Free Love Has The Best Intentions by Christine Arness

to shatter the
cycle of pain unaided. The agonizing emotion of the process and the
despairing interviews were beginning to affect my own
relationships, my own responses.
    I became aware that Dorothea Chapin was
regarding me in surprise, startled out of self-absorption by the
flicker of distress which must be visible on my face.
    “Is something wrong?” she whispered uneasily.
In our relationship as attorney—client, I had been a strong
confidant, the one who shouldered the burden and kept the divorce
moving toward fruition. Now it seemed to her that the last bastion
of defense had been challenged and found unsteady.
    With an effort, I pulled myself together and
spoke in a reassuring tone. “I’m ready to proceed. Are you?”
    “Let’s get it over with—the suspense of
waiting is making me ill.” Her voice broke on the last words.
    The divorce court was located on the fourth
floor of the building which housed our county judicial system. I
led the way out of the elevator onto the familiar black and white
tiles. The squares reminded me of a narrow chessboard, with the
hallway’s occupants the chessmen whose steps mirrored their
decisions in reality. Moving forward, retreating, changing the
balance of power—with personal happiness the prize for victory.
    The hall was crowded; divorce court was a
very popular place these days. Suddenly I froze, breath catching
painfully at the sight of a familiar tilt to one man’s head.
    Andrew threaded his way with determination
through the throng of attorneys and clients with a thin, studious
looking man in tow. The sight of Andrew’s broad shoulders straining
the tweed of his suit sent a quiver of excitement dancing up my
spine.
    With an abrupt gesture, he grasped my arm
above the elbow and drew me away from my startled client, his
rugged features in a startling contrast to the gentleness of the
spirit existing within the husky frame. Mrs. Chapin remained frozen
by the bank of elevators, cringing away from the confused hubbub of
many voices.
    “Andrew! What are you doing here? I thought
we agreed not to see each other for a few days.” I kept my voice
low, but indignant.
    “I was pining away for a glimpse of your
brown eyes,” he retorted and grinned at the resulting sparks the
remark generated. “I’m a gentleman. I keep my word. Bill Douglas
went home at 10:00 a.m. with the flu and they dumped the Chapin
divorce file on my desk. As an associate attorney, I have to bark
when they say ‘speak’. Your name was listed as opposing counsel and
I thought I’d better prepare you for the shock of seeing me before
you had an audience.”
    I stiffened angrily at his rallying tone but
with a quick change of subject, he moved to the case at hand.
    “Are you and your client ready to proceed,
Allyson? My client informs me that his soon-to-be-ex-wife is, and I
quote, ‘A watering pot with creeping tendrils winding into his
wallet’.”
    ‘He didn’t say that, did he?” A reluctant
smile accompanied my question as I visualized Dorothea leafing out
before my eyes.
    “Allyson, the man is an English professor!
His abuse of the language indicates how much this situation has
affected him. Is Mrs. Chapin willing to back down from her stand on
the maintenance issue? You must be aware that she not only wants
the shirt off his back, but also has an eye on his cuff links and
the gold fillings in his teeth.
    I withdrew my sleeve from his grasp with
dignity. “No comment. We’ve made our position quite clear in our
correspondence with your firm. See you in court, Mr.
Stevenson.”
    Returning to the little eddy in the current
of traffic which indicated where I had abandoned my client, I
gritted my teeth. He could he speak to me in such a teasing manner
after our bittersweet parting? Didn’t he understand the turmoil and
emotional upheaval I was going through?
    Pausing outside the courtroom, I discovered
that our case was third in line on the call-up sheet. We entered
the echoing room with