Fighting for Arielle (9 page)

“Really?
 I go there every time I want to lift.”  I try to remember if I have seen her around the gym.  I know I would have noticed her working out.

“You do?” she ask
s as a look of excitement spreads all throughout her features.  It’s a look that I am certain stole my heart directly out of my chest.  I almost have to double check to make sure it’s still there.  “Next time you’re there, come back to the office and say ‘Hey.’  If I see you on the gym floor, you can be sure I will come annoy you.”  

We pause for a moment, smiling and taking each other in.
 I have so many things I want to know about her, but I’m not sure why she’s here wanting to meet with legal staff, so I appreciate the ability to ask personal questions without seeming odd.

Pulling a blank legal pad out of a desk drawer and picking up my favorite pen,
my amusement continues. I write
Abbott
on my yellow piece of paper.  Looking at the black ink letters on the page, I am happy to begin to learn who she really is.

“Sp
ell your full first name for me.”

“A-r-i-e-l-l-e,” she rattles off as if she’s done it many times before in her life.

I wrap my smile around her name.  “Arielle.” I also recall that she shortened her name to “Ari” when she introduced herself to me, but I prefer the unabbreviated version of hers as well.  

“Like
The Little Mermaid
?”

She drops her smile, which confuses me.
 “I’m used to people mispronouncing my name, and normally I just let it go, but I feel compelled to correct you.”  

I want to make sure I say it correctly, so I listen intently.
 

“Arr-ee-elle.
 Like a pirate. 
Arrrrrr
,” she gives her best Captain Hook impression.

“I really like your name, Arielle.”
 I allow her name to linger on my tongue a little longer than necessary as if I can taste the letters as I pronounce it per her direction.  I fix my eyes on her mouth, then her gaze.  She darts her eyes away and looks to the bare, white walls of my office.  That name has never sounded so sexy before.   

Her eyes glisten a little
, and I see a small dimple forming on her cheek as I chuckle to myself and write her first name on the paper

She tilts her head in curiosity.
 “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” I respond, smiling bigger this time.
 She looks up at me with kind eyes and a genuine smile.  I can hardly contain my laughter at hearing her trying to speak like a pirate. “I’ve just never...  You’ve got to be the least scary pirate ever.”

“What. Are. You. Talking. About. Willis?
 I am a fierce pirate!”

“Having dealt with real pirates in my lifetime, trus
t me, you’re far from fierce.” She looks at me with the most beautiful and kind face I’ve ever seen.  “Uh...  Did you just quote Gary Coleman to me?”

“Uhhh...yeah?” she says, stifling her laughter.
 “Are you going to tell me no one’s ever said that line to you?”  

“Well, yeah they have, but not with so much...finesse,” I allow the last words to flow from my tongue.

I can’t help but laugh.  I feel like this whole situation is very amusing.  I came into work today, expecting the same minutia of my job, and instead, I am learning about the woman I’ve been wondering about and cannot get off of my mind.  Again, I am wrapped up in a complete stranger and not wanting my time with her to end.  

“I quote that show all of the time...what of it?”

This time, she belts out a hearty laugh with her sigh, and it is though she is singing my song.  The sound of her laughter must be what muses use to capture their prey, because I am certainly taken in by it.  

After a bit of laughter between the both of us, I get down to business.

”Now, how can I help you?”

I
can think of any number of ways she could
help
me at the current moment, but I pull my head out from the clouds and remember I am a professional who needs to listen to her carefully.  

She stills her eyes on mine.
 

“I’d like to file for divorce.
 Please,” she says meekly.

So she’s married.
 Of course she is…  This is part of why I have yet to get married or commit to a long-term relationship.  Military life is difficult enough alone.  Making a relationship work through all of the ups, downs, and separation that is required for military life is more work than I’ve been willing to put in with anyone.  

I return to business mode and nod professionally, acknowledging her request.
 I place my pen on the desk and look up thoughtfully, thinking of how I could easily complete her divorce petition, but wonder whether I should refer her case to another JAG officer since the woman sitting before me clearly has an effect on me.  When I look back to her, I hope she can’t read my thoughts through my professional stare.  Just seeing her looking back at me in anticipation, and the strong feelings of protectiveness that arise in me from it, lets me know what the right answer is.

“Okay, typically I don’t handle these kinds of cases anymore, but I can get the ball rolling for you and then put you in touch with one of the JAG officers who do.”

“That would be fine... I guess.”

I try to mask my disappointment.
 For some reason, I am disappointed that I will not be handling her case.  

She begins to giggle to herself, but doesn’t share why.
 I want to ask, but I stay the course of the purpose of getting more information.

Our meeting continues without consequence
, except for the occasional glance that lasts a little longer than a professional one should or lulls in conversation because I’m too wrapped up in enjoying all of the nuances of her gorgeous face.  Eventually, I ask her a series of standard questions for which she gives the most humorous and snarky answers.

“What is your husband’s name, rank, and social security number?”  

“Brody Schroerlucke, Asshole.
 Isn’t it a crime to know someone else’s social security number?”

“How long have you been married?”

“One year, but I’m almost positive time stopped or the speed in which the Earth revolves around the sun slowed down for that year.”

“Do you have any children?”

“No, but I have one darling reptichild.”

“Any mutual assets?”

“Does a mountain made from beer bottles on your back porch count?”

I laugh out loud at her
last response.

