Wild Man
Page 3
“You didn’t meet?” he pushed.
“No.”
He flipped open the folder in front of him and my eyes dropped to it. Then he flipped some papers over then finally he pulled out some black and white eight by tens, turned them and slid them across the table to me.
In them were photos of me and Damian having lunch.
Okay. This was not good. Why were people taking photos of me and Damian having lunch?
And secondly, this was not good because I really had to consider never wearing that top again. It didn’t do me any favors even in black and white.
“Would you like to amend your last answer?” he offered and my eyes went to him.
“No,” I replied, his brows went up but his head turned slightly to the side toward the mirror.
Yep. People were watching.
Damn.
“Mrs. Heller –” he started but I interrupted him.
“My name, sir, is Ms. O’Hara. Actually, it’s Tess because no one calls me Ms. O’Hara.
And I’ll explain those photos and my answer,” I stated then went on before he could speak.
“You asked if I had been in contact with my ex-husband recently. I have on several occasions as he calls me frequently. Sometimes I pick up and tell him to stop calling me. Sometimes I don’t. It is rare when I don’t. I was married to Damian for ten years, he dislikes being ignored and he’s not skilled with catching hints. He responds better to direct communication although this endeavor unfortunately takes time because he doesn’t respond very quickly if that communication happens to be something he doesn’t want to hear. My hope was, if I told him enough, he’d eventually leave me alone. Those photos,” I lifted a hand out of my lap and gestured to the photos on the table before dropping it back to my lap, “were taken of me having lunch with Damian what I believe was at least six months ago. That is not, in my definition, recent. If your definition of recent is different, I apologize for I didn’t give you the answer you expected but, even so, I still gave you one which was honest.”
He didn’t hesitate after I spoke before he asked, “Can you tell me what you discussed during this not recent lunch?”
“Can you tell me why I’m here?” I returned.
“I prefer to ask the questions Ms. O’Hara. ”
I stared at him then I pulled in a breath. Then I answered, “Damian wanted to discuss reconciliation.”
“He wants you back,” he stated.
“That is what reconciliation means,” I informed him and his mouth got tight again.
Then he observed, “I would assume from your asking him not to contact you via the phone that you declined this reconciliation.”
“You would assume correctly.”
“And that was it? That’s all you discussed?”
“No, he asked about our dog who I got custody of in the divorce and who has since died. I told him he died. Other than that, yes. Pretty much. That’s all that we discussed.”
“Pretty much?”
“Sir, it was six months ago and I hadn’t seen him in over four years. His contacting me at all was a surprise and not a good one. His reason for wanting to meet was a surprise too and definitely not a good one. I’m sorry I didn’t take note of everything we discussed but the reason for the meeting kind of rooted itself in my brain, forcing out everything else.”
“You hadn’t seen him in over four years,” he noted.
“Yes, that’s what I said,” I confirmed.
“So if you didn’t wish to reconcile, why did you agree to lunch?”
I pulled in breath. Then I stated, “I forgot.”
He stared at me. Then he repeated my words in a question. “You forgot?”
I nodded. “I forgot how Damian was. I forgot, when he contacted me, told me he wanted lunch at the same time he told me his father wasn’t well, that Damian is, well…” I threw out a hand. “Damian. Or maybe I didn’t forget, maybe I blocked it out considering I spent those years trying to block out everything about Damian. But I know he’s close to his father, I was close to his father, though I haven’t seen him in over four years either. So I felt badly he wasn’t well, I wanted to know what was happening, Damian refused to tell me over the phone so I met him. Then I discovered nothing was wrong with his father and Damian used that to lure me to lunch.”
He stared at me again, likely letting the news my ex-husband was that big of an ass**le sink in before he changed tactics. “It was you who filed for divorce.”
They’d looked into me.
Good God. They’d looked into me.
What was happening?
“Yes,” I confirmed, thinking with whatever was happening honesty was definitely the best policy so I kept with it.
“Infidelity?”
I nodded and added verbally, “Yes.”
“Repeated,” he stated.
“You’ve obviously read the court documents so you know that’s also a yes. But, yes, I’ll confirm that Damian cheated on me repeatedly.”
“Yes, Ms. O’Hara, I have read the court documents and the fact there are documents, and the number of them that there are, state that the papers you filed were contested. He fought the divorce. It went before a judge.”
“Yes, he did.”
“He didn’t wish for your marriage to be dissolved.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“But it was.”
I sighed then said, “Yes, it was.”
“And you walked away with nothing except money enough for your legal fees, did I read this right?”
It was at this point I was beginning to get scared. That was to say I was beginning to get scared to add to the already scared I was which was layered on top of the massive freak out created by my home being invaded by what appeared to be about three teams of multi-agency SWAT (because some had the word POLICE on their vests, some had FBI and some had DEA), pulled out of my bed and hauled to the Police Station to be questioned.
Therefore my bravado melted and it came out as a whisper when I asked, “Please, can you tell me what’s going on?”
He didn’t tell me what was going on. Instead, he queried, “Did you ever regret that, Ms.
O’Hara?”
“What?” I asked.
“Accepting from your husband nothing but your legal fees, did you ever regret that?”
I shook my head. “No, I… no. I didn’t. I wanted a fresh start. I wanted –”
“Why?”
