Fucking Brenda.
Throughout all this mess, I never expected her to use Paige as a bargaining chip to try and leverage more from me. The thing is, I’d gladly give it. I’d give up any fortune I had if it meant I got more time with my daughter. The well is damn near dry, though.
Me:
Sorry you heard me. Dealing with a custody issue. I find screaming at the waves the best outlet.
Her response doesn’t come quickly. Over an hour later, I’ve convinced myself she isn’t going to say anything at all and that I’m going to owe Jules a big apology for setting her friend back a step in the trust department. But then, I get the notification.
Lou:
Messy divorce?
Me:
Despite my efforts to keep it clean, yes. She comes back every six months or so trying to renegotiate child support and visitation.
Lou:
Maybe it isn’t about money butrather staying in your life.
Well, fuck. If that’s what Brenda wanted, she should have been faithful. I don’t dismiss the idea, though; it could be on the nose. Brenda doesn’t need what she asks for financially. She makes a good living, as well as I do.
When I told her I wanted a divorce, she fought me on it. My assumption was that she didn’t want to admit guilt, not that she wanted to stick it out. Not really. She’s dating some guy now, too. Yet, that hasn’t stopped her from being a thorn in my side at every chance.
The more I consider it, the more I wonder if Lou’s theory could be true. But why?
Me:
I thought I understood women better than this.
Lou:
Me too.
Lou hasn’t said much in the near week she’s been here. When she utters a few words, they seem heavy and meaningful. Or deeper than surface level. As if they all mean something different to her than they do to whoever hears them. Depression can fuck you up that way. She is that. You can clearly read it on her face. Even if she wasn’t beaten and bruised. Even Paige picked up on it.
She asked me if I knew why Lulu was hurt. Lying to my daughter is something I avoid, so I told her the truth. That I wasn’t sure but that sometimes people come into our lives that we think we can trust, but we can’t. I think Lou met one of those people.
Me:
How are your fingers?
Lou:
Still broken.
I smile. Not at her pain, but at how she proved the thought I had only a moment ago.
Me:
I meant the splint. Do you need a new one?
Lou:
Probably.
Me:
