The disclaimers: Every character who engages in intimate conduct is at least 18. A work of fiction (more or less). Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is coincidental (for the most part).
This is a BTB story with no RAAC. It evolved in and out of that genre as I wrote, rewrote, and edited. I'm sure that readers will see similarities to other BTB or RAAC stories, but those similarities weren't the result of plagiarism, cross my heart. After all, there are only so many tropes and scenarios out there unless one wants to invoke space aliens, time travel, or plot devices so outlandish as to be silly, and that's quite saying something given some of the plots I've read on LW. I've tried to "realistic," particularly about dialog, but with some license for the aspirational goal of weaving a tale worth reading. And I've taken some leeway on legal matters, which is my way of saying that this story uses legal concepts to move the plot along, even if technically what happens here isn't "the law"-even in the Lone Star State. I hope I at least crafted something worth your time.
One last thing, The B gets Burned, but not utterly destroyed. But like the joke goes, it's not the fall that kills you, it's hitting the ground.
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Howdy. My birth certificate says Thomas Edward Mitchell. I'm Mr. Mitchell to strangers and in most professional settings. I'm Tom to most of my friends, and I'm Tommy to my family. I'm Dad or Daddy to my beloved daughter, Hanna. That's the title I cherish most. And what does Jennifer, the girl I married some 17 years ago, call me? That would depend mostly on the time frame. There was a time when it was "Sweety" or "Honey." Sometimes even "Stud." But nothing even mildly affectionate of late. We'll get to that.
There's nothing extraordinary about me. I'm your standard-issue White guy. 40 years old, about 5' 11" and 190 pounds. Yeah, I could stand to lose a few pesky pounds that settled in around the gut. I'm working on that. I'm not a self-made millionaire, an IT-techno-wiz who can break into highly-secured computer systems to wreak havoc on my enemies, a former middleweight boxer, an ex-SEAL, a mega-bucks wheeler-dealer, or a mild-mannered Clark Kent living incognito. I'm just one of several division heads in the local district attorney's office in my large Texas county.
After three years of law school, I knew I wanted to be a trial lawyer. So I turned down more lucrative job offers doing commercial transactions work (yawn), real estate deals (please shoot me), or God forbid, taxation (just bury me-I'm already dead), and took a job as a misdemeanor prosecutor. When I started out, I saw the DA's office as a waypoint on my manifest destiny to the top. I was fully aware of the trade-off and accepted the bargain. You didn't make much money and there weren't many perks. Cramped offices with old furniture, walls chock-full of nail holes, the whole bit. But you did get to try cases, and if you had an aptitude for it, you would definitely get better. If you were really good at it, you got a crack at the 'important" major felony cases. As a bonus, you were the tip of the spear in getting some measure of justice for victims of humanity's multifaceted darker sides. It didn't take long or the job to grow on me. And so I stayed.
I met Jenny in our law school law library when I was a 2L. She was a 1L, looking for a quiet study nook between classes. All of the carrels were taken, and I saw her looking just as I was about to vacate mine to go to my next class. I beckoned her over to take my spot, and before I knew it we had an informal date for a late lunch. Lunches turned to hanging out turned to moving in together. After I graduated I snared a local judicial clerkship for a year so we could be together until she graduated. Marriage followed, and very soon after, Hanna. Hanna became Daddy's Girl. She had my heart long before the doc cut the cord.
Jenny and I had a marriage that worked, or so I thought. My job at the DA's office rarely required overtime, Which that meant Jenny could pursue her commercial law work while I was Hanna's primary caregiver. When Hanna was about seven, Jenny fell into a plum job with Vandervalk, Vandervalk, and Vincennes, one of the big-law, glass tower firms. V-Cubed, as it was called, had partners on all of the important committees, lawyers who were go-to sources whenever the media needed a talking head to pontificate, sprawling business and political connections, and satellite offices in several states. It was the place to be if you were a climber.
V-Cubed worked its associates nearly to death, and although the pay was good, the real prize was being offered an equity partnership. Even the newest partners could expect $500k a year, and the top partners raked in millions. The big wheels were the name-partners, Victor Vandervalk, his twin sister, Victoria Vandervalk, and Raul Vincennes. All three were exceedingly good lawyers. If they had a fault, it was arrogance on steroids. Particularly Victoria, who relished her informal moniker of "Big V." They thought they could get away with anything, and it sometimes seemed that they did. "My shit doesn't stink" was the trademark attitude of V-Cubed lawyers, and even staff. I think it infected Jenny and killed us.
Jenny had been at V-Cubed for about four years when things began to unravel. It started with little things. More and more Jenny would work well into the evening, leaving me and Hanna to fend for ourselves at dinner nightly. More and more Jenny wouldn't come home before Hanna had turned in. Family time during the week dwindled to near nothing, and then weekends, too. I tried to engage Jenny about how we missed her and needed her, but her response to every overture was some variation of "You're exaggerating," or "I have to put in the time if I want to make partner," or my favorite, the condescending "If you had my job you'd understand." In one particularly morose span of months, Jenny blew off my birthday, Hanna's birthday, our anniversary, a long-planned family reunion, and Hanna's Girl Scouts awards dinner, where Hanna was to receive her Silver Award.
