I paused, then reached into a new file as the bailiff returned the correspondence between Charlie and Chase. "This is an email to Mr. Tucker from me," I said, "in which I tell him that Chase had come to me about the emails he and his father had exchanged. In this email"-the bailiff took the paper from my extended hand-"I remind Charlie-Mr. Tucker-that our divorce agreement states we are not to do anything in front of the children-"

"Yes, yes," Mr. McPherson cut in. "You mentioned this. Ms. Tucker, tell me, what do you deem improper? Because from where I'm sitting, simply dating doesn't seem improper."

It was a question I had not expected. "Well . . . I . . . I think that when the boys-Chase and Cody-are with their father, he can forgo his little . . . escapades."

Charlie moved beside me. "Oh, come on . . ."

I turned in time to see Mr. Jansen place a hand on Charlie's arm. Client looked at attorney, who shook his head, demanding compliance.

Mr. McPherson said, "Mr. Jansen . . ."

"It's okay, sir. My client apologizes."

Mr. McPherson turned his attention back to me. "Is that what you are here to ask, Ms. Tucker?" He held up one of the papers I'd handed to his bailiff. "I have a very vague order here in a divorce decree. What is an escapade to one is nothing more than a date to another. Do you see the problem I have with this?"

I straightened my back. "Yes, your honor, but don't you think some things are obvious?"

"Like what, Ms. Tucker? The boys are going to their grandparents' while your ex-husband is out on a date. Is there anything I need to know about your ex-in-laws? Are they dangerous criminals?"

Charlie's parents were Ozzie and Harriett. Ward and June. Jim and Margaret. Good Christian people-owners of a landscape design nursery-who had worked hard to rear a decent family and who didn't deserve anything negative even being hinted about them. I'd not previously discussed any of this with them. I felt that-with Charlie being their son-their allegiance would naturally fall to him.

"Of course not," I said.

Mr. McPherson turned to Charlie. "Mr. Tucker, are you bringing women into your home, exposing your sons to any type of s.e.xual conduct or misconduct?"

I looked at Charlie, who was looking straight at me. Without batting an eyelash he said, "Of course not." He returned his gaze to the G.M. "Your honor, I love my sons." He swallowed. "You mentioned my folks. They're good people. They've worked hard to build a family business and to rear three sons who work equally as hard. They taught us Christian values, and I want to pa.s.s those along to my boys just as they did to my brothers and me."

I furrowed my brow then opened the final file on my table. Facing Mr. McPherson, I said, "Sir, not to take away from his parents-who are fine people-but I have hired a private investigator who reports that Mr. Tucker goes out a lot, drinking in different bars, leaving with different women . . ." I opened my mouth to continue but nothing more came out.

"Ms. Tucker," the G.M. said, "could it be that you still have feelings for your ex-husband and what this is really about is that while you don't want him, you don't want anyone else to, either?"

Again, I fell silent, stunned. Tears stung my eyes. I tried to focus on Charlie, then Mr. McPherson, and then Charlie again. "No, sir," I said, keeping my voice steady. "Any feelings . . . any love . . . I ever had for Charlie died when he told me he was having an affair." I swallowed again. "The day I begged for counseling and he asked for a divorce."

3.

"Ms. Tucker," Mr. McPherson droned, "allow me to stop you and tell you what I think."

I immediately became silent.

"What I think we have here is jealousy in its pure and simple form."

I opened my mouth to protest, but the G.M. raised his hand to stop me. "Don't say anything else, Ms. Tucker. I have the floor now." He looked at the papers before him again and then back at me and Charlie. "The two of you are adults-at least I presume you are-and you are the loving parents-which is obvious-of two fine boys. Ms. Tucker, your husband asked for a divorce, which you clearly did not want." He tapped the papers. "But it seems you didn't get your way on that. So now you want control over your ex-husband's whereabouts. What he does and who he does it with. Should I presume you haven't dated since the divorce?"

