Love in Mid Air by Kim Wright Page B

ended up here. He wanted to make sure that this whole thing would be argued in a court that was sympathetic to
     him.”
    “I take it you don’t think the church is as responsive to the needs of women as it is to the needs of men.”
    “Bingo.”
    “Well, you’re right. Of course you’re right. But you’re not talking to the church, Elyse, you’re talking to me.” Jeff rubs
     his eyes. “Does it make you uncomfortable—that we’re all friends?”
    “I thought about putting up a fight for my own therapist. It doesn’t seem like too much to ask, that I’d just go out and hire
     somebody like a normal person, but then I thought that it’s not that big a deal and I should just give Phil what he wants.
     Keep it within the family.”
    “The church family.”
    I laugh. I’m not sure why. “Yeah, the church family.”
    “You sound like you’ve thrown in the towel and we haven’t even started.”
    What can I say? He’s right. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” I say, “but it doesn’t matter who we talk to. It’s too late.”
    “Phil said one other thing. He doesn’t think you’ve fully considered what all this could mean for Tory.”
    He starts talking about those studies that show, even now, that children from broken homes don’t do as well in school. They
     have sex earlier, their own marriages fail. I’ve read the same studies. Then there are the biographies. Go to the library,
     pick one up. The famous person came from a broken home and from there the dominoes begin to fall. There’s something different
     about these people, these children of divorce. They walk with their legs farther apart than the rest of us, like they grew
     up on a boat. These are the people who’ve learned to expect changes at any minute. They may grow up to be famous, but they’re
     not happy.
    Jeff pulls off his glasses and I wonder, not for the first time, if they’re real. They have thick, heavy black frames like
     the kind Michael Caine used to wear and I’ve never seen Jeff use them anywhere outside this office. “Of course I know what
     happens to the kids,” I tell him. “That’s all that’s keeping me here.” Which is a small lie but one I figured would shut Jeff
     up. I wouldn’t put it past him to wear fake glasses. Jeff has a lot of props.
    “I don’t know, Elyse, you just seem so…” Jeff stops, fumbles for a word.
    “Angry? Stubborn?”
    “Well, yeah, of course you’re angry and stubborn, but there’s something else going on.”
    “You think I’m scared? You think like Phil does, that I make these wild statements but when push comes to shove I’m too scared
     to go out there and live on my own. You think I’m just some dentist’s wife living in a four-hundred-thousand-dollar house
     with twenty bucks in her purse who talks this big game but doesn’t have the balls to see it through.”
    Jeff fidgets a minute, straightens the Bible on his desk. I wonder if it’s an unconscious gesture or a bit of a threat. Phil
     has made it here first, practically painted the walls with his interpretation of events. It’s very hard to prove you’re not
     crazy. Hard to prove you’re not selfish. Almost impossible to prove you’re not paranoid. No matter what I say, Jeff—well,
     all of them, really, the whole chorus—will try to call me back. My reasons will never be good enough. My explanations will
     always fall flat. The only way I’d be allowed to leave this marriage is by stretcher.
    “What happened to your hand?”
    “What?”
    “Your hand. Why is it bandaged?”
    “Phil accused me of being overdramatic so I stabbed myself in the palm.”
    Jeff has a strange look on his face and we sit there for a long time before he finally speaks. “Marriage is funny, isn’t it?”
    “Hilarious.” I stare at the cross behind his head and bite my lip. For some reason, he’s the last person I want to see me
     cry.
    A s I walk down the hall from Jeff’s office I see Lynn standing in the atrium,