Deconstructed(22)

“I can ask Darren. He might know. Sometimes they have to repo cars and use private eyes.” Ling tilted her head and eyeballed me.

I tried not to squirm. “That would be awesome.”

She pulled her phone from the back pocket of her skinny jeans. “Let me text him. He’s probably playing online games in his office, anyway.”

“Thanks.” I started breaking down the pizza boxes, noting a few feral-looking boys lurking nearby. We were supposed to give them only two pieces, but we always had leftovers, and thirteen-year-old boys tended to be wolfish when it came to pizza. “Should I—”

“Open that gate? Um, no. If you give one an extra slice, you will have to give them all an extra slice. Plus, I told Mrs. Overstreet we’d put the leftovers in the teachers’ lounge. You know how teachers are about leftovers.”

I managed a hollow laugh. “Well, she better get there before Coach Fred.”

Ling flashed a grin because the portly gym coach was well known for wiping out treats before the other teachers were even aware there were goodies in the lounge. But then again, all is fair in love, war, and food in the teachers’ lounge.

I shot an apologetic look at the lingering boys and started stacking the boxes. They vamoosed away from the parents, scattering like wild birds to clump beneath the oak trees on the grounds. No junior high kids wanted to be around their parents. Case in point, Julia Kate stood chatting with her friends, sneakily pulling her phone out and checking God only knows what. My daughter flipped her hair over one shoulder and glanced in my direction. I gave her a half smile, and she quickly looked away.

“Okay, so Darren said there’s a guy who used to work for the sheriff’s department but now works repo and private investigations. He’s good. I’ll send you his contact information.”

“Thanks. This will really help her. She’s pretty distraught.”

Ling clicked on her phone, and I heard the resulting ping. “Okay, I’m taking this ice chest back to the gym. Why don’t you take those to the teachers’ lounge, and then we can come back and help clean up.”

Thirty minutes later I climbed into the warmth of my van’s interior. The day had been a bit breezy, and my well-loved Town & Country felt like a piece of home. Julia Kate was riding car pool with one of her soccer teammates so I could run up to Printemps if I wanted to check on things.

But I didn’t.

I just wanted to sit here in this unknown neighborhood outside of the school, soaking in the sun and pretending everything in my world was okay. What would be wrong with that?

Except eventually I would need a bathroom, some sustenance, and to pay my quarterly taxes, which were due. So living in my van wasn’t going to work out, after all.

And it was beyond time to shake the blues away and roll up my sleeves.

I made myself pull out my phone and open Safari. I needed an attorney, and I needed one who didn’t know Scott, which would be harder than most would think. Everyone knew Scott because he made sure they did. He schmoozed his way into charity boards, political fundraisers, and business deals. We rarely went to dinner or the movies without someone stopping to chat with my husband. So I needed a woman. A sharky, nail-his-balls-to-the-wall female attorney.

Asking that of Ling would be too obvious, so this would be up to me.

I typed in FEMALE ATTORNEY SHREVEPORT.

A bunch of male names popped up. Of course they did. And these were all guys that I knew. No, thank you.

So I clicked the first female name that I saw. Jacqueline Morsett.

After looking at her website and her pedigree (impressive) and reading reviews on several sites, I dialed the number.

“Morsett and Vickery. This is Samantha. Can I help you?”

I could hardly get the words out.

I want a divorce.

“Hello?” Samantha asked again.

“Um, yes. Hi. I’m calling to maybe set up an appointment with Ms. Morsett.”

“Sure. Are you already a client?”

“No. Um, I’m new. I’m actually looking for an attorney, and I wanted someone who was, well, a woman.” Was I supposed to admit that I wanted a female to handle my case? Was that reverse sexism? Did I care?

“Divorce?” Samantha asked.

“Yeah.”

“I get it. Jackie was the attorney for mine. That’s how I ended up working for her. And it’s okay to want a woman. I could kind of hear that in your voice.” Samantha sounded warm. Friendly. Like divorce was no big deal.

“Oh, okay.”

“Jackie loves to talk face-to-face with potential clients. She’s super personal like that, but unfortunately, she’s out for a deposition. So what I’ll do is get your name and your number, and once I talk to her, we’ll set up a time for you to chat. She likes to meet clients before she takes them on.”

If I gave my name and number, it would be real. An attorney was going to call me. I was going to meet with her. Wheels would creakily move forward. Fear seized me, but I shook it off like a bad chill. I couldn’t hide from this. Scott had been cheating on me, and I wasn’t in love with him enough to save the marriage, no matter how painful divorce would be. “Um, okay. My name is . . . Catherine Crosby. Catherine with a C.”

“Okay, Catherine. Give me your number and a good time to call, and Jackie will be in touch. May take her a day or two. Is that okay?”