My face grew hot. I blinked and willed myself not to cry. Date? Who had time to date with a full-time teaching job, two active sons, a large home to keep up, family who demanded so much time. If weekdays were about work and the boys, weekends were about the house, family, and church. Besides, every male I knew was a pal of Charlie's; none of them were about to ask me out. "No, I haven't dated anyone," I answered.

"Well . . . I think your boys will be just fine with their father during his visitation with them." He looked at Charlie. "But, Mr. Tucker, I should warn you; these boys are obviously old enough to spill the beans on you and old enough to be molded by what you do. Remember that you do have influence over the character they'll develop in this life. Make your time with them about them, okay?"

"Yes, sir."

"You understand what I'm getting at?"

"Absolutely, sir." Charlie's voice didn't quiver at all. I dared to look at him again. His jaw was firmly set.

"Your honor," Mr. Jansen interrupted, "we'd like to bring up the matter of the countersuit."

The general magistrate looked from Mr. Jansen to his bailiff, who reached over the expanse of the desk and pointed. Mr. McPherson's eyes followed the bailiff's finger, then he picked up a fresh sheet of paper. "What is this about?" He sounded exasperated; I hoped that would be to my benefit.

"If I may," Charlie began, "my ex-wife managed to keep the boys from me during this past spring break vacation. I'm asking that the week I lost be tacked on to my time with my sons during summer break."

Mr. McPherson looked at me. "What do you have to say about this?"

I placed my hands on the table and leaned forward. "Our sons told their father they didn't want to go with him for the week. They had an opportunity to go with my father and stepmother to Cedar Key-they have a house there-and when they asked their dad, he okayed it."

"Mr. Tucker?"

"That's not entirely true, your honor. The boys talked to me about it, but I never said it was okay. If they told their mother that, then I guess I'll have to have a little talk with my sons."

"Charlie," I blurted.

"Ms. Tucker . . ."

From behind me I heard Anise's gentle shushing, like a mother calming her child.

I quieted my mouth and my heart as best I could.

"Mr. Tucker, what happened after you realized your sons would not be joining you for the week?"

Charlie leaned forward and rested his forearms against the table before him. "I called my ex-wife a number of times . . ."

I opened my mouth to protest but refrained.

"I drove past the house, but I didn't see my wife's car. I even tried to call Chase on his cell phone, but it always went straight to voice mail. Of course, once I found out that he was in Cedar Key it made sense. Cell service isn't always good there."

"Your honor, my ex-husband most a.s.suredly did tell our sons that they could go. Our sons are not liars, and I resent the implication that they are."

"Ms. Tucker, I think we both know that children will tell tall tales to get what they want."

"Not my sons."

"Spoken like a true mother. Now, what about Mr. Tucker's implication that he tried to call you?"

"If he did, my phone never rang. Well, I mean my phone rang, but I have caller ID, and I didn't see any evidence of him calling the house."

"I called your cell," Charlie said.

I looked at him and then back to the general magistrate. "Or my cell phone."

"It was always off. You can't say your phone registers calls when it's off. Your phone is just like mine, remember? And I know mine doesn't."

"Then why didn't you leave a message? Or call the house?"

"Ms. Tucker . . ."

"I'm sorry, sir. This is the kind of thing he is notorious for doing."

Charlie chuckled quietly beside me. "Notorious . . ."

"Mr. Tucker, keep your comments to yourself, please."

I turned back to see Charlie's reaction. Mr. Jansen's look warned Charlie to be quiet. Charlie nodded.

"Now, Mr. Tucker, what do you say to this?"

Charlie raised his hands, then dropped them. "I'm sorry, your honor. I didn't leave a message because I was married to my wife for sixteen years-my ex-wife, excuse me-and I know her." He looked at me, then quietly added, "Probably better than she knows herself. She turns off her phone so she can say there was no communication thereby keeping herself innocent in all this."

I shook my head. I knew this tactic and I knew it well. He attempted to show the G.M. his tender side. That he loved me. Or had loved me very much at one time. As I had loved him.

"As for the house, like I said, I drove by and didn't see her car in the driveway so I a.s.sumed she was with the boys and her parents."

"My car . . ." I started to say to Charlie, then turned to the front. "My car was in the garage, your honor."

