But when he called the next day, I didn’t answer.
And when he continued to call for the following three days, I continued to not answer. After that, he didn’t call again.
Chapter Fourteen
21. He’s completely unpredictable.
The next time I saw Nick was a week before Thanksgiving at our first round of mediation. My lawyer had suggested getting the help of a third party after Nick remained completely uncooperative. I hoped mediation was the answer. I didn’t want to go to trial and I couldn’t believe Nick did either. I truly believed we could work through everything civilly.
At least I hoped we could.
I had assured Mr. Cavanaugh that Nick and I could be polite and mature, but my lawyer was in his mid-fifties and had apparently seen his fair share of bitter wives and hateful husbands.
He didn’t have the most positive attitude where the dissolution of marriage was concerned.
Then again, he had the kind of demeanor that generally expected the worst. Beneath his disheveled white hair was a face that could never be pleased. Deep wrinkles stretched across his forehead and gathered in the corners of his dull eyes. His mouth was perpetually turned down and his wide shoulders drooped beneath his crumpled cheap suits. He reminded me of a hound dog. An old hound dog.
But he knew divorce law and he’d promised to get me what I needed-which was a divorce. He just had no hope that the proceedings would be easy.
And he was probably right.
I stepped onto the elevator of the building that housed Whitney, Boggs and Stone and ignored the taste in my mouth that felt like vomit on my tongue and bile in my stomach. Our first meeting was set in Nick’s lawyer’s office. And it was immaculate.
I needed a minute to steady my nerves and prepare for the battle I was headed into, but the glass walls and busy lobby prevented solitude. I was on display the moment I walked into the building.
Not that I really thought all of these people were paying attention to little old me. But I felt like they were. My emotions manipulated my brain until I had to force myself not to hide my face in my hands.
It was silly. Especially when divorce was so common these days.
But I felt completely transparent for the world to see. I felt like there was a giant neon sign following me around, blinking an arrow at my back and declaring, “This one’s getting a divorce! She couldn’t make her marriage work! She’s a failure! She’s a failure! She’s a failure!”
God, I needed a drink.
And maybe some therapy. With someone that wasn’t Kara.
I stared at the climbing numbers as I moved upward and wondered what the statistic was on divorce driving people crazy. I had never been concerned about my mental health before.
Not until the last few months when it became an epic, life-ending struggle just to get through each day.
Now I felt brittle and breakable. I felt on the verge of losing every ounce of precarious sanity I had left.
The elevator opened on the eleventh floor and I stepped into the reception room. Mr. Cavanaugh waited for me near the door, glancing at his watch impatiently. Taking in his rumpled appearance I suddenly felt very self-conscious. I smoothed my hands over my brown, wide-leg trousers and tugged on my gold sweater.
A groan fell from my lips when I realized we were going to walk into the conference room looking equally ruffled. We were united in our disheveledness.
That didn’t bode well for us.
Nick had been nice enough to schedule our mediation after school and I’d come straight here. I spent the entire day avoiding mustard and coffee stains. I had a close call when I snuck a Twix bar in the afternoon, but all in all I came out of school unscathed.
Still, I’d spent the entire day in these clothes. I hardly looked my best. And I hated how that bothered me.