Authors: Stephen Greenleaf
“More than once?”
She nodded.
“Why?”
She shrugged. “He gets drunk. And imagines things.”
“Things like what?”
“Oh, that I talked to a guy at a party too long. Or let someone look down my dress. Stuff like that.” She twisted with embarrassment. Guys must have been looking down her dresses for years, but it was not a thing she would have talked about or even thought was vile.
“Did Delbert do that to your finger?”
She held it up. “This? I guess. Yeah.”
“How long ago?”
“Day after we got married.”
“Why?”
“He claimed I danced too close with his brother at the reception.” Her grin made the maiming seem a silly bit of mischief.
“Have you talked with anyone about all of this, Lucinda?” D.T. asked.
“Just my sister.”
“She told you to leave him?”
“She told me not to marry him in the first place.”
She said it as a joke, and D.T. smiled stupidly, to accommodate her. She had already joined that half of all women who will be assaulted by their mates, but perhaps she was one of the lucky ones, who would escape before it could get far worse. “Have you talked to anyone else? A doctor? The police? Anyone?”
She shook her head.
“Has Delbert ever been in trouble with the law?”
She frowned, quickly angry. “How'd you know that? Has he talked to you, or what?”
D.T. shook his head. “I've never laid eyes on Delbert, Lucinda. If we're lucky I won't have to. It's just that most men who drink a lot sooner or later get in trouble with the law. What did Delbert do?”
“Beat a guy up.”
“Bad?”
“Hit him with a pool cue and cracked his skull. Del got two years' probation.”
“He still on probation?”
She nodded.
“He got a job?”
“A welder, when he works.”
“Pretty good money in that.”
“I guess. Del has trouble staying on with anybody steady.”
“He do anything else? Hobbies? Other jobs?”
“He fishes some. Hunts. Fixes cars. Draws some pictures, too. Of cars, mostly. And me, before I got like this.”
“How about you, Lucinda? You have a job?”
“Waitress, is all.”
“Where?”
“Pancake House.”
D.T. fought an impulse to ask her to leave, to walk peaceably and quietly out of his life, to spare him. Instead he zeroed in. “Is Delbert upset that you left him, Lucinda?”
“I hope to shout.”
“What'd he say when you told him?”
“Well, for one thing he said if I don't come home he'll kill me.” She arched her back and thrust her lip the way her pregnancy had thrust her breasts and dared him to doubt her. D.T. didn't doubt one word.
“Do you believe him?” D.T. asked.
“I believe he'll try.”
“You don't seem very frightened.”
She shook her head. “I can handle Del. I mean, I can't keep him from beating on me if he's a mind to, I guess, but I can talk him out of murdering me, I think. Anyhow, it's not what he'll do to me that's worrisome.” Her eyes lowered again.
“Then what?” D.T. resisted his desire to take her hand again, for fear she would misinterpret him. She was not a girl for whom holding hands would mean anything but a prelude to unwanted sex.
“It's the baby,” she said softly. “I'm afraid for my baby. I'm afraid it might be dead.”
“What did he do?”
“When I told him I was moving out, he punched me in the belly. Said I might go but I couldn't take his kid with me. It hurt real bad for a while. I threw up and stuff.”
“What did the doctor say?”
“I ain't seen a doctor.”
“Why not?”
“My sister's against 'em. Says God's will is what it comes down to, doctor or no. She's got this new religion since she left home.”
“You have to see a doctor, Lucinda. Right away. There's a free clinic not too far from your sister's place, or I can give you a name. He might come by your sister's house if you can't get to his office.”
She shook her head. “Not the clinic. The doctor, maybe. I can probably sneak away, maybe later, when Marilyn goes to church. Who is he?”
D.T. gave her the name and address of his doctor. “Have you ever heard of a place called the Spousal Abuse Victims' Environment? SAVE, it's called.”
“No.”
