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Chapter Eighteen
Lena
“He doesn’t have to agree,” Jackson countered so quickly it was as if he’d had the words on the tip of his tongue before I had a chance to make the statement. “Oregon is a no-fault divorce state, like California. All you have to do is claim irreconcilable differences. The fact that you want a divorce, and he doesn’t, is sufficient. It is considered an irreconcilable difference. He can’t object to a divorce. He can only dispute the terms, such as custody and property division.”
“Well, there’s no custody battle since we didn’t have any kids, and we didn’t own our house, but he’ll never sign the papers. He told me that.”
“He doesn’t need to sign the papers. If he won’t cooperate, you can get a divorce by what’s called ‘defaulting your spouse.’”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we file a divorce petition and have him served. Then, with or without his blessing, we get an order from the court barring him from objecting to the divorce, and then ninety days after that, we’ll submit a final judgment of divorce, with or without his signature. Even if he objects and files a response, the judge can, and will, order a divorce over his objection.”
“You can do this for me without him knowing where I am?”
“Yes.”
“My God, I’ve been so stupid.”
“No, you’ve been scared, that’s all.”
“Right. I was too scared even to investigate the possibility of divorce. I’ve been scared to breathe. It’s taken me a whole year to save money and get the courage to leave. If he hadn’t beaten me so badly the other morning, I would still be there.”
A shiver crawled up from the bottom of my toes and settled at the base of my skull.
“But you did get out. You had to endure hell first, but you did get out. That takes courage. You should be proud of yourself.”
“This all sounds great, and I really appreciate it. You’ve been … you are wonderful. But … he’ll never give up. He’ll never quit looking for me.”
Jackson straightened and turned to face me, taking my hands in his. “Lena, I’m not going to try to sugarcoat this. You’re right; he will look for you. That’s why we need to take every precaution we can to make sure that doesn’t happen, starting with you telling me every move you made from the time you stabbed him. I also need to take some pictures of your bruises. Is that okay?”
“Pictures? Why?”
“We need to press charges and file a restraining order against him, that’s why. Not that that’s going to keep him from trying to get at you. If he’s anything like most abusers, he will keep trying. In his mind, you are his property, and he won’t stop hunting you.”
“I’m scared, Jackson. I don’t think I can do this.”
I wanted to get in my car and drive. I didn’t know where to, just away, away from anyone who knew anything about me.
“I promise I will do everything possible to protect you.”
“I don’t see how you can make such a promise.”
“I promise because I know the law. I know how jerks like him think.” He placed his hands on my shoulders and pressed his forehead against mine. I closed my eyes, breathing in the sweet smell of the haven he personified.
“Now, let’s get some pictures before that ice heals you too fast. Then you can start telling me every detail from the time you stabbed him until you walked into my bar.”
Jackson took several pictures of my face while I described my journey, complete with smashing the cell phone after calling the taxi, the bus, and buying the old Subaru. I told him where I left the SUV. He figured the SUV would be stolen or would eventually be impounded, and Troy would have to pay to get it out. He was impressed with the scheming and attention to detail I’d taken in order to hide my tracks.
When he asked me to lift my top a bit to reveal the bruising at my rib cage, I hesitated. I wanted to trust this man, needed to trust him more than anything, but no matter how nice Jackson was, or how much I knew deep down in my heart he wouldn’t hurt me, the tiniest speck of doubt continued to creep up the back of my neck and cloud my mind with fear.
“Up a little and only your side,” Jackson said and gave me a reassuring smile.
I lifted the shirt just below my breasts, lowering it immediately after he took the pictures. He took some shots of the imprint of Troy’s hand on my wrist too. It was so ugly. I couldn’t wait for it to fade, which it had, some, but there was still enough of it left to show up in a picture.
“You did great in covering your tracks, Lena. I don’t think he’ll have an easy time locating you, but for extra precautions, you should probably dye your hair a different color. I have a friend who can help with that. I’ll arrange for her to come here. One more thing,” he set the camera down. “What name did you use when you bought the car?”
“Lana Martin. Martin was my mother’s maiden name.”
