was personal in nature. I never used my real name for matters of business.
"Yes, this is she."
Jamie approached and kissed me silently on the cheek. "Don't forget about our plans tonight," he whispered before heading into the kitchen.
I held up one finger and nodded.
"This is Paula Porter, Mrs. Langley's attorney."
I could feel my body stiffen immediately. Of course—914 area code was Westchester County. Where I had been less than twenty-four hours ago.
This was it. The phone call I had been dreading since I left that courtroom yesterday. Part of me didn't even want to know what the outcome had been. Part of me just wanted to move on with my life and forget all about it. Maybe this was one of those things better left to fade away in the back of your memory. A burning question that, after a few weeks' time, eventually sizzles out until it's just a faintly glowing ember that's hardly worth talking about.
But the other part of me knew I would never be able to let it go. As much as I hated to admit it, I had made some kind of emotional investment in this outcome. Ever since I quit the fieldwork and began my "desk job," these courtroom testimonies were the only way I could be directly involved in my clients' lives. Sure, I greeted them at the agency, took their case, prepared their assignment, and reported back to them when it was all said and done. But there was something inherently lacking in that. Being the bookends of the process but never the book. On the surface, I knew I was still helping people, but I always felt one step removed from it. I was never personally involved anymore. And I'll admit, sometimes I missed it. The personal involvement. Not the almost sleeping with married men, obviously.
Becoming an expert witness seemed like a good solution. It was a way that I could make an impact on people's lives while at the same time keeping my promise to Jamie that I would never actually be the one to conduct the fidelity inspections. Unfortunately, the last five testimonies I had given hadn't made much of an impact at all. Every single one of them had ended in a ruling that favored the cheater and not the cheated on. I was hoping Mrs. Langley's case would put an end to my losing streak and reestablish some kind of faith that I actually was making a difference.
I realized it was a lot of weight to place on one phone call.
"Yes, hello, Ms. Porter," I replied softly, sliding into one of the dining room chairs.
"I just wanted to thank you again for flying all that way to testify on Joy's behalf yesterday. I realize it's a long flight, and we both really appreciate it."
"It's no problem."
"And I also thought you might want to know what the judge's decision was."
I tried hard to detect any traces of emotion in her voice. Did she sound happy? Sad? Disappointed? Elated? But I was left with no clues whatsoever. I guess that's what made her a good lawyer.
"Oh," I replied casually, as if the thought of this phone conversation hadn't even crossed my mind. "Sure, you can tell me if you like . . . since you already have me on the phone."
"Right," she began. "Well, as you said in the courtroom, cheating is a very subjective concept. It's difficult to determine what really constitutes it."
I could feel my hand start to wind in slow circles in front of my body, urging her to skip the fluff and just tell me what the decision was. "Uh-huh."
I looked over at Jamie, who had moved into the kitchen and was now searching my cabinets for something to eat for breakfast.
"So in order to get around issues of subjectivity, the legal system usually relies heavily on language."
What the hell is she talking about? Just tell me if the judge awarded him the money.
"The fact is, the language in the New York State statute pertaining to adultery is very rigid," Ms. Porter continued, her voice still not giving away anything. Which was frustrating to no end. "It specifically defines infidelity as sexual intercourse with someone other than the
"Yes, this is she."
Jamie approached and kissed me silently on the cheek. "Don't forget about our plans tonight," he whispered before heading into the kitchen.
I held up one finger and nodded.
"This is Paula Porter, Mrs. Langley's attorney."
I could feel my body stiffen immediately. Of course—914 area code was Westchester County. Where I had been less than twenty-four hours ago.
This was it. The phone call I had been dreading since I left that courtroom yesterday. Part of me didn't even want to know what the outcome had been. Part of me just wanted to move on with my life and forget all about it. Maybe this was one of those things better left to fade away in the back of your memory. A burning question that, after a few weeks' time, eventually sizzles out until it's just a faintly glowing ember that's hardly worth talking about.
But the other part of me knew I would never be able to let it go. As much as I hated to admit it, I had made some kind of emotional investment in this outcome. Ever since I quit the fieldwork and began my "desk job," these courtroom testimonies were the only way I could be directly involved in my clients' lives. Sure, I greeted them at the agency, took their case, prepared their assignment, and reported back to them when it was all said and done. But there was something inherently lacking in that. Being the bookends of the process but never the book. On the surface, I knew I was still helping people, but I always felt one step removed from it. I was never personally involved anymore. And I'll admit, sometimes I missed it. The personal involvement. Not the almost sleeping with married men, obviously.
Becoming an expert witness seemed like a good solution. It was a way that I could make an impact on people's lives while at the same time keeping my promise to Jamie that I would never actually be the one to conduct the fidelity inspections. Unfortunately, the last five testimonies I had given hadn't made much of an impact at all. Every single one of them had ended in a ruling that favored the cheater and not the cheated on. I was hoping Mrs. Langley's case would put an end to my losing streak and reestablish some kind of faith that I actually was making a difference.
I realized it was a lot of weight to place on one phone call.
"Yes, hello, Ms. Porter," I replied softly, sliding into one of the dining room chairs.
"I just wanted to thank you again for flying all that way to testify on Joy's behalf yesterday. I realize it's a long flight, and we both really appreciate it."
"It's no problem."
"And I also thought you might want to know what the judge's decision was."
I tried hard to detect any traces of emotion in her voice. Did she sound happy? Sad? Disappointed? Elated? But I was left with no clues whatsoever. I guess that's what made her a good lawyer.
"Oh," I replied casually, as if the thought of this phone conversation hadn't even crossed my mind. "Sure, you can tell me if you like . . . since you already have me on the phone."
"Right," she began. "Well, as you said in the courtroom, cheating is a very subjective concept. It's difficult to determine what really constitutes it."
I could feel my hand start to wind in slow circles in front of my body, urging her to skip the fluff and just tell me what the decision was. "Uh-huh."
I looked over at Jamie, who had moved into the kitchen and was now searching my cabinets for something to eat for breakfast.
"So in order to get around issues of subjectivity, the legal system usually relies heavily on language."
What the hell is she talking about? Just tell me if the judge awarded him the money.
"The fact is, the language in the New York State statute pertaining to adultery is very rigid," Ms. Porter continued, her voice still not giving away anything. Which was frustrating to no end. "It specifically defines infidelity as sexual intercourse with someone other than the
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