Thursday’s one of the nights when I get to call my kids. After our divorce, Cheryl remarried and moved a hundred and ninety miles away to Cumberland, Rhode Island. My lawyer told me I had little chance of joint custody with the hours I worked and the nature of my job, so I didn’t fight her on moving our kids out of state, and as such, she pretty much agreed to what I asked in return. Still, it wasn’t as amiable as it might sound. There were a lot of hard feelings between of us—she had her long laundry list of issues, and me, I felt blindsided by the divorce. I guess I shouldn’t have. I knew there were problems. The last year or so together I could feel the frost building up, but I was just too damn tired from the job to figure out what it was that was eating at her, and according to Cheryl that was the final straw, the one thing she couldn’t forgive me for. I think she was full of shit about that part of it. If she were completely honest about it she’d admit that her biggest issue with me was that she ended up a stay-at-home mom instead of a big-time Hollywood actress like one of her cousins. She always felt as if there were bigger things in store for her and that it was my fault that none of those bigger things ever happened.
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