The Million Dollar Divorce Page 11

  “I mean last night, I was here with you. I came by around ten, and we started drinking, and we both passed out here.”

  “But Monica called last at around eleven.”

  “Well then, I came at eleven-thirty.”

  “Nate, I don’t want to lie to your wife.”

  “But you’re going to, right?” Nate said, confidently.

  “What’s going on? Where were you really, last night?”

  “You don’t need to know that,” Nate said, getting up from the sofa, walking to Tim, and slapping a palm on his shoulder. “But just in case Monica brings this up again, you know what to tell her. Now I really got to be going.” Nate pulled open the door and was about to step out, but stopped when he heard his brother say, “I told you, I don’t think I want to lie to her.”

  “Really,” Nate said, turning back to face his brother. “And why is that?”

  “Because I just don’t think it’s right.”

  “Not even for me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Try your best. This one last time. This means more to me than you know. Will you help me out?”

  Tim shook his head, as though he knew he was doing the wrong thing, but said, “All right. This one last time, Nate. But not again.”

  “That’s my boy,” Nate said, then walked out.

  Now that Nate covered that end of his story, he would stop and get some roses for his wife. She would most likely be at home, eyes bloodshot, looking a wreck, because she had been up all night, worried sick about him.

  He would tell her that it was the business with the baby messing with him again. He needed to talk to family, sort some things out in his head. They had a drink that turned into a few more, then one for the road, which took away Nate’s ability to make it to the road, so he crashed out on Tim’s couch. Simple as that.

  There was the issue of Monica saying something about taking Nate to dinner, something she had to talk to him about, but they could just do those things tonight.

  Nate turned his Bentley onto Stony Island Avenue and headed north to get onto Lake Shore Drive, and into downtown. What Nate really needed to concern himself with now was what he was going to do about Tori.

  If it wasn’t a certainty before, it definitely was now: he would have to divorce Monica. But still there was the issue of the money she would be entitled to if he did just divorce her with no reason.

  He thought for a moment, tried to search his mind, as he slowed his car to a stop for the red light just in front of him. Was there any way that he could free himself from his marriage without incurring such a penalty? No. Nothing came to him right away. He would have to devote much more time to it.

  Nate thought about the possibility of just coming clean with Monica. Telling her the truth, that her inability to have his children made it impossible for him to have his family, so he wanted a divorce. But that would surely make her furious, resentful of him, and want to take him for every red cent he had. No, he would definitely not do that.

  And honestly, he decided not to worry anymore for a little while, because he was actually feeling somewhat giddy, almost happy.

  A smile appeared on Nate’s face as he thought about what he did last night and what would ultimately come of his actions if he continued to do the same with Tori.

  Like Tori said, she probably wouldn’t get pregnant this time, but Nate had a feeling that she eventually would, and she would bear him some beautiful children. He couldn’t believe it, but he started to get that feeling again. That same feeling when Monica said it was okay for them to start trying, that feeling of excitement that came with knowing that one day soon he would be a father.

  No. Nate really couldn’t believe it, but considering all that had gone on over the last few weeks, he actually felt happy. So happy that he threw his head back in laughter; but all of a sudden, without a moment’s notice, there came what sounded like an explosion from behind him.

  His entire car shook, and Nate’s body was violently thrown forward, then was painfully yanked back by the safety belt, his forehead coming dangerously close to impacting with the windshield and shattering it.

  The wrenching sound of twisted metal, the popping of bulbs exploding filled Nate’s ears almost simultaneously with the heavy, heart-stopping thud of the impact from behind.

  Shards of glass came flying into the car’s cabin, pelting the back of Nate’s seat and falling to the floor behind him.

  His car was pushed out into the intersection, Nate’s foot still on the brake, his eyes ballooning in his head, as he saw blurred cars on both sides of him swerving to miss his.

  His car spun to a halt. A dead silence surrounded him.

  After a moment, Nate opened his eyes, checked his body for injuries, and felt there were none. He slowly turned his head, and was thankful there was no pain, or stiffness. To his right and left, cars were bunching up on either side of him.

  He was rear-ended, he knew. Nate also knew that his car was in pretty bad shape, even though he himself seemed okay. He didn’t have to see the damage that had been done for him to know the extent of it.

  He reached for his seat belt buckle, and started to unclasp it.

  “No, don’t get out!” shouted an aging redheaded woman, wearing a worried expression, standing at his window.

  “I’m okay,” Nate said, reaching for the door handle and trying to push it open.

  “We’ve called an ambulance. Maybe you should just—”

  “I’m okay!” Nate said again, his irritation obvious in his voice. The woman stepped away, and Nate got out.

  The damage was as Nate had suspected; quite bad. The entire back end of his Bentley had been compressed, and shoved toward the backseat of his car. The back windshield had shattered; bits and pieces of red brake-light glass were scattered across the pavement. The car looked like an accordion with wheels. It was totaled.

  Nate was lucky and thankful to be alive, he told himself, but he was still mad as hell that some fool, who obviously didn’t watch where he was going, wrecked his beautiful car.