Yet, even without Jenny around much, Hanna shined. We all think our children are smarter than average, but in Hanna's case it was true. Her forte was language. She consumed books like popcorn, and I swear, she pretty much self-taught herself French because she saw Les Miserables and wanted to read the novel in the original language. Her ability to discern subtle shades of meaning was a blessing and a curse. She oftentimes fell out with friends because she caught undercurrents in words and tone that betrayed the real message. So it was no surprise to me that Hanna was acutely attuned to what was going on with me and Jenny, which is to say, what was going off the rails with me and Jenny.
Jenny's most recent overt assault on family harmony particularly stood out. We were supposed to drive to Jenny's parents' home near New Braunfels, where the extended family would gather for a full weekend of renewing ties at their house on the lake. The morning we were to leave, Jenny announced that something unexpected had come up, and she had to fly to Chicago with Big V and one of the senior partners, a Jim Emerson. She'd be gone from Thursday evening and get back the next Tuesday. This sudden trip came on the heels of a last-minute trip to Durham, North Carolina for merger meeting that according to Jenny would decide the fate of the universe, and before that a five-day excursion to Hawaii that V-Cubed sprang for, under the guise of having its partners and senior associates attend a seminar. Hey, if you're going to write off vacations as business expenses, you choose Hawaii over Newark, right?
Of course I didn't happily receive the surprise news of Jenny's latest out-of-town excursion. All of Jenny's time away made me feel like a single parent, and I told her so. I reminded her that Hanna longed for some mother-daughter bonding time, and lately Hanna was getting severely shortchanged. I was banging my head against a brick wall. Actually, the brick wall would have had more empathy.
"Look, Tom," she snipped at me as she packed, "I didn't expect this. You know my job requires travel. I'm not a 9-to-5 clock-puncher like you. I can hob-knob with family another time. This is important! I'll make it up to Hanna when I get back."
She headed back into our shared closet to gather more clothes. It packed a lot for just a short business trip, a detail that didn't fully register at the time. I'd seen this happen enough times to know the discussion was over, so I left her to finish packing. I wasn't running away; I needed to put physical space between us, before I said something I'd regret and couldn't be unsaid. We didn't know that Hanna was outside our bedroom door, and heard everything.
I sat at the kitchen table nursing a cup of coffee and contemplating the shit-show that my marriage had become when Jenny bustled in, rolling her suitcase behind her. She paused long enough to tell me that she was sorry for being contrary, and that she'd call when she got settled into her hotel room. She told me to have a good time with the family, and that she loved me. Then she was out the door and driving down the street in her gunship BMW. Hanna wandered into the kitchen just after. She grabbed a juice box and sat down next to me, slouching.
"So Mom's gone again. Where this time, and for how long?"
"Chicago. Back Tuesday afternoon. Work trip, Pumpkin. She said it's important."
'Yes, that's what she said." My eyes snapped from my coffee to Hanna. "I overheard you arguing. Sorry for eavesdropping, Daddy, but I had to."
I just nodded. It would have taken a saint not listen. "Then you heard your mother say that she'll make it up to us when she gets back."
"That's not what she said. She said she'd make it up to ME. She didn't mention you.' Hanna caught that detail, despite my attempt to gloss over it. What came next caught me off guard.
"Daddy, something's massively messed up with you and Mom. More Mom than you. She missed our birthdays, and I know she flaked out on your anniversary dinner that you both planned on. She treats you like crap, and I gotta say it, it's rubbing off on you. You used to be happy. Lately, not so much."
"Your mother and I have some things to work out. It's adult stuff, so you need to let us handle it. But no matter what, I love you, all the way to the moon and back." Hanna smiled briefly before she resumed her dissection of my marriage.
"You'd have to keep her attention for more than two minutes to work something out. Thirty seconds is about the best I can manage with her. I know I'm just a kid, but what happens with you and Mom affects me too, y'know?'
"I know.' I kissed her forehead. "Let's get our stuff packed and hit the road. You need to water ski, and I need Grandpa's world-famous smoked brisket."
Our drive to New Braunfels was solemn and virtually silent, but for an occasional barking fit by our Great Pyr, Shep. Right up until out of the blue Hanna asked if Jenny and I were going to get a divorce.
'Katy Miller's parents are getting one. Alia Hassan's parents, too. And Rico Gomez's.'' I had no idea what to say. I couldn't give Hanna assurances, because the way things were going that's exactly where Jenny and I were headed.
"So, here's the thing, Dad. You not saying anything tells me that it's possible.'
