He gave her an encouraging look.
She turned her attention to her free hand, the left, which she
had kept ungloved since she and Jean-Pierre had made love the
first time. Somehow it seemed only fitting that she stare at
where her finger once was while making this call. On the second
ring a young woman's voice greeted her.
"This is Greta Locke," she said, and after a moment's
hesitation, "Matthew Locke's wife." She met Jean-Pierre's intense
stare. "I'd like to speak with Mitchell, please." A pause, then:
"Mitchell, hello. Yes, he's fine, thank you." Her expression
turned serious as she smiled through the last of the lawyer's
greeting.
"Actually, Mitchell, things aren't exactly perfect," she said,
twisting the phone cord in her hand. Her eyes went to Jean-Pierre
for a moment, taking him in from head to toe, his boots. The
ranch, she reminded herself, boosting her courage. This was all
for their ranch. She took a deep breath and plunged on. "I'm
calling you, Mitchell, because I want a divorce." Pinpoint dots
of sweat had formed on her upper lip.
"I'm sorry?" she said, shaking her gaze from Jean-Pierre. "No,
Matthew and I have not talked about it yet." Another pause. "No,
I don't know if it's what Matthew wants. It's what I want." She
swallowed a deluge of conflicting emotions, her eyes pleading
with her lover for support.
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