Lingering

“I lingered in my bed that morning, “ I said, recalling the pleasure of it. “I had a meeting scheduled for 10, and although there are always things around the house that need doing, I lingered there.”

“You didn’t get up to make Jake’s breakfast, or to put together a lunch?” Mark asked.

“Oh, yes, I did that. Then feeling unsurmountably tired, I lay back down. I didn’t sleep, just lingered there. “

“’Lingered.’ The word seems to have more meaning for you than its face value.” He held his cup of coffee in his hands, balanced on his thigh, but did not drink. He met my gaze intently.

“Isn’t it a lovely sounding word? As if I had all the time in the world, and could engage in any pleasure I liked. Romantic, isn’t it? The word, I mean.“ What was I playing at here? I wondered. Distraction, fantasy, escape-- it must be one of those.

It was obvious to me that he wanted me to hurry, to move ahead in my telling of the day’s events, but I did not want to face them, not just yet. I shuddered involuntarily, and forced myself back to the task at hand.

“Is there more you want to say about your lingering? I don’t want to push you,” he said, not a molecule of irritation in his voice, only tenderness. Would he let me linger there all day if I wanted? After all, he was my friend; but also my attorney, and he was being paid well to listen.

“No, I think that’s all,” I said, and mentally reviewed my progress so far. Oh dear, I hope I hadn’t sounded as if I was trying to seduce him! That idea had not crossed my mind till I pictured myself lying in my bed, and I wondered how I might repair that image. Quickly, I went on.

“I’m sorry, Mark. It’s just that I…I don’t want to face this, but it’s time I took control of my life. I’ve thought of divorce before. This isn’t the first time it’s crossed my mind. But it’s like I never thought about it seriously, not the actual leaving-- or, in this case, being left. It was more like an escape valve. If things got too bad, I could always use it. But I don’t know if I ever would have. Maybe if he’d hit me again. I hope I’d have had the good sense to leave then, but I’m not at all sure. “

I must have lapsed into a reverie again, because Mark’s voice brought me back to the present.

“But now you have decided to file for divorce? That is what you told me you wanted to do, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I said, and I was decisive. “Eric has…is…involved with another woman. His boss. Isn’t that a change from the usual secretary route?” I tried to laugh, but it was hollow. “Fancy that he’d do something so creative!”

“I should probably just mind my own business and go along with whatever you want, but I’m wondering if you’ve really thought this out. We’ve been friends for too long for me to bill you for hours that you’ll regret when you change your mind.”

He was very earnest. It was an attractive characteristic. It also satisfied the doubts I’d had a moment before. All business, yes, but he was truly my friend too.

“It isn’t that I want to do this,” I said, “but Eric has made up his mind. He told me so at our meeting yesterday, and then he turned on his heel and walked out. He intends to move in with this other woman, and to marry her when he is free."

"And so, you've finally made up your mind. You want to begin the proceedings." He sat back in his seat, and there was a hint of excitement in his voice.

"Yes. I want you to serve him with divorce papers. I’ll be damned if I’ll let him serve me, and make me come to court in the county where he’s living. I need to feel I have some power in this, and so I’ll take it wherever I can get it.” It felt like some small triumph, but a triumph nevertheless.

“All right then," he said. I’ll have the papers drawn up by tomorrow. Do you want him to have the option of coming here to pick them up, or do you want him served at work?”

Even in my anger I didn’t want him humiliated in his new workplace, so I agreed to give him the option. I walked out of the office with an appointment for next week and some tasks to complete in preparation. My feelings---that was another story. On one hand, I felt relief, as if I had been unchained from a heavy weight. But without that weight, I also felt as if I might fly off the universe into the nowhere. Who would notice?

Eric did not move out of our house immediately. His girlfriend had not decided if she was quite ready to have him move in, he told me that night. He had seen a lawyer himself, although he was very irritated that I hadn’t chosen to share one with him.

“It will cost twice as much, don’t you see?” he said. “Why can’t you be sensible? We can do this ourselves. All we need a lawyer for is to fill out the papers. We can split things down the middle. If we do things your way, the lawyers will get a big cut of it. You don’t want that to happen, do you?”

At that moment, when he sat there at our dining room table, trying to sound reasonable about something that was beyond reason to me, I didn’t care how much the lawyers made—as long as it came out of Eric’s share.

Mark hadn’t made any promises, but he gave me some assurance that I might come out ahead.

“For long-standing marriages, where one partner leaves another who has had a more dependent role, the balance sheets may well be allowed to come out favoring one party over the other.”

* * *

I remember that day so clearly, even though it was eight years ago.

In retrospect, my feelings had been the same feelings my twelve -year-old self had about diving off the high dive at the city pool. It took all the ferocity I could muster to make myself climb that high ladder, and there too I lingered, trying to avoid making any move. I had by that time no desire to jump, but even more desire not to retreat, not to fumble my way down that ladder, filled with shame.

Again, today, I lingered in the bed, unwilling to face a choice I knew I had to make. Before, I had no idea if I would survive the plunge; now I knew that I could. I could survive being alone, and in some circumstances it would be preferable. But I wasn’t there yet.

This is a more luxurious bed to linger in. It is a king size with pale blue sheets and a pale blue down comforter. The spring sunlight streams in through the window over my head, feeling warm and reassuring. The room is the picture of order. It could be photographed for any feature article on the art of decorating elegant bedrooms. There is an upholstered chaise lounge in the corner by the French doors, covered in blue and white pin stripe silk. The cornices are covered in the same fabric, over filmy white sheers with a blackout curtain tucked behind the frame. A lamp arm pivots, so I can read comfortably from there or at the desk beside it. Above the desk are two book shelves, filled with all the books I am currently reading or intend to read soon.

I could, if I wanted, linger in this room all day. A maid would pick up the laundry and take care of it. She would bring me a coddled egg in a Royal Worcester china egg cup, and toast in a silver rack, served on a mahogany tray on yellow and white plates, with a royal blue linen napkin—if I wanted it.

There is nothing, in fact, that I have to do today, nothing. It makes me very tired. I sleep more every day, enjoying the life in my dreams more than my waking hours. The dreams are unpredictable. My days are all the same. I am bored silly, and it is time to take control of my life once again.

After my first divorce, I had to work full time to make the payments on my house, which I’d insisted on keeping. There was enough change in my life. I wanted something substantial to stay the same, not only for myself but for Jake too. It had not been a bad decision. He’d been able to finish high school with his old friends in the same place. Later, when he was in his last year of college, I married again. My new husband and I bought a house together nearer his work, and I made a good profit on the home I sold. It is still in my bank account, still in my former name, a little nest egg in case I need it.

My new husband can well afford for me not to work; in fact, he prefers it. There are a lot of things he prefers, I’ve come to realize, things I had never had to consider before, when it was my own life. When it comes right down to it, the only things he’ll allow me to do with my days are shopping, decorating, baking, studying and writing.

'How wonderful', you say, 'to have someone support you while you write!' Not so. I find I have nothing to write about, nothing to stimulate my mind or give me characters and plots that are realistic. I need to be around people. I need to be doing something worthwhile.

I desperately need to take control of my life again. Maybe I will, if I can get around to it, today. Or maybe tomorrow.

You see, I’ll have to divorce my husband to do it, and it’s not easy to divorce a lawyer, especially my dear, generous Mark.