Page 48 of The Wrong Guy
Jed’s lawyer is exactly what I expected. His personality enters the room almost before he does—big, bold, brash, and smarmy in an expensive suit. I could’ve guessed Robert Jenkins was an attorney without seeing his business card. He’s probably the type that, when he’s not defending assholes in messy divorces, does cable TV commercials promising you millions for that rash you got with your last visit to the doctor’s office. Not the one you got treated ... the other one.
“Good to meet you. Ben Norton?” Robert holds his hand out to Ben, ignoring me completely. I’m not surprised. He probably thinks I’m an assistant or someone equally beneath him.
Ben shakes Robert’s, but also adds, “This is Wren Ford, Cold Springs’ attorney.”
Robert’s eyes ping-pong from Ben to me, almost amused. Does he think Ben is kidding?
I hold my hand out, waiting with a mild version of my resting bitch face. I’m naturally a fairly smiley, happy person, and one of the first lessons I learned in law school was to fix my face. It’s a skill that’s been useful over the years, especially when people underestimate me.
Like Robert Jenkins is doing right now, shaking my hand the way you might placate a toddler who wants you to bow because they’re a real princess. If he tries to pat me on the head, I swear he’ll come back with a nub.
Uncle Jed doesn’t bother shaking my hand, but rather goes straight for the family connection. “Hey, Wren, I haven’t seen you in a bit. How’s your mama doing? She still dragging Bill to those yoga classes?”
He chuckles, elbowing Robert like, Can you believe that? Jed might be my uncle, but Mom and Dad aren’t close with him anymore and haven’t been in a while. For living in a small town, we basically see Jed at Christmas and maybe the occasional run-in at the coffee shop or gas station.
Jed thinks that’s my mother’s doing, but the truth is, Dad feels like he finally escaped Jed’s shadow and has no interest in going back into the dark, much preferring the light. He and Mom have created a lovely life in their retirement, with yoga dates, a book club, and babysitting for Winston, taking Joe as much as they can. They’re happier without Jed in their lives, and so am I.
If we can just get Township done, hopefully I won’t have to deal with him anymore.
“They’re enjoying retirement.” A simple, truthful statement that ignores his implication that Mom somehow holds Dad’s balls in her purse.
We sit down, and after a few awkward minutes of silence, Oliver and Chrissy arrive.
Chrissy came dressed to impress, in a black pencil skirt that fits her like a second skin, a black blouse that hugs her breasts, and black heels. Her hair and makeup are pristine, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she had them professionally done this morning. She looks nothing like the crazed, wild woman who destroyed a town house yesterday, but rather a refined, pulled-together woman who will give Jed and his lawyer a run for their money.
The atmosphere chills instantly as Jed glares at Chrissy, and she feigns indifference.
Oliver pulls out a chair for Chrissy, and she perches on it delicately. “Hello, Wren, Ben,” he greets us as he sits down comfortably.
The difference in approaches is apparent from the jump. Robert feels big and important, and I’d bet he is accustomed to people fawning over him. Oliver’s already been working with us and is relaxed and friendly, going so far as to shoot me a more-than-familiar smile. Ben and I are stuck in the middle, not giving two shits about the divorce other than how it affects our town.
“Let’s get this done.” Robert’s opener is cold and mechanical, but Oliver responds in kind, pulling a thick manila folder from his briefcase.
“I’m keeping the house,” Chrissy declares.
Jed scoffs. “Over my dead body.”
“Well, you’d best get to dying, then, because I’m sleeping there tonight. Alone.”
Ding, ding. Fight!
And so begins an hours-long fight for every penny, property, and even a coffeepot that apparently is a bone of contention between the two of them. I feel like a voyeur as I watch them reveal secrets no one outside their marriage should know, like that Jed sings while he shits every morning, waking Chrissy up with his off-key warbling of seventies rock hits, and that Chrissy has a bad habit of picking her nose until it bleeds.
“We’ll see about that,” Chrissy sneers about Jed’s claim that he’s taking his truck.
Jed mocks Chrissy, “Oh, you think so?”
“You have no idea what I can do,” Chrissy threatens. “I already shut down your stupid development, didn’t I? And got you out of the house? And took my share of the bank account? You don’t know what I’m capable of.”
Boiling bunnies maybe?
“I guess we’ll see about that, won’t we?” Jed throws Chrissy’s words right back at her, and they sound significantly more concerning coming from him. She’s wild and out of control with hurt, but Jed’s shrewd and calculating. And obviously planning something.
Nothing has been decided, only battled over. I didn’t expect them to negotiate a list of his and hers today, they’re just sparring and feeling each other out, but finally, we get down to the nitty-gritty that matters—Ford Construction Company.
Oliver flips to a new page in his folder. He glances at me, and for the first time since they entered today, I can see sorrow in his eyes. It’s only a flash before he returns to his cutthroat persona, but concern bubbles up in my throat. “We’ve had our financial auditor estimate the value, but concede that you will likely want to do the same, considering the significant assets.”
Jed scoffs and Robert clears his throat, pointedly silencing his client, before nodding at Oliver to continue.