Page 82 of False Start
He nods and looks away as though seeing me in pain is too hard for him. “Never figured him for that type of fella.”
Neither did I, not in a million years.
“Let’s get you out of here, sweetie. I don’t like the look of you in this place.”
I manage to pull myself together enough to sit up from the cot and follow my godfather out of the cell and through the police precinct. He doesn’t take me to the house I share with Bryant, but to a swanky hotel in the downtown area instead. Zina is waiting inside the suite with a man I don’t know, but judging by the suit, he’s a lawyer.
My sister immediately crosses the room and hugs my neck tightly. “I’m so sorry, sis.”
The man in the room is indeed an attorney who introduces himself as Ned Combs. I miss most of what the short, stocky man with a barrel chest says. I’m lost somewhere in the scenes that continue to play out in my head from the moment I heard Bryant on the stairs until law enforcement placed cuffs on me.
This has to be a bad dream. Bryant, even drunk, wouldn’t do this to me. He wouldn’t sacrifice all we are and will be for Priscilla, or anyone for the matter.
“Zhanna?” Otto calls out to me.
“Yeah?” I ask, and my voice comes out quiet, meek, defeated.
“Mr. Combs asked how you’d like to proceed.”
Zina reaches over and places her hand on top of mine to stop me from fidgeting. “I think the first step is taking care of legal matters. Relationship issues can wait until Zhanna has had a chance to catch her breath.”
Apparently Ned is golf buddies with the presiding judge over my criminal case, and she happens to be a divorced woman in her fifties with a bad taste in her mouth from her last husband. He cheated. She might be forgiving, or at least I hope she is. If I’m convicted, I could lose my physical therapist’s license, and then I’m going to prison for murdering my ex and his lover both.
“I want a divorce,” I announce. “Quickly.”
“It takes six months for a divorce in California if he doesn’t contest it,” Ned advises.
“How soon can you draw up the paperwork and have him served?”
“With his fortune?”
“I don’t want a dime.”
Ned chokes, coughs, and sputters. “There will be legal fees.”
“I can cover your fees from my inheritance, or Bryant can pay them. After all, it’s his fault we’re in this mess.” I stand and walk across the room to the balcony. For half a second, I think about opening the doors and jumping over the railing, but my suicide won’t solve anything. “Also, I’ll pay for the damage I caused to the house.”
“It will go a long way in appeasing the judge.”
And it does. The next day the Honorable Adele Kants dismisses criminal charges against me since neither Bryant nor Priscilla presses charges. Bryant turns down my attorney’s offer to fix the home, and he insists on paying my legal fees. I don’t turn down his generosity because it’d require me to speak to him, and I’m not ready. I don’t have anything to say, not after he destroyed us.
But I have to face him to gather some of my belongings, and while Otto and Zina both offer to go with me, it’s best they don’t see the showdown it’s likely to be. So a week after the incident, I return back to our home alone. I don’t call or ask for permission, and part of me hopes he’s not here. Part of me hopes I can dissolve this marriage without making it any messier than it already is.
I don’t pull all the way down the drive to the large multi-car garage. Instead, I park near the front door, and use my key to go in that way. I’ve never used this door to enter the home, and I suddenly feel like a stranger walking inside. The tall, wooden door echoes as I close it, and the sound of my boot heels bounce off the walls. The house was always too big for just us, but we made it work.
I walk past the grand staircase and stare at it like it personally harmed me. I’ll never be able to be in this foyer or on those steps without remembering what he said to her. Beyond the foyer in the living room is a large wall of plastic sheeting where the glass windows previously existed. And in the middle of the room is the white sectional couch where I found him and Priscilla.
Bryant comes around the corner from the kitchen. “I was in the garage. I thought you’d come through that way.”
I can’t bear to look at him, so I look down at his bare feet instead. “I parked out front.”
Neither of us says a word as silence stretches between us. Never has the air been so stiff and tense between us, but tonight, it’s suffocating and thick.
“Can we talk?” he finally asks, and when I don’t respond, he continues, “I tried to bail you out, but Otto beat me to it. Zina asked me to let you breathe for a little while, but I’ve been leaving you messages to let you know I was worried about you and thinking of you.”
Yeah, he was real fucking worried about me. I turn on my heels and head for the stairs. Looking at them makes me want to vomit, but I manage to climb them quickly enough.
“Zhanna!” he calls after me.
