Page 93 of Letters From Victor

I waved a hand dismissively. “Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

“Hypothetically, if one were to seek a quicker resolution, they might look into how things are handled in other jurisdictions. But remember, whatever you hypothetically do outside of California may not hold up here.”

I held up the divorce decree, letting it sway between my fingers. “This will hold up, though. It’s legitimate.”

“It’s as legitimate as it gets,” Lawrence confirmed.

I set the paper back on his desk with exaggerated care. “Frank suggested they get a Mexican divorce. Said it would be quicker for everyone involved.”

“Frank sounds like a man who’s done his research,” he said dryly.

“So if they did that,” I pressed, “would it count? Would the time start ticking here?”

Lawrence removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Victor, a Mexican divorce can be risky. Sometimes they’re recognized here; sometimes they’re not. It depends on how the documents are filed and whether they meet California’s legal standards. Even then, it can be challenged.”

“But it’s possible,” I insisted. “It’s an option.”

He put his glasses back on and met my gaze. “Yes, it’s possible. But understand that it’s also a gamble. If you want my honest advice?—”

“I always do. You’re one of the few men on this earth who actually tells me the truth.”

“The safest course is to have Barbara file here in California and go through the proper channels. Then you wait out your twelve months and happily walk down the aisle. That way, everything is aboveboard, and there are no unwelcome surprises down the line.”

I nodded. “I appreciate that, Larry. I do. But you and I both know I can’t wait that long.”

“What’s the rush, Victor? Is there a bun in the oven I don’t know about?”

I scoffed. “Nothing like that.”

I turned to the window, the Los Angeles skyline shimmering in the afternoon sun. The glass panels of the high-rises looked like stacked gold bars, glittering in the heat. When I turned back to Lawrence, I was calmer but no less certain.

“I love her, Larry. And not in some storybook way. Before her, I’m not sure I even knew what love was. She fills a void in me. I’m a better man because of her. I want to spend every godforsaken moment I have left on this earth with her.”

Lawrence leaned back again, the creaking leather now a familiar refrain. The stern edge to his face softened, his lined features settling into something more reflective.

“Victor,” he began slowly.

I braced myself for the lecture—the one about patience and making wise choices. Instead, Lawrence surprised me.

“I understand more than you think,” he said. “Do you remember when I came back from the war? How distant and cold I was?”

I nodded. “It was a rough time for you. We were all worried.”

“It wasn’t just rough,” he continued. “It was hell. Coming home to Emily and the kids should have been the happiest moment of my life, but I felt like a stranger in my own house. I couldn’t connect. I was lost.” He paused, his jaw tightening. “The only thing that got me through was knowing they werewaiting for me no matter what, that we would eventually find our way back to each other. And we did. Love is what sustained me, Victor. The kind of love you’re talking about now. So believe me when I say, I get it.” He blew out a slow breath, then continued slowly, choosing his words with care. “As your friend, I understand the urgency—the need to seize happiness while you can. Life is short and unpredictable. The war taught us that if nothing else.”

I said nothing, letting him work through whatever internal conflict held him back.

“So here’s what I think,” he said at last. “If you’re determined to take the quickest route, then yes—have Barbara and Frank get their divorce in Mexico. But for heaven’s sake, make sure it’s done properly.” He drummed his fingers against the desk. “Yucatán or Juárez would be their best bet. The residency requirement is only one day. But they both have to go in person. No mail-order divorce quacks.”

I nodded, absorbing every word.

“Then you and Barbara marry in Nevada. They’ll honor a Mexican divorce, and there’s no waiting period.”

“And that’ll hold up here?”

Lawrence shrugged, a slow, deliberate motion. “It should. California honors a Nevada marriage certificate. But like I said, it’s still a gamble.”

I stood and extended a hand across the desk. “Thank you, Larry. For everything.”

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