"Mr. Tucker?"

Again Charlie raised his hands and dropped them. "We always parked in the driveway."

"Before the divorce, yes. After, no. With Mr. Tucker's stuff gone-which took up every square foot of s.p.a.ce in the garage-I am now able to park in the garage."

"All right," Mr. McPherson said. "I'm ready to rule on this. Mr. Tucker, would you like to make up the time you lost?"

"I would, sir."

"All right, then. Ms. Tucker, I am ruling on behalf of Mr. Tucker on this issue."

I felt my heart sink to my stomach, my legs turn to rubber.

"Mr. Tucker, when does your summer visitation begin?"

"Next Monday, your honor."

"Then let the record show we are extending his four weeks to five beginning next Monday, May 31st, and concluding . . ." He looked at his a.s.sistant.

"Five weeks is Monday the 5th of July."

Mr. McPherson looked at Charlie. "Bring them home on Sunday evening, typically?"

"Yes, sir, 6:00. But that's the fourth and a holiday."

"Then we'll make it Monday the 5th at 6:00. And Mr. Tucker, I do not want to hear that you spent these weeks with women while your boys spent time with your parents. Spend the time with your sons, you hear me? This time is precious, and believe me, it'll be over soon enough."

"Yes, sir."

"Ms. Tucker, I take it you won't try anything to keep him from his sons."

I started to protest. I'd not done that . . . ever. But to say so would only be spouting words into the air. I merely shook my head.

"Court is dismissed then. You are free to leave."

Forty minutes after my being sworn in, Heather, Anise, and I stood by Anise's car-a glacier pearl Nissan Murano-staring at one another as though in shock. I pretended not to notice when Charlie and Mr. Jansen walked across the parking lot, Charlie strutting like a peac.o.c.k to his car, which he'd parked right next to mine. I kept my eyes focused on a crepe myrtle, though peripherally I could see all I needed to. I heard the chirp-chirp of the car's alarm system being deactivated and the car door click open.

"Tell my sons I'll call them later tonight," he called out.

I turned my face from the sound of his voice, my chin to my shoulder. "Oh, G.o.d," I whispered to the asphalt below my feet. "How could this have happened?"

Heather cleared her throat, and I looked at her just in time to hear Charlie's car purring to life. "What?" I asked, the word barely making it past the knot in my throat.

She looked down at her watch. "I hate to commiserate and run, but I've got to get back home before the kids do and . . ."

I looked at her hands. They trembled.

I nodded. "I understand. Thank you for being here." My voice cracked over my last words.

My sister wrapped her arms around me and squeezed. "It's going to be all right, you hear me? We'll spend the entire five weeks pampering ourselves. We'll go shopping and we'll lunch together. We'll lay out by my pool every day and we'll get manis and pedis once a week." She drew back, cupped my face in her still shaking fingers, and said, "And for one whole week we'll go to the beach. My treat." Then she blushed. "Well, mine and Andre's."

I nodded. Bless her for this, even though I knew it would never happen. Not all of it anyway.

"Okay, then." She leaned over and kissed the side of my mouth. "I love you. You know that, right?"

I nodded again. Then she turned, said a brisk "good-bye" to Anise, and was on her way.

I collapsed against the Murano. "What am I going to do?" I asked as the sobs overtook me.

Anise immediately took the place Heather had occupied earlier. In the arms of my sister I felt loved, but in Anise's I felt safe. "You will begin by coming to the house for dinner tonight."

I shook my head. "I can't, Anise. I can't."

Anise took me by my shoulders and shook them ever so gently. "Yes, you can. Your father insists upon it." The way she said "insists" made it sound more a command than a kind invitation.

"When did he say that?" I asked between tears.

"Earlier today. He said that no matter what happened today, he wanted you and the boys to come to dinner." She kissed the side of my head. "And so you shall." She linked her arm with mine then escorted me to my car. "Where are the boys?"

"Home, I presume. Unless they went to a friend's to play." My chest heaved several times. "Oh, Anise, how am I going to tell them?"