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Authors: Christopher Klim
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with the balance of his power. He wanted to rip the door from its hinges.
The door smacked lamely against the wall. Chelsea sat upon a man’s lap, hunched on a toilet seat. Her blouse was unbuttoned to the navel, bra dangling beneath one arm. Her breasts—the gorgeous globes of flesh, which he’d paid ten thousand dollars to enhance—lay exposed to the harsh neon light. Haskell Cogdon’s wiry sideburns nuzzled in between.
Chelsea didn’t dare move or speak. Cogdon had beady eyes that seemed to expand by the second.
Jerry didn’t know where to level his sights. He gazed down at Cogdon’s feet. The boat heaved, and his strength escaped him. He clutched the doorway of the stall and vomited on those hideous shoes.
CHAPTER 6
An Ounce of Sympathy,
A Ton of Chocolate
Court papers arrived in a plain brown envelope, via a man with an obvious toupee. Jerry stood on the farmhouse steps, watching the hair hat leave. It disappeared inside a vintage Monte Carlo with a scooped hood. The shiny chrome bumper receded down the driveway.
He tore into the package from Haskell Cogdon’s Law Office. It was Chelsea’s first communication in almost a month. The last time he’d laid eyes on her, he was fisting the top rail of the Manhattan Cruiser. Rage swirled through his brain, and the remnants of nausea fired his throat. He saw Chelsea sprinting across the parking lot beside the pier. Her long tan legs cut like scissors between the cars. That bastard Cogdon was nowhere in sight.
A strong September breeze rustled the tops of the Osage trees, shaking the plump neon yellow fruit to the ground. Jerry sifted through the crisp legal documents in his hands. CIVIL ACTION FILED IN SUPERIOR COURT OF MERCER COUNTY. Chelsea demanded half of the lottery winnings but passed on the farm. Like GM in Trenton, she was liquidating her position in Hopewell. She salvaged the things she desired, and she abandoned the rest, including Jerry, leaving them to rust beneath the sun. It was pink slip day once again.
For weeks, Jerry prayed for a stalemate. Certified mail from Cogdon’s office piled on the kitchen counter, beside dirty dishes and empty cartons from microwave dinners. He spent his days wandering between the porch and the chair facing front. Caterpillars spun silky tents in the pear trees. The cornstalks on Jacob’s farm turned golden brown and faded into thin amber husks. Flocks of Canadian geese formed giant V-shapes over the hills.
Jerry watched the last bit of summer wither into fall. His soul grafted to the rotting floorboards and cracked plaster walls of the old farmhouse. He waited, wanting, weary of the silence, unable to grip a notion of a different future.
Whenever gravel churned on the drive, he rushed to the window. He saw the mail truck, the heating oil man, or herds of deer trotting toward the woods. He looked for Chelsea’s Jag, the first glimpse of the hydro-mag wheels spinning toward the house. He pictured the top down, her luggage bulging from the trunk, and her blonde hair trailing in the wind.
“ This is clever.” Ralph Tisch glanced over the court papers from Chelsea’s attorney. His head was shaped like an avocado, and wisps of dark hair clung to his feeble chin as if painted in place. He stood behind his desk, surrounded by enough books to crush a healthy man. “It’s very clever.”
“ I’m not surprised.” Jerry sat across the room, wondering if anyone really read that many books. They were bound in rich leather, matched sets like collections of encyclopedias. “Her attorney is a sneak.”
“ Cogdon? He’s making it easy for you.”
“ I don’t want it easy.”
“ Of course you do.”
Jerry recalled the last delivery from Cogdon’s office. It contained a handwritten note from Chelsea: ‘You better deal with this.’ He sat forward on the couch. “What’s easy about it?”
“ A civil annulment erases the marriage.”
Jerry sheltered his
The door smacked lamely against the wall. Chelsea sat upon a man’s lap, hunched on a toilet seat. Her blouse was unbuttoned to the navel, bra dangling beneath one arm. Her breasts—the gorgeous globes of flesh, which he’d paid ten thousand dollars to enhance—lay exposed to the harsh neon light. Haskell Cogdon’s wiry sideburns nuzzled in between.
Chelsea didn’t dare move or speak. Cogdon had beady eyes that seemed to expand by the second.
Jerry didn’t know where to level his sights. He gazed down at Cogdon’s feet. The boat heaved, and his strength escaped him. He clutched the doorway of the stall and vomited on those hideous shoes.
CHAPTER 6
An Ounce of Sympathy,
A Ton of Chocolate
Court papers arrived in a plain brown envelope, via a man with an obvious toupee. Jerry stood on the farmhouse steps, watching the hair hat leave. It disappeared inside a vintage Monte Carlo with a scooped hood. The shiny chrome bumper receded down the driveway.
He tore into the package from Haskell Cogdon’s Law Office. It was Chelsea’s first communication in almost a month. The last time he’d laid eyes on her, he was fisting the top rail of the Manhattan Cruiser. Rage swirled through his brain, and the remnants of nausea fired his throat. He saw Chelsea sprinting across the parking lot beside the pier. Her long tan legs cut like scissors between the cars. That bastard Cogdon was nowhere in sight.
A strong September breeze rustled the tops of the Osage trees, shaking the plump neon yellow fruit to the ground. Jerry sifted through the crisp legal documents in his hands. CIVIL ACTION FILED IN SUPERIOR COURT OF MERCER COUNTY. Chelsea demanded half of the lottery winnings but passed on the farm. Like GM in Trenton, she was liquidating her position in Hopewell. She salvaged the things she desired, and she abandoned the rest, including Jerry, leaving them to rust beneath the sun. It was pink slip day once again.
For weeks, Jerry prayed for a stalemate. Certified mail from Cogdon’s office piled on the kitchen counter, beside dirty dishes and empty cartons from microwave dinners. He spent his days wandering between the porch and the chair facing front. Caterpillars spun silky tents in the pear trees. The cornstalks on Jacob’s farm turned golden brown and faded into thin amber husks. Flocks of Canadian geese formed giant V-shapes over the hills.
Jerry watched the last bit of summer wither into fall. His soul grafted to the rotting floorboards and cracked plaster walls of the old farmhouse. He waited, wanting, weary of the silence, unable to grip a notion of a different future.
Whenever gravel churned on the drive, he rushed to the window. He saw the mail truck, the heating oil man, or herds of deer trotting toward the woods. He looked for Chelsea’s Jag, the first glimpse of the hydro-mag wheels spinning toward the house. He pictured the top down, her luggage bulging from the trunk, and her blonde hair trailing in the wind.
“ This is clever.” Ralph Tisch glanced over the court papers from Chelsea’s attorney. His head was shaped like an avocado, and wisps of dark hair clung to his feeble chin as if painted in place. He stood behind his desk, surrounded by enough books to crush a healthy man. “It’s very clever.”
“ I’m not surprised.” Jerry sat across the room, wondering if anyone really read that many books. They were bound in rich leather, matched sets like collections of encyclopedias. “Her attorney is a sneak.”
“ Cogdon? He’s making it easy for you.”
“ I don’t want it easy.”
“ Of course you do.”
Jerry recalled the last delivery from Cogdon’s office. It contained a handwritten note from Chelsea: ‘You better deal with this.’ He sat forward on the couch. “What’s easy about it?”
“ A civil annulment erases the marriage.”
Jerry sheltered his
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