“They help women who've been beaten by their husbands. Talk to them. Get them medical treatment. Find them a place to stay, sometimes. I think you should go down there.”
“I don't take welfare, Mr. Jones.”
“Christ. This isn't welfare. Farmers got crop supports, lawyers got professional incorporations, doctors got Medicare, this is just something for
you. Go
there. Let them help you.” D.T. realized his words were shrieks. Taking it personally. He watched her shake her curls.
“I think not. Thanks all the same.” She had become prim, a woman from another age, with principles to match.
“Please? It's free. It won't cost anything.”
“No. I can't. I couldn't never go back to Reedville if I did something like that and my daddy found out. Now, I come here for a divorce. Can you get me one or not?”
“I can,” D.T. said slowly. “I can do that. God help me, I can do that just fine.” D.T. pulled some papers toward him. “First, we have to decide how much property there is, so we can list it on the ⦔
She stopped him with the crooked finger and the hand it sprang from. “I don't
want
no property. Just a
divorce
, like I been
saying
. Del don't have no property anyway, not that's paid for, except maybe his tools.”
“We could claim half their value, Lucinda. What kind of tools are they?”
“
No
. Now, this girl at the Pancake House told me she heard you were pretty good at this divorce business, but if you keep on I'm going to have to go look up someone else. Not be rude or nothing, but ⦔
“Okay. No property. But on Monday I'm going to get a restraining order that will direct Delbert to stay the hell away from you. In the meantime, I think you should go somewhere he won't think to look if he decides to try to see you again.”
“I'll be fine at Marilyn's, Mr. Jones. Don't worry.”
“I do worry though, Lucinda. I worry about a lot of things, and drunks like Delbert who like to beat women are one of the things I worry about most.
Please
go somewhere else. The cops aren't much help in cases like this, you know. They only show up after the damage has been done and unless there's a restraining order in effect they don't do much but tell everyone to calm down. And I can't get an order before Monday. You're on your own over the weekend.”
“I'll be fine. Really. Though I appreciate the worry.” Her fingers wriggled among themselves like worms, the littlest of them stiff and dead.
D.T. leaned forward and drew her eyes to his. “If you see Delbert around your sister's place you let me know, Lucinda. After Monday there'll be a restraining order filed, prohibiting him from threatening or assaulting you, or even coming around your sister's place. If he does, he's committed a misdemeanor and the cops will arrest him.”
She smiled. “And let him out an hour later.”
“Probably. But whatever happens, don't let him in your sister's house. Not unless someone else is there. Someone who can handle Delbert.”
“Aren't many who can handle Del, Mr. Jones. Seen plenty who tried and wished they hadn't. Del loves to fight.” She smiled proudly, to D.T.'s disbelief.
“You know, Lucinda, by assaulting his wife Delbert has committed a felony, and undoubtedly violated his probation, too. You can send him to jail if you want. Might make life a lot easier.”
She stood halfway out of her chair. “I don't want that. Don't you do
anything
like that, Mr. Jones. I mean it. I married Del knowing he was mean when he drank, and I tried to change him and couldn't, and so it's my fault as much as his it's come to this. Plus if you knew what I had to put up with back home before Del took me off you'd know what I owe him. I just want it so me and the baby are free of him, and that's
all
.”
He made himself say it. “He'll hit you again, Lucinda, if he gets the chance. They always do. He can't do it if he's behind bars.”
“
No
, I told you. I'm beginning to believe you got some sort of hearing problem, Mr. Jones.”
D.T. leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling. It looked like a game of connect the dots. He wondered what would emerge as they were connected. He was afraid to find out, just as he was afraid to contact the police or the family bureau on Lucinda's behalf, afraid to go behind her back to places that could help her.
“Okay,” he said, still not looking at her. “A divorce you want, a divorce you'll get. No more; no less.”
She nodded. “How much money do you want?”
“Fifty dollars? I'll need a hundred more later on.”
