Zelda hit Othello yesterday on the phone, to have him have me call her.
[following that chain with fingers and a frown]
Yes. That.
Quoth Othello: Just call him.
She: He won’t take my calls.
He: He may not want to call you; he doesn’t like how, when you talk to each other, things are said that nobody wanted to say. He would probably be willing to email you.
She: No. He doesn’t return my emails.
He: [founders a bit] ‘Kay.
That’s what he told me happened.
He was in a deep funk last night, and I deduced some of what must have transpired between them. Around bedtime, I poked him, suggesting that, there being two days left on the paperwork, Zelda was likely to get a bit wonkier than usual; if there is anything I can do to help, I’d like to.
“Too late.”
The subject was open, as were the floodgates, and I got the larger version of the conversation.
Here’s the stuff that was covered that he didn’t mention:
— I am going to keep him from ever seeing Zelda again
— I am going for ruinous child support to get even
— I am lying to everyone about my intentions and reasons
— Is Othello certain that he doesn’t want Zelda to come back to Oregon and fight this?
— She has seen a very, very expensive lawyer and he told her that she could come back and take him to Corvallis, no problem
— If Mnarra doesn’t like the way our conversations go, Othello could get on another line and act as mediator
I made certain that he still possessed the facts of things, that all Zelda has to do is call my lawyer, the lawyer has negotiating instructions. Wished there was some way to move bystanders out of the war zone. Kissed his forehead, went to bed.
I stayed awake until around 2, fussing. I wish, I wishIwishIwish things could be different.