his family business—snuck a simple one-carat diamond ring into one of the plastic eggs in the basket my mother had sentimentally placed at the foot of my bed while I slept. The next morning, Charlie joined us for breakfast before services so he’d be with me as I explored the treasures snuggled in the Easter grass. He grinned as he pointed to first one egg and then another. “What’s in that one, Miss Boo?” he’d ask, using the name that always earned him a smile. “What about this one?” until finally he pointed to the egg holding the ring.

With the opening of a plastic egg, we were engaged. And then, that year when the church was decorated spectacularly for Christmas, my father escorted me down the long aisle of the First United Methodist Church where, with me in a gown fit for a princess and the two of us surrounded by family and friends, we’d pledged our lives, our love, and our loyalty, each to the other. For a lifetime.

Or so I thought.

My sons were waiting at the door leading from the garage and into the house. Their faces were expectant . . . and handsome. Our golden retriever, Max, stood between them. I opened the car door and climbed out, deciding to leave the files where they were for the time being.

“Well?” Chase said.

I forced a smile as I walked toward them. “Let’s go inside, okay?”

Cody looked pensive. “Does that mean you lost?”

As if my heart could break more than it already had, it fractured one more time. I placed my hands on their shoulders and turned them toward the inside of the house. “All I want to do right now is get out of these shoes. We’ll talk in my room. Deal?”

Both boys hung their heads as we rounded the corner of the hallway leading to the in-law suite and then came into the foyer. Our footsteps and Max’s pawsteps echoed on the polished oak flooring and up to the high ceiling. With me between my sons, we took the stairs one at a time. “What did you two get into while I was gone?”

“I went to Jared’s for a while.” I looked at my son. At fourteen, Chase was beginning to show signs of manhood. Fuzz on his chin and over his lips. A deepening in his voice. Hair in the pit of his arms.

“And what about you, Cody?” I ruffled the soft, straight hair that crowned his head like a halo.

He shrugged. “Read mostly.”

“Good book?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“Not really,” he answered with a shrug.

We stepped from the curving staircase and sank into the plush carpet leading to the bedrooms and the room Charlie once used as a home office. An entire year and a few months since he left and I’d done nothing more than close its door. Anise insisted we turn it into a room where the boys could gather with their friends—especially as they got older, she said—but I wasn’t sure I wanted a bunch of teenagers that close to our bedroom.

My
bedroom. The master suite I’d once shared in passion with my husband.
Ex-
husband.

My sons followed me into the room I’d redecorated after Charlie’s departure. Before, it had been a reflection of our lives together. Now, it was a picture of my attempt at independence. I sold the mahogany bedroom set Charlie picked out for us and replaced it with a contemporary taupe upholstered platform bed with matching dark-wood retro furniture. I pulled up the carpet and had hardwood floors laid. The only accessories were milk glass; the only framed artwork for the walls was 16-by-20 framed black-and-whites of my sons—taken by my mother at the house in Cedar Key when Chase was a toddler and Cody a newborn.

Those pictures would stay with me forever; they were her last gift to me.

My sons ran to the bed and plopped on top of it while Max found his place at the foot of the bed. He curled around himself once before plopping to the floor with a sigh. “I’ll be right back,” I said, then slipped into the dressing room. Minutes later I was wrapped in an ankle-length cotton robe tied off at the waist. I joined the boys in the middle of the bed and tucked my feet up under me.

“Okay,” I said with a sigh. “Cody, there’s no winning or losing with this.”

“What does that mean?” he asked.

“It means that you boys will spend five weeks with your father this summer—”

“Five?” Chase was quick to realize an extra week had been added. “How did
that
happen?”

I wasn’t about to tell my sons that their father lied in court, that the extra week was because of the spring break fiasco. If they found out, it would be from Charlie. “Well, I told the judge everything we’ve talked about . . . about how Dad dates when you’d rather he be hanging out with you guys,” I answered. “And the judge—who is very smart—told your dad to behave and to enjoy his time with you.” I closed my eyes. They burned from the stress of the day. “I’m sure,” I said, opening them again, “your father has learned his lesson and will be more attentive to you from now on.”

“Like before?” Cody asked. “When we all lived here as a family?”

“Yes,” I said. I leaned over and kissed his soft cheek. “Like before.”

