Look Closer(52)

Because what I love about the law is its purity, its honesty, its search for justice and fairness.

Because I love teaching the tools of that craft, honing minds, showing them the majesty of the law at its zenith.

Because I won’t let anything contaminate that.

That’s why.

Most people would laugh at me if I said these things aloud. Vicky would not. She would appreciate them. But I don’t need to speak those words. She already knows. She understands me.

I come out of my fog and look up at her. She has her hand out, like she’s raising it for attention but isn’t into the whole arm-raising thing.

The first time I met Vicky, she raised her hand just like that. We were in SOS, her first time, a girl in a tank-top and shorts and baseball cap sitting in the back row, and after several other people had spoken, as the session seemed to be dying down, she raised her hand just like that, not even shoulder level, showing me her palm, a look on her face like she didn’t really like having to be called on.

“My sister committed suicide six weeks ago,” she said. “I’ve been listening to everyone talk about how guilty they feel. Am I the only one who’s fucking pissed off?”

Everyone laughed and started clapping, appreciating the release in the tension, her blunt acknowledgment of an emotion most of us survivors experience. That was the moment I fell in love with her. That’s the moment I realized I’d do anything for her.

“Never mind,” she says to me now. “It was a bad idea. I won’t mention it again.”

The reason I still love Vicky, oddly enough, is that what I have to offer her is not enough. After the life she led, having to do unspeakable things to survive, you’d think it would be enough to have a man who loves you, who thinks the world of you, who will treat you with respect, who will care for you, who will give you anything you want. I check every one of those boxes.

But through all of that, she has demanded more. She wants to be in love. She wants the fairy tale. And no matter what other feelings she may have toward me, I can’t give her that.

That’s why she’ll leave me. She’s never said so explicitly, but I know it. She’ll leave in November.





47

Thursday, October 20, 2022

When I walked through the door this afternoon, you stood there, a distance apart, waiting for what I had to say.

“I saw the divorce lawyer today,” I told you.

You nodded. “Did you tell Vicky?”

“I did not. But I will.”

“When?”

“Before I file,” I said. “Which will be after November 3. I can’t cut Vicky out of the money, Lauren. I can’t do that to her. I won’t.”

Your face went cold. “I see,” you whispered. You didn’t seem all that surprised.

“What you have to decide,” I said, “is whether you can respect my decision. I hope you can. But that’s my decision, and it’s final.”

We can get past this, right? You’ll come to understand. This is where you’re supposed to say, That’s one of the reasons I love you, Simon, that you’d want to make sure you take care of Vicky before saying goodbye to her.

But all you said was, “I need time to think. I need the weekend.”

That didn’t sound like a good sign.





48

Simon

Friday night. Most people would be spending time with their family or blowing off steam over a couple drinks with friends. Me, I’m in my office at the law school, finishing up a blog post on a case involving a Title III intercept from the Ninth Circuit that is before the U.S. Supreme Court this session.

I have the house to myself this weekend, as Vicky is off to Elm Grove again to spend time with her nieces. So I work later than usual, until after eight o’clock, before starting my routine run from the law school to Wicker Park. To the alley outside Viva Mediterránea. To the alley behind Christian Newsome’s condo.

I suit up, leaving my blue jeans and button-down hanging on the back of my office door, throwing on running pants and shoes, a high-neck top with ski cap. The temps are in the mid-forties with no precipitation, perfect running conditions, if you discount the occasional difficulties navigating these populated city streets in the dark.

Viva’s patio is almost vacant, despite the heat lamps blowing and the city allowing restaurants to keep their outside areas open late into the year, a remnant of the COVID era. Only a handful of people are braving the elements, drinking cocktails in their heavy coats.

Usually, I make sure I reach the alley in Wicker Park by 8:00 p.m. for the nightly text messages. But we don’t text on Friday nights or the weekends. The phones stay off from Friday morning to Monday morning. I’m not here for texting.

No, I just wanted to get a good look at Christian’s place.

The front of his building on Winchester is fenced, but it’s not a security gate, just something to keep the dogs away from the small garden out front. Up the stairs is the front door, a secured door with a buzzer. In the alley are the garages. Christian’s garage is third from the end, directly beneath his condo. The garage is controlled by an automatic door, like most are, which is surprisingly secure.

Still, that’s the better point of entry. Certainly the less visible one, given the poorly lit alley. And unless you’re going in and out of that garage while patrons are out on Viva’s back patio, there aren’t likely to be too many people hanging around back there.