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Authors: Stephanie Jaye Evans
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how I might think he wouldn’t.
I can’t tell you how many people I get in my office, men and women, who let me know they’ve broken one of the most sacred vows we ever make, and then are surprised when I’m not certain they’ll do the right thing in other areas. It makes me want to give them a smack on the side of the head.
“She wouldn’t suffer financially. Are you kidding? Even if I gave her nothing—which I won’t—HD made damn certain Honey never had to rely on me for a penny. She’s got a trust fund of old Houston money. She’s got more money than me, and she always will. We could be living the high life off Honey’s money alone.”
I thought they kind of already did live the high life.
“She owns the house. It’s in her name. Plus, Honey will get half our savings and that’s a significant amount. At least I think it is, though HD probably wouldn’t. I’ve set money away for all the college expenses. Again, not needed since HD set up trust funds for the kids, too. But that’s my job and I’ve done it. And she’ll get twenty percent of my income for the rest of my working career.” He gave a bark of a laugh. “However much that might be, for however long it might last. These are uncertain times, you know.”
What “uncertain times” might mean, I didn’t know. A partner in a major firm in Houston had about as secure an income as a person could hope for. Twenty percent of what Graham Garcia made would be more than my salary and then some. And I’m making house payments, car payments, putting one daughter through college, and getting ready to put another one through, if I can get Jo to focus more on her academics and less on her arabesque. If Graham followed through on those terms, that would be, by Texas standards, an extraordinarily generous settlement.
Still, Graham could easily afford to walk away from everything, not even taking into account the money Honey had on her own, and the money
that
money had made over the years. Because half of that would be Graham’s. The butter is spread on both sides of the bread.
I said, “Sooooo . . .” Drawing it out, so he’d understand I was asking why he didn’t go ahead and get it over with. My grandmother used to say, “If you’re going to cut the puppy dog’s tail off, don’t do it an inch at a time.” There wasn’t any point in putting Honey through more hope and despair if she didn’t really have a chance.
Graham sat down in the chair again and made a tent with his fingers. I could imagine him making that gesture at the negotiation table.
He said, “Could you get her to divorce me?”
I looked at him. Kind of a Cruz look.
“Okay, wait. You don’t want to divorce Honey, but you want Honey to divorce you?”
He nodded.
“And you want me to talk her into this?”
Another nod.
“You mean, without telling Honey about the someone else you’d rather not talk about?”
He nodded again, dead serious. He leaned forward.
I shut him down fast. “No, Graham, I’m not going to do that. I couldn’t. First of all, Honey would never believe it coming from me. She’d look at me like I’d lost my mind, ask me had I lost my conviction in the power of prayer—which I haven’t, though I don’t think God always answers the way we’re expecting. So if Honey is praying that God will heal the two of you, He may be doing just that; He may heal you apart from each other. But there’s no way I’m going to be able to convince Honey that the best thing she can do for you is to divorce you.
“She’s going to be reading First Corinthians thirteen over and over again. ‘Love always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.’ What she’s going to be believing, coming from where I know Honey comes from, is that if she’s faithful and keeps on loving you, if she prays, if she trusts and hopes and endures, you’ll turn your heart back to her and love her again.”
Graham sat straight in the chair, his shoulders back, his head bowed
I can’t tell you how many people I get in my office, men and women, who let me know they’ve broken one of the most sacred vows we ever make, and then are surprised when I’m not certain they’ll do the right thing in other areas. It makes me want to give them a smack on the side of the head.
“She wouldn’t suffer financially. Are you kidding? Even if I gave her nothing—which I won’t—HD made damn certain Honey never had to rely on me for a penny. She’s got a trust fund of old Houston money. She’s got more money than me, and she always will. We could be living the high life off Honey’s money alone.”
I thought they kind of already did live the high life.
“She owns the house. It’s in her name. Plus, Honey will get half our savings and that’s a significant amount. At least I think it is, though HD probably wouldn’t. I’ve set money away for all the college expenses. Again, not needed since HD set up trust funds for the kids, too. But that’s my job and I’ve done it. And she’ll get twenty percent of my income for the rest of my working career.” He gave a bark of a laugh. “However much that might be, for however long it might last. These are uncertain times, you know.”
What “uncertain times” might mean, I didn’t know. A partner in a major firm in Houston had about as secure an income as a person could hope for. Twenty percent of what Graham Garcia made would be more than my salary and then some. And I’m making house payments, car payments, putting one daughter through college, and getting ready to put another one through, if I can get Jo to focus more on her academics and less on her arabesque. If Graham followed through on those terms, that would be, by Texas standards, an extraordinarily generous settlement.
Still, Graham could easily afford to walk away from everything, not even taking into account the money Honey had on her own, and the money
that
money had made over the years. Because half of that would be Graham’s. The butter is spread on both sides of the bread.
I said, “Sooooo . . .” Drawing it out, so he’d understand I was asking why he didn’t go ahead and get it over with. My grandmother used to say, “If you’re going to cut the puppy dog’s tail off, don’t do it an inch at a time.” There wasn’t any point in putting Honey through more hope and despair if she didn’t really have a chance.
Graham sat down in the chair again and made a tent with his fingers. I could imagine him making that gesture at the negotiation table.
He said, “Could you get her to divorce me?”
I looked at him. Kind of a Cruz look.
“Okay, wait. You don’t want to divorce Honey, but you want Honey to divorce you?”
He nodded.
“And you want me to talk her into this?”
Another nod.
“You mean, without telling Honey about the someone else you’d rather not talk about?”
He nodded again, dead serious. He leaned forward.
I shut him down fast. “No, Graham, I’m not going to do that. I couldn’t. First of all, Honey would never believe it coming from me. She’d look at me like I’d lost my mind, ask me had I lost my conviction in the power of prayer—which I haven’t, though I don’t think God always answers the way we’re expecting. So if Honey is praying that God will heal the two of you, He may be doing just that; He may heal you apart from each other. But there’s no way I’m going to be able to convince Honey that the best thing she can do for you is to divorce you.
“She’s going to be reading First Corinthians thirteen over and over again. ‘Love always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.’ What she’s going to be believing, coming from where I know Honey comes from, is that if she’s faithful and keeps on loving you, if she prays, if she trusts and hopes and endures, you’ll turn your heart back to her and love her again.”
Graham sat straight in the chair, his shoulders back, his head bowed
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