Slapping him across the face and screaming Liar would probably not be the best thing to do, considering I wanted him to sign the papers, but I swear I almost did it. Because he was a crappy, crappy person.
Instead I opened the folder with all the paperwork, my stomach dancing a jitterbug. But I felt very determined to try to proceed with our plan. I wasn’t money hungry, but I was irritated at Scott. Okay, more than irritated. I was incensed that he was going to steal from me and our daughter. That he was so selfish that he would leave me, skip town, and shower our resources on Stephanie like we meant nothing to him. So this was about winning. About rocking his damned boat. “I have some papers here for you to sign. Jackie filed the divorce papers, and these are your copies on top. The first document to sign is a waiver of service, which says that I gave you a copy of the divorce petition. Beneath it are a few others regarding our communal property and stuff like that.”
Scott pressed his hands in the air, eyeing my stack of papers. “Okay, yes, I will do what I can to make this easy for us both, but I don’t feel comfortable signing all those documents today. I’m going to need some time to read through them. To get an attorney.”
I closed the folder, anger creeping up inside. “Okay, then. If that’s how you want to play it. If you want a fight, we can do that. Jackie seems like a real tiger. I made sure of that before I signed for her representation.”
“Wait, I didn’t say that I want to fight the divorce. I’m just saying give me a little time.”
Scott hated a social scene, even at a place like the Bullpen. “Fine. Whatever.”
“Come on, Cricket.”
“What?” I said angrily, raising my voice, brushing tears away. “What can I say? All those years, Scott. Things were off but not irreparable. We could have worked it out, but you didn’t give us the chance. And a tennis coach? Really, Scott? She’s, like, fifteen years younger than you. You did what my dad did to my mom, and you know how much therapy it took to get me over that. I am just now on decent terms with my father.”
“I’m sorry, Cricket,” he said, and he actually sounded like he meant it. “I didn’t intend for it to happen. I promise you.”
I crossed my arms and turned my head, brushing at the tears. I felt Griffin change tables behind me. He had just moved closer, the way we had planned. Scott jerked his gaze toward that area, and tension flashed across his face. A niggle of worry in those blue eyes gave me a trill of accomplishment. It was working.
Now I just had to get him off-balance so I could urge him to sign the documents.
“Oh,” I said, snapping my fingers and then digging into my bag, “I meant to give this to you this morning but forgot. Julia Kate said some guy gave this to her and asked her to give it to you.”
He set down the beer he’d just sipped, glanced again at Griffin, and then took the envelope. “Wait, where did some guy approach Julia Kate?”
“She said he just came up to her when she was walking home from a friend’s house. Probably one of the pool guys or something. But since that’s your project, I thought I would hand it over to you.”
He looked at the envelope, his brow furrowing. “Sure. Thanks.”
“So obviously we need a plan for you to move out.”
“Yeah.” His eyes stayed on the envelope, and I could tell it worried him. As it damned well should have. But he made no move to pick it up and look at the contents.
“I’m going to grab a Sweet’N Low. Be right back.” I slid off the stool and walked to the bar where Dak visited with a few customers. I waited for him to finish a conversation about the Saints’ potential quarterback and then asked for a packet. I wanted Scott to have enough time to open the envelope, because it looked like he wasn’t going to do it with me sitting across from him. As I passed Griffin, who wore motorcycle boots and a shirt that showcased his bulk and tats, I cast a quick look. He gave me a slight nod.
All was well.
I sat back on the stool, ripped open the pink packet, and stirred it into my already-sweet tea. Scott had definitely opened the envelope, and it had hit him where he needed to be hit. His hands seemed unsteady as he grabbed his beer and downed it.
“I need to go. We can talk more tonight,” he said.
“So you’re coming home?”
“I think I should. For Julia Kate.” Bingo. You should come home for her. Because your creepy business partner is threatening to harm your innocent, beautiful child who has nothing to do with any of this crap you brought on to us.
“Okay, but before you go, I need you to sign the waiver. The rest are things dealing with insurances, the house mortgage, and oh, this one here lists our cars and how much remains on each loan. It’s all just stuff that indicates what property we own together.” I shifted through some of the papers. “Oh, and this one, this one is a statement saying that we elect to not do counseling. This one is for bringing in an advocate for Julia Kate specifically. Nothing legally binding, of course. Here’s a pen.”
I heard the scuff of the chair behind me, and Scott’s eyes jerked to Griffin. “There’s a guy. He’s at a table behind you. I think I’ve seen him before.”
“Who?” I said loudly, acting like I would turn my head.
“No, stop.” Scott patted the table, looking rattled. “Give me the pen.”
I shoved the pen toward him. He picked it up, tugged at his collar, and signed the top document, which was the waiver. I flipped to the next sheet.
He glanced again at Griffin and signed it.
“And here,” I said, flipping to the next. He signed. I flipped again. He signed. Finally, I got to the bank form.
We had agreed that I would tap my right foot twice on the stool leg when I reached the bank form. I clicked my sandal against the steel. Behind me I felt Griffin standing up.
Scott jerked his gaze to Griffin and sucked in a deep breath. “I really gotta go, Cricket.”
“Just three more,” I said, tapping the collection of forms.
“Fine,” he said, scribbling his name and date on the bank form. Then he quickly completed the last two.
Oh. My. God.
He signed it.
I truly couldn’t believe that he’d scribbled his name across so many forms without reading them. Totally atypical of my paranoid husband, who might leave a receipt on the table, but who’d read every contract we’d ever signed. I almost wanted to jump up and scream Sucker! but I managed a sedate “Thank you, Scott. I really want this to be easy, and I can see that you do, too.”
Griffin appeared to my right, giving me a bit of a start. “Ready?”
Scott looked up at him with alarm. “Uh, can I help you?”
“I’m just the notary,” Griffin said, pulling out his stamp and pressing the seal onto the top page. He plucked the pen out of Scott’s hand and scrawled his own name boldly beneath the seal.