Betty Lou's Steppin' Out Tonight

And then just a little while later my phone rang.

My caller ID indicated that it was a law firm calling...but not MY lawyer's law firm. Was Lars' lawyer Rochelle breaking all the rules and calling me directly? Is she really looking for that kind of fight? My fight-or-flight mechanism kicked into gear...and I placed my hand on the phone, my heart racing , by hand shaking, my mind trying to force my voice to sound calm and under control and in complete command of my faculties...and said, in a voice more Kathleen Turner than I'd intended, "Hello."

"Hello. J. Cullen."

And the voice was as deep and resonating and melodious as I'd remembered.

And it was as if the dozen or so years since we'd last spoken a full sentence to one another vanished and we were talking like old friends. Catching up on kids, getting current on careers, inquiring about siblings. And then we got into it.

We'd both married complete nuts. We'd both taken a heaping helping of shit from our families for doing so. We both quietly endured more insult, injury and injustice than most people would believe us capable of enduring. We'd both found a way to not murder our soon-to-be-first-spouses. (He went to meditate at a shrine, I walked laps at the high school track, both of us staying at it until we could go home and be reasonably confident we'd be able to suppress any homicidal thoughts.) We were both happy to be getting out, but sad for all the sadness and chaos it brought to our children's lives.

I took my place at the top of the basement stairs, sitting half way in and out of the doorway of the kitchen. A favorite place to have a lengthy private chat. It was nice to talk with someone about the otherwordliness of divorce without feeling like I was burdening them with my worries. It is an all-consuming thing. We had loads to talk about. And talked very easily about it all.

After an hour or so, which seems like considerably less time, J. suggested, as his mother had, that we get together for a beer and catch up some more.

I took this to be a "give me a call someday" kind of request. But his next sentence was asking me to look at my calendar and suggest a date that worked for me. He could arrange just about anything.

I knew Lars was absconding with the kids to his brother's house a few hours away when he took his share of the days later in the week. I suggested Thursday. He agreed. I gave him my cell number and we discussed a location.

I had a date. Sort of. I was going out in public with a man, a man who, if memory served, was good looking and kind. A man who was not my husband. Yay, me.

And then just like a date, he called on Thursday morning to confirm.

Only he called my house number instead of my cell.

And I'd gone to work already.

But Lars hadn't.

Uh-oh.