Page 96 of Lavender Moon

Initiating the paperwork was surprisingly easy until I failed to answer a gauntlet of questions to their satisfaction.

You’ve been married less than a year?

Have you tried counseling?

Is there a chance she can counter-file for annulment based on fraud, coercion, or duress?

It was all so confusing, but I remember them telling me:

This county has a sixty-day waiting period before we can file or serve. If, by the end of this period, you have not made motions to withdraw, the process will move forward.

I remember feeling frustrated as I stalked out of that office – not about the damn waiting period, but because it didn’t give me any kind of answer I was looking for. It sparked nothing, pointing me in neither direction. From that day, I surged forward with my vexations, leaving that infernal law office behind me for the first and last time.

And then it seems it faded into the back recesses of my mind. Forgetting was a blessing… until this moment.

* * *

How isit that only three hours ago, I was kissing Luna in our driveway, and now there’s no sign in this house that she ever lived here? Just a menacing painting and her lingering orange blossom scent, haunting me like a heady apparition. Now I sit here in the hallway with my head in my hands, trying to calm the fuck down and figure out what to do, when all I want to do is tear this fucking place apart and burn it to the ground. But then I try to imagine her seeing that spectacle, and know she’d never return to that.

The idea of Luna not in my life, not living here, not being married to her, just doesn’t seem possible. I know I need to see her. While I know talking to her on the phone is just not going to do it, I tried anyway – multiple times. I’m blocked. She said her last words and completely cut the cord, with no hopes of even a whisper or a glimpse.

And the papers…

She said in her message she signed them… and that she’d do me one better. They’re nowhere to be found, and I feel like if she were serious, she would’ve left them out in the open for me to see them and her signature.

Think, Kaleb… I can’t, I need to calm down – and not with the whiskey calling to me from the cabinet. That helped me into this boat in the first place; there’s no way it’s going to help me out of it. If Luna were here, she’d hold me until my heart rate slowed, not saying one word.

Closing my eyes, I picture her doing just that. I imagine myself slowing my breathing to match hers, and before I know it, all I see is her face.

It takes a little while, maybe ten minutes or so, but I do feel myself even out. Neither my heart nor my brain is racing anymore, and I can feel the difference. My thoughts are clearer now, and I can sort through what I need to do first.

She filed the papers. That’s why I can’t find them. She’s taken them to file them or she’s mailing them in.

Luna is most likely driving, or is already back in Indianapolis. Either that, or she went to her family in Detroit. That’s two likely locations; I can work with that.

Keeping Luna’s face in my mind as my focal point, I finally struggle to stand, using the edge of the desk for leverage. While I didn’t overturn it like my rage wanted me to, it’s still a mess from me rifling around, looking for the divorce papers.

The main drawer is still open with a multitude of papers haphazardly sticking out of it. I pick up a few of them, wanting to check just one more time that they aren’t the ones I’m looking for, so I can set them on fire.

I leaf through them, only to find myself disappointed when something catches my eye on the last one. I pause, setting the other papers down, and peruse what looks to be a bank statement. It’s Luna’s account, so she clearly didn’t take everything, but that’s not what’s pulling me in.

One of the payments she made was to a hospital in Indianapolis.

Why in the fuck was my wife in a hospital?

42

LUNA

The door whips open, and there stands what feels like my only friend in the world. While the majority of my belongings are still stashed in my car, I clutch the strap of my weekend bag that’s slung over my shoulder with one hand, and Buster’s cat carrier in the other.

Cassidy doesn’t say a word as she steps forward and wraps her arms around me, giving me the tightest hug I’ve ever received, yet it’s still not tight enough. The entire drive here I yearned to put myself in a vice that would hold my shattering pieces of my soul together.

Pursing my lips, I let her squeeze the air out of me.

“Get in here,” she says gently after releasing me, and stands aside so that I can shuffle in, schlepping my belongings. After setting them down by the door, I open the door to the cat carrier so that Buster can come out when he feels ready. Standing, I take a glance around Cassidy’s apartment – more traditional and civilized than my studio, which I wasn’t going back to. Not after the Carter debacle.

“Thanks, Cass,” I murmur, tucking my hands in my back pockets.

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