  Nate turned his head to see just who had done this to him.

  Cars were starting to honk their horns, drivers sticking their heads out of their windows to see what had happened, as Nate walked the ten feet between the two cars, and stopped just in front of the car that had wrecked his. It was amazing, considering all the destruction that had been done to Nate’s car; the other car seemed to have nothing more than a couple of dents and chipped paint, which made Nate even more insane with anger.

  He hurried around to the passenger-side window and yelled at the driver.

  “Do you see what you did to my car! Do you see what you did to it!”

  The driver, a man, just sat there, looking straight ahead, not seeming to want to look at Nate.

  “Do you hear me! Do you see! Say something!”

  “I’m sorry,” the man finally said.

  “You’re sorry! You plowed into my car with this”—Nate was unable to immediately identify the make and model, so he quickly stomped to the back of the car, read the badge, and stomped back—“this fucking AMC Gremlin, and you say you’re sorry. Get out of the damn car!” Nate said, yanking at the door handle, planning on knocking the man to the ground as soon as he stepped out. “I said, get out!”

  “All right, all right,” the man said.

  And when he stepped out of the car, Nate figured he probably wouldn’t go knocking him to the ground just yet, because the man was the same height as Nate, a little heavier, and more muscular. But still Nate was very angry.

  “Give me your insurance information,” Nate said, digging into his wallet to retrieve his own. He held them out to the man, waiting for his in return. When the man failed to produce his, Nate said again, “We need to exchange insurance information.”

  “Sir, I don’t have any insurance.”

  “What!” And that was the last straw for Nate. That was it. He dug into his pants pocket, pulled out his cell phone,
dialed three numbers, pressed send, then placed the phone to his ear.

  “Sir, sir!” the man said, stepping closer to Nate. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m calling the police. Having your ass taken off to jail. No insurance is illegal.”

  “But sir, you can’t do that.”

  “I can, and I will.”

  “Please, sir, please,” the man begged. “I don’t have nothing. No home, no money. That’s why I couldn’t get my brakes fixed.”

  “Nine-one-one emergency,” Nate heard a nasally woman’s voice answer.

  “Yes, I’d like to report an accident.”

  “Sir, sir,” the man said, this time grabbing Nate by the sleeve, tugging him like a child trying to gets its mother’s attention. “Please, just hang up the phone.”

  Nate looked down at him. How pathetic he thought this man was. How in the world did this man mess up in life to leave him homeless and penniless? He could’ve done more, Nate figured. He looked able-bodied, was young, a good-looking fellow—

  “Where did the accident take place, sir?” the woman on the phone asked.

  “Please don’t do this,” the man said again. “I don’t have no money, or no insurance, but I’m sure we can work something out. Anything. Just hang up the phone.”

  Nate looked at the man again with even more pity now. We can work something out, Nate heard him say, and he had to laugh at that. What in the world could this loser do to help Nate out? Of what value could this fool be to him, other than to wash his and his wife’s cars for life? But since Nate’s car was totaled, that just left—

  “Sir, where did the accident take place?” the voice insisted.

  —Monica’s car. And then something all of a sudden came to Nate. A brainstorm. No, bigger. A mental monsoon!

  “Sir—”

  Nate didn’t answer the woman, but disconnected the call, and then said to the man in front of him, “Okay. Maybe we can work something out.”

  23

  Monica slammed the phone down to the table and sprung from the sofa when she heard someone at the front door.

  When it opened and Nate walked in, she raced over to him, threw her arms around him, and squeezed him hard. “Where have you been?” she said.

  When she heard a faint groan escape her husband, she loosened her embrace and stepped back from him. “Are you all right?”

  “I’ve been in a car accident,” Nate said, wincing just a little.

  “What! Did it happen last night? Is that what happened to you? Why didn’t you call me?” Monica said, sounding hysterical.

  “Calm down, calm down,” Nate said, walking into the living room. “It happened this morning.”

  “Well, are you all right?” Monica said, following closely behind him. “Did you go to the hospital?”

  “No. I didn’t go to the hospital, because I’m fine.”

  “Then how do you know that, if you didn’t go?”

  Nate stopped walking toward the kitchen and turned around. Monica was right there behind him.

  He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Monica,” he said. “I’m fine. I was a little shaken up, but other than that, I am just fine. Okay?”

  It took Monica a moment to respond, but finally she said, “Okay. What happened to the car?”

  Nate shook his head. “I had it towed, but it was pretty bad, and I’m sure they’ll total it out.”

  “I’m sorry, baby,” Monica said, hugging him again, taking care not to squeeze him too hard. “The most important thing is that you’re all right. I was so worried about you all last night. I thought you said we’d be able to do dinner. Where were you?”

  “I was over at Tim’s,” Nate quickly answered.

  “But when I called over there, he said he hadn’t spoken to you.”

  “I didn’t get there until sometime after eleven.”

  “Then where were you before then?”