Chase’s shoulders slumped. “We’ll never be a family . . . it’ll never be like it was before.”

I sat up straight. “That’s not true, Chase. Your dad will always be your father. And I will always be your mother. And you and Cody will always be brothers. That makes us a family.”

Cody’s bottom lip trembled. “But what if Dad marries one of those girls he’s always going out with? What if they have babies?”

I cupped his chin in my hand. “Don’t worry, sweetheart.” Quite honestly, it was all I knew to say. The idea of Charlie remarrying never occurred to me.

Chase, who was more man than boy, it seemed, slid off the bed and faced me. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Well,” I said, joining him. I extended my hand to Cody. “First, Mom is going to take a bath.”

“Get that courtroom smell off ya?” my youngest asked.

I touched the tip of his nose with my finger. “Yes. In the meantime, you boys go wash up. We’re going to Pop’s and Nana’s for dinner.”

“Cool,” Cody exclaimed.

Chase crossed his arms. “Mom, you know what I mean. When do we have to go to Dad’s?”

“You
get
to go to your father’s on Monday. You’ll be back the 5th of July.”

I watched his face as he calculated the days. Resigned, he said, “Let’s go, Code.”

“’Kay.” Cody’s shoulders slumped as he trudged toward my bedroom door. He was halfway to his room by the time Chase reached the hallway.

“Chase?” I called after him.

He turned, placed his hand on the door frame, and said, “Yeah, Mom?”

I walked the distance separating us. “Listen. The judge said that Dad isn’t supposed to spend his five weeks with other women, leaving you guys with your grandparents. In other words, Dad has to be present and active in these five weeks. I figure he’ll have you at work with him during the days, but the nights belong to you and Cody, you hear me?”

He nodded.

“I want you to promise me that you’ll call me every chance you get. Let me know everything is going as it should, okay?”

Chase smiled as though he’d been chosen top man for a secret mission. “Got it, Mom.”

The knot in my throat grew a little larger. “I love you, son.”

With that, he slipped his arms around my waist—my son, who is as tall as me—and whispered, “I love you too.”

Anise’s meals were healthy. Fresh vegetables—deliciously prepared with proper seasoning—were practically the centerpiece of the dinner table. In the years since she married Dad, I’d never seen anything but poultry and fish on the meat platter.

And never fried.

For some reason, despite being typical boys, my sons loved eating Anise’s food. If I prepared the same dishes, they would balk, but in Anise’s kitchen a freshly snapped string bean was like shoestring fries. So, as soon as we arrived, they bounded toward the kitchen to see what needed to be done in final preparation.

I, on the other hand, went to my father’s den, where I knew he’d be, where he’d always gone after a long day of taking care of everyone else’s children. For the hour between his arriving home and the dinner meal, Dad stayed secluded in the masculine warmth of his own cave. Mom used to say he was decompressing. Heather joked that he was decomposing. I just counted the minutes until he emerged so I could feel his arms around me, his masculine strength blending with the feminine love Mom brought into every room she ever graced with her presence.

I tapped on the rich wood of the six-paneled door as I swallowed hard. “Dad?”

My father’s baritone voice called out, “Come in.”

I cracked the door open and peeked in. Dad sat in his favorite easy chair, legs stretched out with his stocking feet crossed at the ankles and resting on the ottoman. His reading glasses were perched on his nose. A medical journal was spread loosely by the fingertips of his hands. The years had barely touched him. Even now, with the evening sunlight streaming in from the window beside him, he looked more sixty than seventy.

He gave me his best “I heard all about it” look. I tucked my chin to my chest and slipped inside, closed the door, and leaned against it.

“Hey, Boo,” he said. “Come sit.”

I looked up to see him push the ottoman an inch or two forward before placing his feet on the floor.

I did as I was told.

“Anise told me what happened.”

I kept my eyes on my hands. “It was brutal, Dad.”

“She also said Charlie lied to the judge.”

I looked up at my father. “I don’t want the boys to know.”

Dad leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees. “Not telling them is the right thing to do.”

I felt a couple of tears slip down my cheeks. “What I don’t understand is why Charlie is so angry with me. What did I do wrong? I was a good wife. A good mother.”
As perfect as you’ve always expected me to be. As I’ve always expected of myself.