“No.”
He flipped open the folder in front of him and my eyes dropped to it. Then he flipped some papers over then finally he pulled out some black and white eight by tens, turned them and slid them across the table to me.
In them were photos of me and Damian having lunch.
Okay. This was not good. Why were people taking photos of me and Damian having lunch?
And secondly, this was not good because I really had to consider never wearing that top again. It didn’t do me any favors even in black and white.
“Would you like to amend your last answer?” he offered and my eyes went to him.
“No,” I replied, his brows went up but his head turned slightly to the side toward the mirror.
Yep. People were watching.
Damn.
“Mrs. Heller –” he started but I interrupted him.
“My name, sir, is Ms. O’Hara. Actually, it’s Tess because no one calls me Ms. O’Hara.
And I’ll explain those photos and my answer,” I stated then went on before he could speak.
“You asked if I had been in contact with my ex-husband recently. I have on several occasions as he calls me frequently. Sometimes I pick up and tell him to stop calling me. Sometimes I don’t. It is rare when I don’t. I was married to Damian for ten years, he dislikes being ignored and he’s not skilled with catching hints. He responds better to direct communication although this endeavor unfortunately takes time because he doesn’t respond very quickly if that communication happens to be something he doesn’t want to hear. My hope was, if I told him enough, he’d eventually leave me alone. Those photos,” I lifted a hand out of my lap and gestured to the photos on the table before dropping it back to my lap, “were taken of me having lunch with Damian what I believe was at least six months ago. That is not, in my definition, recent. If your definition of recent is different, I apologize for I didn’t give you the answer you expected but, even so, I still gave you one which was honest.”
He didn’t hesitate after I spoke before he asked, “Can you tell me what you discussed during this not recent lunch?”
“Can you tell me why I’m here?” I returned.
“I prefer to ask the questions Ms. O’Hara. ”
I stared at him then I pulled in a breath. Then I answered, “Damian wanted to discuss reconciliation.”
“He wants you back,” he stated.
“That is what reconciliation means,” I informed him and his mouth got tight again.
Then he observed, “I would assume from your asking him not to contact you via the phone that you declined this reconciliation.”
“You would assume correctly.”
“And that was it? That’s all you discussed?”
“No, he asked about our dog who I got custody of in the divorce and who has since died. I told him he died. Other than that, yes. Pretty much. That’s all that we discussed.”
“Pretty much?”
“Sir, it was six months ago and I hadn’t seen him in over four years. His contacting me at all was a surprise and not a good one. His reason for wanting to meet was a surprise too and definitely not a good one. I’m sorry I didn’t take note of everything we discussed but the reason for the meeting kind of rooted itself in my brain, forcing out everything else.”
“You hadn’t seen him in over four years,” he noted.
“Yes, that’s what I said,” I confirmed.
“So if you didn’t wish to reconcile, why did you agree to lunch?”
I pulled in breath. Then I stated, “I forgot.”
He stared at me. Then he repeated my words in a question. “You forgot?”
I nodded. “I forgot how Damian was. I forgot, when he contacted me, told me he wanted lunch at the same time he told me his father wasn’t well, that Damian is, well…” I threw out a hand. “Damian. Or maybe I didn’t forget, maybe I blocked it out considering I spent those years trying to block out everything about Damian. But I know he’s close to his father, I was close to his father, though I haven’t seen him in over four years either. So I felt badly he wasn’t well, I wanted to know what was happening, Damian refused to tell me over the phone so I met him. Then I discovered nothing was wrong with his father and Damian used that to lure me to lunch.”
He stared at me again, likely letting the news my ex-husband was that big of an ass**le sink in before he changed tactics. “It was you who filed for divorce.”
They’d looked into me.
Good God. They’d looked into me.
What was happening?
“Yes,” I confirmed, thinking with whatever was happening honesty was definitely the best policy so I kept with it.
“Infidelity?”
I nodded and added verbally, “Yes.”
“Repeated,” he stated.
“You’ve obviously read the court documents so you know that’s also a yes. But, yes, I’ll confirm that Damian cheated on me repeatedly.”
“Yes, Ms. O’Hara, I have read the court documents and the fact there are documents, and the number of them that there are, state that the papers you filed were contested. He fought the divorce. It went before a judge.”
“Yes, he did.”
“He didn’t wish for your marriage to be dissolved.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“But it was.”
I sighed then said, “Yes, it was.”
“And you walked away with nothing except money enough for your legal fees, did I read this right?”
It was at this point I was beginning to get scared. That was to say I was beginning to get scared to add to the already scared I was which was layered on top of the massive freak out created by my home being invaded by what appeared to be about three teams of multi-agency SWAT (because some had the word POLICE on their vests, some had FBI and some had DEA), pulled out of my bed and hauled to the Police Station to be questioned.
Therefore my bravado melted and it came out as a whisper when I asked, “Please, can you tell me what’s going on?”
He didn’t tell me what was going on. Instead, he queried, “Did you ever regret that, Ms.
O’Hara?”
“What?” I asked.
“Accepting from your husband nothing but your legal fees, did you ever regret that?”
I shook my head. “No, I… no. I didn’t. I wanted a fresh start. I wanted –”
“Why?”
