“Damn straight,” said her dad, still playing with him, not that Trip could know that. “You didn’t even ask for her hand, either.”
Trip glanced at Lark and took a breath. “Knowing your daughter, that would have been completely the wrong move. I’m not sure she would have forgiven me.”
Her dad guffawed and slapped a visibly relieved Trip on the back.
“I certainly wouldn’t have,” said her mom. “Women choose for themselves. But are you done apologizing, Trip?”
“I think so?” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“Good, because I believe we’re supposed to celebrate.”
After hugs and handshakes, her parents went into the kitchen to see what they could pour for a toast.
“How am I doing?” Trip whispered.
“Just fine.”
Her dad came back to report on the options. “Here at Chez Robinson, we can offer a bottle of sauvignon blanc that is not chilled but can be enjoyed over ice. We also have cold Miller High Life, which is not champagne, but has been called the champagne of beers.”
“Beer sounds perfect,” said Trip.
“I’ll have one, too,” said Lark.
“Beers all around then.”
Retrieving a six-pack, her dad twisted each cap with a flourish before distributing the bottles.
“Here’s to my beautiful, headstrong daughter, and the man she’s chosen to take this journey with,” said her mom.
Lark sipped her beer, the taste of it instantly taking her back to high school, when she had raided her dad’s supply before heading out to shows.
Trip raised his bottle. “To Lark, for making me the happiest man alive, because, honestly, I was afraid she’d say no!”
That got a chuckle.
Now it was her turn, and Lark had no idea what to say as she looked at the faces of her mom, dad, and Trip. Once again, she felt a little weepy.
“To us,” she said. “I’m sorry, but that’s all I can manage, or I’m going to cry.”
Her mom squeezed her shoulder.
“To Lark and this guy Trip, whoever the hell he is,” said her dad, and they all laughed.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
HOLLY
Do you have an exit strategy? Because your partners will.
—“How I Lied about My Name and Discovered My Truth,” a TED Talk by Jon M. Wright
Holly sat at a burnished wood table in the offices of Eerdman, Fellowes, Mancini, and Shulman, on the thirty-third floor of a muscular new tower that swaggered over the Loop. The building was four blocks from Jack’s corporate apartment and less than a mile from the Cancura offices, something she’d been acutely aware of as she hurried inside.
She’d chosen the long-established firm because they’d never done business with Jack, because they had the go-to divorce lawyer for the Chicago elite, and because they also specialized in business law and litigation. Suspecting Jack’s finances would prove an especially tricky knot to untangle, she’d asked for a business attorney to sit in on the initial interview.
Now, in this warmly lit conference room with boxes of tissues placed discreetly at hand as though she were at a therapist’s or a funeral parlor, she faced Francesco Mancini Jr., the founder’s son, who was now a principal, and Mark Todd, a handsome younger man she’d been assured was “the best we have.” Francesco asked most of the questions, scribbling illegible notes, while Mark listened intently and made only occasional interjections.
If she felt nervous at first, Francesco’s no-nonsense professionalism had her warming to the task. Middle-aged and almost startlingly unattractive, he nonetheless oozed such power and self-confidence that it was easy to see him commanding a courtroom. He didn’t ask her how she was feeling and didn’t hint that she was in any way over her head. Focusing on the facts, he spoke to her strictly as an equal.
For her part, Holly did her best to act like this wasn’t the hardest thing she’d ever done in her life.
Leaving Jack.
Believing Jessica.
They had covered the basics—names, spelling of names, places of employment, children’s names and ages, wedding dates (Holly almost choked on this one, thinking of what Jessica had told her about Mexico), prenuptial agreements (there wasn’t one)—and were moving into more difficult territory.
“Have you ever undergone couples therapy or marital counseling?” asked Francesco.
“No.”
“I’m not judging, but it could become relevant. Has either you or Jack asked for—or refused to participate in—counseling?”
It felt odd to realize it had never come up. There had been precious few acknowledgments of their difficulties from either of them. If she were sworn to tell the truth in a court of law, could she look a judge in the eye and say she’d actually wanted their marriage to get better?
“No,” she said. “He recently claimed to have checked himself into inpatient therapy, but I’ll need to see the receipt before I believe it.”
Nods. Pens scratching.
“Do you expect him to fight you for custody?”
“I sincerely doubt it, given how rarely he’s home now.”
“In my experience, people will often fight over things they don’t even want. Just to win.”
“Can we talk about his business?” asked Mark, almost hungrily. “Cancura?”
“Of course,” Holly said.
“Were you privy in general to his finances?”
“No. His accountant pays most of our bills, and I put household expenses on a credit card that is similarly taken care of. I’ve always been led to believe there is plenty, so I haven’t concerned myself with specific numbers.”
“What about your income as a doctor?”
“It’s very modest in comparison to his. I’m part time.”
“Do you have investment properties, retirement plans? College funds for the kids?”
“Jack always said he would just pay for college out of pocket. I do have a retirement plan through Cancura.”
Francesco cut in, sounding surprised. “How is that?”
“I was an employee for a short time when the company was founded. I remain on the board, although in confidence I have to tell you it’s really in name only. Jack always said he was allowed to offer me benefits because of it.”
Mark smiled. “Provides a nice write-off.”
“He’s always played loose with the rules. I’m