I
click away at my computer, writing the petition and putting her information into the database for a minute or so longer, when out of the corner of my eye, I can see her staring at my profile.  Her eyes move along my features, and I wonder if she’s thinking the same inappropriate thoughts as I.  My typing stops, as I try to decipher her thoughts, but she diverts her eyes elsewhere before I can figure it out.  It’s probably for the best.  I resume typing and the room is silent except for the clicking and clacking of my keyboard.  

I hear her absently humming a song that sounds really familiar to me.
 

“Is that
‘Modern Major General?’”

“Hmmmm?” she asks, still looking at her fingers and lost in her thoughts.

“That song you’re humming...from
Pirates of Penzance
?  It’s ‘Modern Major General.’”

I look over from my screen to catch her attention.

“Oh...  I suppose it is.  I didn’t even realize I was humming.”  She lifts her head, turns it toward me, and raises an eyebrow.  “It’s because you mentioned pirates, you know…  But, I have to say that I’m impressed you knew the song, much less the show it’s from.”

A wry smile forms on my lips as I remember something she said the first time we met.

”Well, I guess a person can have more than one side to them.”

Laughing, she responds, “I sincerely concur.”

Her smile, the memories of our times together- before I knew who she was -and the familiar feelings I had during those times light up the room.  I need to get myself together.  

“Alright Ms. Abbott, you’re squared away.
 I’ve entered your information into the computer, and someone will give you a call to set up your next appointment.”

She looks to me with a wide and warm
, toothy smile.  She lets out a sigh of relief, and I am uncharacteristically happy and proud of her.  

“Thank you so much.
 You have no idea how much this means to me.  You are helping far more than you realize.”

“It’s just what I do,” I shrug.  “Feel free to contact me if you have any questions or need anything else.”

              “Don’t forget that I’m going to come annoy the crap out of you at the gym when I see you there.”  

As I think how her chatting me up in the gym would have the opposite effect, she says,
“Anyway, thanks again, and I hope to see you soon, McCrary.”

Hearing my name rolling off her tongue and through her
lips again makes my body go into in overdrive, and thoughts of where else she can put those lips that might garner a similar response begin to cluster in my head.  I am jolted out of my fantasies by the same person who caused them as I refocus my eyes onto the computer screen and back to her.  

“One more question: Why are you petitioning for divorce?”

Before I can finish my question, her body becomes rigid and her chest falls.  She hunches her shoulders over, hugging herself at the waist.  The joy and wonder disappear from her eyes as she positions them toward the floor.  Gone are the golden flecks in her deep green eyes.  Gone is the warmth in her cheeks and lips.  Red flags are going off in my head everywhere.  Whoever her husband is, he better not have hurt her.  Any man who exerts control over a woman is a piece of shit, but domestic violence of any kind is reprehensible.  I hope that my inclination is wrong about Arielle’s situation, because she certainly deserves better than that, but somehow I know it’s not.  

I clench my jaw, impatiently awaiting her answer.
 

“Arielle?”

“My reason for divorce.  Right.  Ummm...  It’s just not working out.  So, irreconcilable differences?  Isn’t that the all-encompassing, blanket statement; the umbrella that most reasons for divorce fall under?”

She looks back
at me, attempting to be passive, but I can read right through her voice and facial expressions as the emotion in her eyes betray her and tell the real story.  

“Are you sure that’s the reason?
 If it’s something more, then it’s likely you will come out in a better financial position in the end.”

“No,” she snaps.  ”I don’t want anything from him.
 I just want to be done.  That’s all.”  She sighs and drops her head. “Plus, I’m not completely sure I can do this.”  

I think she didn’t intend for me to hear that last statement, but I most certainly did, and I know she can do this.

I feel this primal need to not only be around her more, but also to protect her.  She clearly needs support from someone who will give her the time and attention she needs.  That her case needs- I remind myself of our professional relationship.  

“How about we set up another meeting so we can discuss your options
in a little more detail?” I ask, my voice hopeful.

She looks away from her lap and up to
me with gratitude and renewed hope in her eyes.   “I thought you don’t take these cases.”

Just seeing that
glimmer of hope in her eyes fills my heart and I want it to become more than a glimmer.  

“Well, that was before I realized it was for an old friend.”

We set up an appointment in two weeks so that she can also gather some necessary information and paperwork.  

As our meeting comes to an end, I begin to feel the same disappointment I felt when she said goodbye to me on Saturday.
 Just her presence makes me feel joy and warmth, mixed with many other emotions.

As Arielle stands to leave, she smiles, but it doesn’t hide the sadness and pain still swirling in her verdant and beautiful eyes.
 I wish I could take all of that pain away and give her the same look of excitement and light that she had shown me just moments earlier.  

“Till next time, then,” she says stiffly.

I hesitate, not wanting to tell her goodbye and not wanting to send her back to what I can only imagine is her own personal Hell, but I’ve done everything a person in my position can do.  I’ve only interacted with her three times now, but in those interactions, I’ve connected with her.  I can’t yet discern what type of connection we have, but I know for certain that there is one, and one of which I refuse to let go.  

I tell her who she can call if she decides to seek help for domestic violence
, and I remind her that I gave her my card with all of my contact information.  My hands are tied in this situation and I feel torn, pulled between wanting to protect her and keep her safe and holding fast to fiduciary responsibilities and professional boundaries.  I know I’ve already begun to cross the imaginary line that separates personal and professional relationships, but I can still stop this before it crosses a very clear and solid line that exists with her being married.