“Okay.” She opened her purse and gave him cash. “You need more you tell me. I been saving tips. Now what goes with this deal? What do I got to do?”
“Not much,” D.T. answered. “First, I file the petition for dissolution. That's this top form. Then I have the sheriff serve a copy on your husband.”
She frowned. “Does it have to be the sheriff? I'd as soon it weren't the sheriff.”
“Okay. I'll use a process server. Then Del has thirty days to respond. You think he's likely to oppose you? If you don't want any of his property?”
“He might, just for spite. Will it cost him money to go up against me?”
“Not necessarily. He could file on his own. So could you, for that matter.”
She shook her head. “There's things I can do and things I can't. This is one I can't.”
“Okay. Once his response is filed we set a date for a hearing. If he wants custody of the child we maybe take his deposition to see what he claims against you, if anything. Then we go to court and if you win you get an interlocutory decree and six months later it's final and you and Del are one no more.”
“How about the baby?”
“We'll ask for exclusive custody. It'll be hard denying him visitation rights, though I'll try to make them contingent on the presence of a third party.”
“I don't care about visiting, just so he can't take it away with him and has to leave when I say.”
“He can't take it away unless he gets custody, Mrs. Finders, which he won't unless there's some basis for deciding you're an unfit mother. Is there?”
Her eyes shot him. “There is not one single bit of it.”
D.T. smiled. “I didn't think there was. How much alimony do you want to ask for?”
“None.”
“Jesus, I ⦔
“
None
.”
“A dollar a year? So we can modify it later if circumstances change or ⦔
“None, I said.”
“Okay, okay. You probably couldn't get much, anyway. Child support? You
have
to get child support. The Pancake House won't support both of you, tips or no tips.”
“How much could I get?”
“Two or three hundred a month, maybe, if Del gets a job and we get the right judge. When we get assigned one I'll tell you more specifically how it looks.”
“A hundred's all I need,” she said simply.
“I'll ask for three. We can always take less. But I have to warn you only a third of divorced mothers actually receive any child support even though there's a court order that says they're entitled to it, and the ones that do get some usually don't get the full amount they're supposed to. But we have to try, okay? For the baby?”
“I guess.”
“On average a woman's income drops seventy percent in the first year of divorce, Mrs. Finders. What I'm saying is that things are probably going to be pretty tough for you financially for a while.”
“Things have been tough for me before. I don't need much.”
“But now you'll have a baby.”
Her eyes flashed. “I'll take good care of my baby, Mr. Jones, don't you think I won't. Now, what else do you need to know?”
He accepted the rebuke. “How about your house? Did you own or rent the trailer?”
“Own, if you can call it that. We put a thousand down. It was all Del's money, so you leave it be.”
“Cars?”
“Just Del's. A fifty-one Ford he fixed up. I'd never take that.”
“You're being foolish, Lucinda. I have to tell you that.”
“I've been foolish before, Mr. Jones. Likely I will be again. You just do as I ask. I just want me and Del to be back where we was on the day we met.”
D.T. shook his head. “That's one place I can't put you, Mrs. Finders.”
She frowned. “Why not?”
D.T. pointed at her. “One reason is that little tyke in your womb. Another is that every man you meet from now on is going to have to do one thing that men haven't had to do for you before.”
“What thing is that?”
“Prove he's not Delbert Finders. Do you see what I mean, Lucinda? You're not the same person you were when you first met Del, so don't try too hard to pretend you are.”
She nodded and thought about it. “We done now?” she asked after a minute.
D.T. nodded. “Just sign these.” He pushed some papers to her and watched her laboriously execute them. Then she stood up and offered him her hand. He held it as long as he could without alarming her. Then he said what they all wanted him to say, that it was going to be all right. Then she left the room.
D.T. listened for the door to tinkle, then went into the outer office and told Bobby E. Lee he'd been wrong about the tissues, that as far as D.T. could tell the girl had never shed a tear in her life over her own predicament.