Page 67 of Wreckage and Rain

"Summer. Sorry. I have the petition ready to file. I want you to take one more look before I do."

"I read it three times yesterday, Patrick."

"I want to hear you say it out loud. Just for me. You understand what filing this triggers. You understand we serve him next week."

"I understand."

"You don't want a settlement first. You don't want a separation period. You don't want to negotiate."

"I talked to him. I warned him. I gave him time to get his shit together. I don't need to give him another minute."

A pause on the other end.

"Filing today, Summer?"

"Filing today."

"Service Tuesday."

"Where."

"His office. Open hours. I want him to be in his office."

A longer pause.

"That can be arranged."

"Thank you, Patrick."

I hang up.

I sit at the kitchen table in the Vandy t-shirt that no longer smells like Autumn's detergent because I have washed it eight times. I sit until the coffee in the mug gets even colder than it was. I think I am supposed to cry. The crying doesn't come. It hasn't come for two weeks. What comes instead is a quiet that I have been waiting for, a settling of the things in me that have been moving since that night.

There is a version of this morning where I picture his face when the papers reach him. There is a version where I feel something about his reaction. I don't go to that version. I have been there too many times in the last five weeks and there is no answer for me there.

What I have an answer for is the woman I see in the mirror in this kitchen. She is the one I am protecting now.

I get up. I rinse the mug.

I go to Vibes early.

***

Colt

Tuesday morning at the office.

It is the thirty-eighth day Summer hasn't picked up the phone. I keep count. The number doesn't matter. I count because if I stop I'll drown.

I am at my desk. I have been at my desk for three hours. The document on my screen hasn't changed and I haven't read a word of it since the second hour. Cheyenne brought me coffee at nine. I didn't drink it. She didn't acknowledge that I didn't drink it. This is the new rhythm of every morning since the photos went up.

"Colt." Cheyenne stops in my doorway.

"Not now. I can't right now."

"We're going to have to talk about it eventually." She doesn't move. "We have something, you and me. And Summer's not coming back. You know that."

"We don't have anything to talk about, and you don't know what you're talking about. If it's about work, schedule a block with Cheryl."