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I’m uncomfortable. The office has a smell to it. I can’t pinpoint what it is, other than an old, musty odor. Everything in here is brown. Brown desk, chairs, drapes, bookcases, and carpet, to go with spots of red, blue, and green from various law books. And the manila folder. It’s drab, lifeless, and it makes me think being a lawyer is a boring job.
Lesley Wroughton clears his throat again and clasps his hands on his desk. “My secretary said this was urgent.”
“It is,” I say and then wonder if all his clients say the same thing. No one likes to wait. “My wife wants a divorce. I don’t, but that’s not the problem.”
“What is then?”
“She wants to take my kids to South Africa to live with her and I’m not okay with that.”
“I see.”
Does he? What exactly does he see?
He opens the manila folder and makes some inaudible sound, almost like a huff and a tsk combined. “If I’m doing my math correctly, you have one child and he’s well above the age of eighteen.”
Oh good lord.
“I believe you’re looking at the case I came to you last time for. Since then, I’ve married and have two children, Mack and Amelie. They’re sixteen and ten, respectively.”
“I see.” He jots some notes down. “And your wife’s name isn’t Josie?”
“No, it’s Aubrey.”
“Okay. How long have you been married?”
I fill him in on everything, from where we met, to our wedding, the birth of Mack, and then Amelie. I tell him I’m the primary breadwinner and that Aubrey and I agreed she didn’t need to work while raising the kids. She maintained an office in my practice and would fill in when one of the nurses was out, but mainly focused on research and women’s health. I made it known around town that if a woman couldn’t afford care, they could come see Aubrey and not worry about paying. It was shortly after Peyton and Noah got married, Aubrey decided to stop coming in. Eventually, the office space turned into storage, and she has since let her nursing license lapse.
“All right. And now she wants to take the kids on vacation?”
“No, to live,” I remind him. “It’s where her parents live.”
His hand scribbles over his notepad, pauses, and then writes again. “Will Mrs. Ashford have a lawyer in the divorce proceedings?”
“I don’t know the answer to that. What I do know is she’s purchased one-way airline tickets for the day after school finishes for the holidays and plans to take the kids with her. Mack refuses to go but Amelie wants to go. I don’t want them to go at all.”
This entire time, I’m talking to his head. He never looks up. He stares at the legal pad that he’s scribbling on and fires off questions.
“Okay, we can file a temporary order barring Mrs. Ashford from taking the children out of the country. But I’ll be honest, it’s paperwork and you’ll have to report them as kidnapped in order for the authorities to do anything.”
“What about their passports?”
“Are they US citizens?”
“Dual,” I tell him. “Aubrey was born in Cape Town.”
He finally looks at me and nods. “As their mother, she can get their passports reissued without your permission. The injunction will keep them stateside, if you happen to be there when she leaves with them.”
“So, I’ll have to watch her?”
He nods. “I’ll have to look up the law and see what kind of agreement we have, but child custody is hard when other countries are involved. If she’s a citizen and goes to the government with a story against you, they’re liable to protect her and the children. It’s all very messy. Can I ask whether you hit her? Or the kids?”
“No, absolutely not.”
“Are you a drinker? Smoker? Drug user?”
“Social drinker, but that’s it.”
“Is there anything Mrs. Ashford can use against you?”
