Rachel’s court date is delayed. She stuffs Mrs. Stone’s journal in her briefcase and heads out. It’s 9:05 AM.
The first poem in Mrs. Stone’s journal was short, but drenched with pain—my pain. Betrayal and lies all wrapped up in a cloak of romance. It stung, and dredged up nasty memories of when Steve first rode into my life like a prince. How hard I fell for his deceptions!
My cell rang and pulled me from the prose.
“Rachel, your case got moved to 9:45. Where are you?”
It was my attorney. Great guy—why didn’t he ride into my life instead of Steve?
“I’m still at the office. We had a passing last night and I had to meet with the widow. I’ll be right there.”
“Okay. Steve’s not here yet.”
“Big surprise. See ya,” I said, and clicked off. I shoved my cell into my briefcase along with Mrs. Stone’s journal. The courthouse is just blocks from my office so I determined to jump right back into those poems as soon as I could.
The courthouse is crazy. Seems everyone is suing someone, but no one wants to be here. My heart rate rises at each floor on the elevator. I watch the numbers change. Four is where my marriage will be declared dead. I hope Steve isn’t here yet.
My attorney is pacing by the elevator doors as I step from them with a dozen other nervous souls. He grabs my elbow and leads me quickly to a bench. We drop and he barrels into typical, 90 mph lawyer-speak.
“Slow down Jeff, I don’t even know the meaning of half those words!” He sighs.
“Rachel, if Steve doesn’t show up, we can still go forward with the divorce. I’ll ask the judge for favor, given that you have been amicable throughout this process and I think he’ll go for it. I don’t think Steve has any more leverage to stop this again.”
I shudder. The past year-and-a-half of motions, continuances and the deposition damaged my emotions beyond anything I had experienced in my life. Why won’t he just let go of me?
“Okay. Good plan, thanks Jeff.” I pulled Mrs. Stone’s journal from my briefcase, un-wrapped the cord from around its cover and leaned back against the stark white wall.
“Where’d you get that?” Jeff asked.
“From someone at the facility. It’s poetry.”
Jeff raised his brows, “Looks valuable.” I smiled, catching his sarcasm. He knew I was not the poetry type and I detected his curiosity as to this odd distraction.
My eyes found the second poem. A lump formed in my throat as its first line: When lies are love and love is a lie …
I sensed a hunger form deep inside—I need something from this book. If you had asked me on that day what I was looking for in its pages, I couldn’t have told you. I just had this strange ache inside me; a strong force that held my wrist as I dangled over a deadly precipice. I wanted to do nothing but read that journal. I looked at my watch. It was 9:20 AM. Still no Steve.
To be continued….
(read parts one through eight online at: www.thecommunityword.com/online – click on Doors & Windows)