to go to graduate school? You’re married now.”
“I don’t know if that’s going to last,” she said frankly. Mr. Vetter was the first person outside her family to understand her situation, and shewas always truthful with him—it was a pleasure. “I want to be a lawyer.”
“I suppose you could practice domestic law,” he said doubtfully. “Some women do well with that. Or estates and trusts.”
“I’ve wanted to be a lawyer since the first time I came to this office—do you remember?”
He grimaced. “How could I forget such high drama? Well, you have an orderly mind and you’re argumentative. Perhaps you can do research or title searches. Divorce law is untidy, but it can be lucrative …. Where have you applied? And does your husband know?”
“We haven’t discussed life after graduation.”
She was accepted to three law schools. The money from the trust would cover only tuition and some expenses. Then, finally, a letter came from Michigan, offering her a scholarship that made the deal sweet. Mark was interviewing with corporations. She was almost terrified. She could go to law school. She could do what she wanted if she dared. If she could admit she had been an idiot and married someone with whom she could share little.
She precipitated the final confrontation by leaving her correspondence with Michigan on the kitchen table when she went off to school. She knew he would see it when he drank his coffee and ate his muffin.
“You bitch!” he screamed when she came home at four. He had cut his late afternoon class to confront her. She refused to be baited. She had done her crying. “You used me!”
“How?” she asked. But he was probably right. She had been lonely and he wanted to screw her. He paid the rent. “I would have made you a good wife if you’d really wanted a wife.”
He calmed down by suppertime and they went out to share an Italian meal. “It was a stupid thing to get married,” he said. “I’m never doing it again.”
“Sure you will. But in a few years, when you really want a home and family.”
“Do you think you’ll ever get married again?” He studied her face and her hands on the table.
She did not want to hurt his feelings further. “I don’t know,” she said. “I can’t imagine it.”
“You really going to be some shyster?”
“I shall fight for the right and the underdog,” she said, and got a smile out of him. For a moment they almost liked each other.
That night they had sex as usual. She did not want to, but far more, she did not want to make a scene. She just wanted to detach, quietly. In her head she was figuring out her finances.
There was no property, no alimony, no children, nothing but a few books and records to divide. Mark took his clothes and ski equipment; she packed up her surviving mementos from Yirina. Awkwardly they stepped around each other. He was off to a job in New Jersey. She was bound for Ann Arbor to look for an apartment and a summer job. In the midst of their boxes and trash, they shook hands politely.
She went down the steps first. One of her friends from the women’s group was going to store her things until she found a place. She would sleep on her friend’s couch tonight and leave for Detroit by bus.
She had to return for the divorce, but it was hardly worth bus fare. Mr. Vetter had arranged for an inexpensive lawyer to file her papers. It was over in ten minutes. She took back her maiden name. The divorce left her feeling vaguely unclean. She seemed no more likely to be a wife permanently than her mother had been. Her marriage was a pile of dirty dishes she had fled.
D AVID
The chief of police salted his fries, knocking the bottom of the white plastic shaker against the heel of his hand. He ate more than any man his size I’d ever known. You were more likely to find Abel Smalley at the Binnacle Cafe than in his office, and in a better mood as well. He spread tartar sauce on a fried fish and melted
“I don’t know if that’s going to last,” she said frankly. Mr. Vetter was the first person outside her family to understand her situation, and shewas always truthful with him—it was a pleasure. “I want to be a lawyer.”
“I suppose you could practice domestic law,” he said doubtfully. “Some women do well with that. Or estates and trusts.”
“I’ve wanted to be a lawyer since the first time I came to this office—do you remember?”
He grimaced. “How could I forget such high drama? Well, you have an orderly mind and you’re argumentative. Perhaps you can do research or title searches. Divorce law is untidy, but it can be lucrative …. Where have you applied? And does your husband know?”
“We haven’t discussed life after graduation.”
She was accepted to three law schools. The money from the trust would cover only tuition and some expenses. Then, finally, a letter came from Michigan, offering her a scholarship that made the deal sweet. Mark was interviewing with corporations. She was almost terrified. She could go to law school. She could do what she wanted if she dared. If she could admit she had been an idiot and married someone with whom she could share little.
She precipitated the final confrontation by leaving her correspondence with Michigan on the kitchen table when she went off to school. She knew he would see it when he drank his coffee and ate his muffin.
“You bitch!” he screamed when she came home at four. He had cut his late afternoon class to confront her. She refused to be baited. She had done her crying. “You used me!”
“How?” she asked. But he was probably right. She had been lonely and he wanted to screw her. He paid the rent. “I would have made you a good wife if you’d really wanted a wife.”
He calmed down by suppertime and they went out to share an Italian meal. “It was a stupid thing to get married,” he said. “I’m never doing it again.”
“Sure you will. But in a few years, when you really want a home and family.”
“Do you think you’ll ever get married again?” He studied her face and her hands on the table.
She did not want to hurt his feelings further. “I don’t know,” she said. “I can’t imagine it.”
“You really going to be some shyster?”
“I shall fight for the right and the underdog,” she said, and got a smile out of him. For a moment they almost liked each other.
That night they had sex as usual. She did not want to, but far more, she did not want to make a scene. She just wanted to detach, quietly. In her head she was figuring out her finances.
There was no property, no alimony, no children, nothing but a few books and records to divide. Mark took his clothes and ski equipment; she packed up her surviving mementos from Yirina. Awkwardly they stepped around each other. He was off to a job in New Jersey. She was bound for Ann Arbor to look for an apartment and a summer job. In the midst of their boxes and trash, they shook hands politely.
She went down the steps first. One of her friends from the women’s group was going to store her things until she found a place. She would sleep on her friend’s couch tonight and leave for Detroit by bus.
She had to return for the divorce, but it was hardly worth bus fare. Mr. Vetter had arranged for an inexpensive lawyer to file her papers. It was over in ten minutes. She took back her maiden name. The divorce left her feeling vaguely unclean. She seemed no more likely to be a wife permanently than her mother had been. Her marriage was a pile of dirty dishes she had fled.
D AVID
The chief of police salted his fries, knocking the bottom of the white plastic shaker against the heel of his hand. He ate more than any man his size I’d ever known. You were more likely to find Abel Smalley at the Binnacle Cafe than in his office, and in a better mood as well. He spread tartar sauce on a fried fish and melted
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