It’s not about before. Nothing is.

...It was a Petition for Divorce.

Petition sounded too much like penitent to Hannah. He wasn’t sure what either meant exactly but he thought penitent had something to do with sin, or regret, or maybe both.

He sat down in the window with the view of the lake and read. “The respondent has treated his spouse with mental cruelty of a seriousness that makes it impossible for the two to continue to live together.” Jesus Christ. “…a persistent and wilful withdrawal of companionship…” Was this really Hannah? Was this Rachel and Joe? He’d been a cop long enough to know that a lawyer could make anything sound bad, and the truly great lawyers could make even the bad sound good but this was not anyone or anything that Hannah could recognize.

The fact was Hannah always thought it was Rachel that had withdrawn first, lost like a hand slipping under water. She seemed always so angry – angry at the newspaper in the morning, at things she heard at the school from one of the mothers, angry at Esther and in the end angry with Hannah. But none of this anger seemed tied to anything that Rachel could talk about directly. In the end the anger, the slow burn rage, turned slowly inward until Rachel was depressed, dark, until everything and everybody in their small family was touched by the long shadow of withdrawal and denial. Hannah took to spending long nights in their small garden with a cigar and too many scotches.

“Is this your Buddhist thing?” Rachel said one night as dark fell.

“Your point is?”

“Are you meditating Joe, or sulking or pissed off or what? What exactly?” Rachel shifted a chair out of the light from the back door and sat in the dark, her face leaning in toward Hannah.

“Not anything Rachel. I’m sitting. I’m thinking.” Hannah paused. “I’m thinking what the fuck is going on and how the fuck did I get here and what the fuck it will take for this, for you, for us to move on”.

“That sounds like sulking to me”. Hannah closed his eyes and took a long drag on the cigar then let the smoke drift slowly up while he watched it, focussing on nothing, nothing at all.

“Whatever.”

“I think you hate what you do Joe. I think you see the world as a dirty place, an ugly place filled with bad people and that makes you angry. That makes you hate your job, and probably the world, and probably yourself and maybe me and maybe being here…”

“You seem to have it all worked out Rach.”

“You weren’t like this before. You’re not like this when you’re painting or most of the time with Esther or…”

“I don’t know about before. I can’t remember before. Anyway, it’s not about before. Nothing is.”

“What’s wrong Joe? We don’t seem to agree about anything. You’re more and more angry, I can see that and that makes me angry – no, not angry – scared. I’m scared to be around you sometimes”. Hannah stood up, walking towards the back of the garden. His drink in his hand, swung back and forth slowly at his side. He dropped the unfinished cigar, stepped on it and kicked it, still smoking into the darkness.

“Rach – I’m tired. I’m going in. I don’t think this is getting us anywhere. I think…” Hannah tuned back toward Rachel who sat with her back to him. “Scared? You’re scared of me?”

“Maybe…that didn’t come out right. Maybe it’s…”

Hannah spoke almost at a whisper, suddenly very tired now.

“Maybe it’s me. Maybe it’s the job. Maybe it’s I hate everything. Maybe tomorrow it will be something new, something bad…maybe anything.”...