  Nate sighed, reached around his back, grabbed Monica’s hands, unclasped them, and stepped out of her embrace. He turned away from her. “Just out walking around.”

  “Why?”

  “I had things on my mind.”

  “What things?”

  “Things, Monica!” Nate said, turning, raising his voice.

  Monica was startled, and jumped just a little bit. “Then why didn’t you call me? At least I would’ve known that you were all right.”

  “I don’t know why I didn’t call you. There were just things that I had to work out in my mind, and I guess I lost track of time, or something. I ended up at Tim’s because I needed someone to talk to about all this.”

  “You could’ve talked to me.”

  “It needed to be Tim.”

  “And that stuff that you talked to him about,” Monica asked. “It had to do with us?”

  “Yes,” Nate said. “Is there anything in there to eat? I’m starving.” He sat himself down on the sofa.

  “Yes,” Monica said, feeling as though she and the discussion had been dismissed. “I’ll make you some breakfast. Have a seat at the table.”

  Everything was supposed to have been better now, Monica thought as she pulled open the fridge. But things weren’t. He was still thinking about Monica’s condition, still resenting her for it. She could tell just by the way he looked at her, by the way he answered her when she asked him, was it them he had to speak to his brother about?

  Monica pulled the carton of eggs and package of bacon from the fridge, and set them on the counter.

  If she had any doubts about checking into adoption, they weren’t there any longer. And once again, she was certain that it was the only thing that would get them back on track.

  The presentation she had for Nate last night over dinner was all planned out. She had rehearsed it over and over again, and was confident that he would’ve agreed with everything she had discussed, and would’ve been willing to go ahead and take the next step toward adopting little Nathaniel, if he had heard it. But she would just have to save it for another time, because considering all he had just gone through, and the little argument they just had, now would be the worst time to bring that up.

  Monica grabbed a skillet from under the sink, and was just about to set it on the stove when she froze, remembering that she hadn’t put away the adoption materials after she had taken them out again this morning.

  She set the skillet aside and hurried into the dining room, hoping to catch her husband before he decided to take his seat at the table.

  When Monica made it out of the kitchen and was approaching the table, Nate was doing the same, was pulling out his chair, and was ready to sit down. Monica practically stepped in front of him and said, “Let me clear these things from out of your way.”

  She started to gather them when Nate said, “Hold it.” He grabbed some of the pages out of her hand and said, “What is this?”

  “It’s nothing,” Monica said, trying to take the pages back.

  “No. It’s something.” He read the letterhead on one of the pages. “The True Home Adoption Agency.”

  “We don’t have to talk about this right now.” Monica took the pages from him. “I’ll make you breakfast, and we can talk about it another time.” She moved away from the table with all the literature bunched up in both hands.

  “No, we can’t talk about it another time, because I thought we already had this conversation, and decided against it.”

  Monica stopped and turned around. “No. We didn’t decide against it. I mentioned it to you, and you rejected the idea. But we didn’t decide anything.”

  “Well, there’s nothing else to talk about.”

  “Yes there is, Nate,” Monica said, feeling as though he was trying to dismiss her yet again. “You wanted a family, still want one, but I can’t give you that.”

  “It’s not important anymore.”

  “Bullshit! If it wasn’t important anymore, what was last night about? Something that’s not important anymore was so much on your mind that you couldn’t come ho
me, but had to walk around just to sort it out, and then couldn’t talk to me, your wife, about it, but had to go to your brother. And you tell me it’s not important.”

  “Monica, I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “Why?” Monica said, taking steps toward him. “I’ve been trying to ignore it, but it feels as though our marriage is falling apart because of this. I know you see it too, Nate. Don’t try to deny it.”

  Nate said nothing.

  Monica walked very close to him, the adoption papers still in her hands. There before him, she shuffled quickly through the pages and pulled out the photo of the little infant boy.

  “Here.”

  Nate turned away from it. “I don’t want to see that.”

  “Look at it!” Monica demanded.

  Nate took the photograph.

  “That’s a little boy named Nathaniel. He has the same name as you, and we can adopt him if we want. That could be the son you always wanted, our son. All you have to do is say yes.”

  “Monica, I don’t know.”

  Monica threw the other papers to the sofa and stomped a couple of steps away from him. “Will you at least think about it?” she said, turning back to face him. “I really feel that this will make the difference in whether or not you and I will stay together. Will you think about it?”

  Nate looked down at the photo one last time. “I can’t promise you anything, but I’ll think about it.”

  “Fine,” Monica said.

  24

  Lewis walked into a motel room and closed the door behind him. He stood there a moment, looking around, wondering why he was even standing there, why he had taken the money from that man only hours ago, and agreed to do what the man had told him.

  The man—Mr. Kenny, he said his name was—asked for Lewis’s driver’s license after he had put his cell phone away and agreed not to call the police.

  Lewis pulled the license from his wallet and gave it to the man, as Mr. Kenny went about taking out his own wallet.

  He took Lewis’s license, didn’t even look at it, but slipped it into his own billfold.

  “Hold it. What are you doing?”