"It's never cool enough to wear a fur in September, not in Baltimore."
"Yes, but hope springs eternal." He offered Tess a crooked smile. "I guess that's why I'm here."
She bent her head over her desk, focusing on the lines of the legal pad in front of her, counting on Rubin to get his emotions under control if she didn't look straight at him. Tess was sure he didn't want her to see him cry. She was even surer that she didn't want to see him cry. Men crying creeped her out.
"If your wife took your children without your permission, isn't that a kidnapping? Can't the police go at it from that angle? Don't get me wrong, I'd love to have the work, but the police have far more resources than I do."
"I know, and that's why I started with them. But… it's amazing. If you're married and your spouse leaves you, taking your children, you have no real rights. I've been told that I have to get divorced in absentia and petition for custody. Only then will I have any rights to assert. And that could take up to a year."
"Oh, there has to be some way to expedite a divorce in this case. I can't imagine the state would hold to the one-year rule in such a case." Maryland did have odd marital laws, Tess knew. It was all too easy to get married here-it was one of the few states that didn't require a blood test, which years ago had made Elkton a destination for impatient New Yorkers-but relatively difficult to get divorced. A legacy, she had always assumed, from its Catholic founders. Marry in haste, live in purgatory.
"You don't understand. Even if I divorced my wife under Maryland law, it wouldn't count, not to me."
"Why not?"
"I would need a get from a rabbinic court as well. Divorce may be granted easily in the world at large, but my faith insists that a couple make every attempt at mediation and reconciliation before giving up on a marriage."
"But I assume your wife's actions would satisfy even a-what did you call it?-rabbinic court." Tess had an image of an appeals court, only in slightly different robes and with the bushy beards, side curls, and large-brimmed hats of the Hasidim.
"Perhaps, but it would not satisfy me. How can I give up on my marriage when I don't know what went wrong? You have to understand she gave no sign, absolutely no sign, that she was unhappy in any way. How could she be on the verge of something so drastic and provide no clue?"
She probably gave you a million clues, Tess thought, but kept the observation to herself. In her experience, men were capable of going to great lengths to ignore the evidence of women's unhappiness. It was how men survived, by not inquiring too closely about the melancholy some women carried with them. If they ignored it, maybe it would go away.
Sometimes it was the woman who went away instead.
"Mr. Rubin…" She paused, but he did not invite her to call him Mark, so she forged ahead. "The very nature of my work requires me to ask rude, intrusive questions, not unlike the kind that doctors and lawyers ask, so I'll beg your forgiveness in advance. Did you have a good marriage?"
"We had a wonderful marriage."
"No disagreements, no tensions?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary. There was a slight age difference…"
So that's where the dog was buried, as her Grandma Weinstein might say. "How much?"
"Twelve years. I married relatively late, at thirty-one."
Funny, Tess was thirty-three, and she considered that a damn early age for matrimony.
"You're… what?" She checked her notes. "Forty-one. So she was only nineteen when you married?"
A slight defensiveness crept into his tone. "Yes, but Natalie was an unusual woman, more mature at nineteen than most women are in their thirties." Was it Tess's imagination, or did he glance at her neon human hair sign just then? A gift from her boyfriend two Christmases ago, it complemented the "Time for a Haircut" clock nicely.
"How old are the children?"
"Isaac is nine, the twins are going on five. We wanted more, but it was not to be. I had hoped to have a houseful of children."
"And your wife?"
"Of course I want my wife in my house. That's why I'm here."
"No, I meant… did your wife want a lot of children, too?"
"Absolutely. It's our way. It's what God wants."
Mark Rubin's very certitude seemed a bad sign to Tess. It was bad enough to claim you knew your wife's mind, another to assume you knew God's as well.
"She had absolutely no reason to leave?"
"None." The reply was too firm, too automatic. He wasn't allowing anyone to question this fact, beginning with himself.
"What about addictions? I'm not talking just about drugs or alcohol, but gambling or other compulsive behaviors, such as eating disorders. Even shopping."
"No, nothing like that."
"Does she spend a lot of time on the Internet?" A new wrinkle in divorce cases, stealth adultery, which didn't reveal itself until the person ran off to be with his or her virtual love. Installing spyware was one of Tess's first steps in any case where a spouse suspected another spouse of fooling around.
"She barely knows how to use a computer. Our oldest son had to set up her e-mail account."
"And there was no"-she took a breath and plunged ahead-"no violence in the household?"
"No." Here, at least, he was utterly convincing.
"It's just that it's very unusual for a woman to up and leave, taking her three children. Does she have a job?"
"No matter my circumstances, I would never allow-I mean, I would never expect my wife to work outside the home."
"Then how would she support them? Does she have her own money? Family?"
A slight hesitation here. "Not one that she can rely on. Her mother is still here in Baltimore, but she and Natalie have been estranged since her parents' divorce, back when she was a young teenager. Her father's completely out of the picture now, has no contact with her at all."
Tess wondered if Rubin's marriage had been an arranged one, then wondered if the Orthodox still used arranged marriages. Her upbringing had been bicultural primarily in the culinary details. The Weinsteins went out for Chinese and held backyard crab feasts, rationalizing that anything eaten outside wasn't really treyf. The Monaghans had lesser palates, but they loved the Sour Beef dinner put on by the ladies of Good Counsel every autumn. On St. Patrick's Day, they drove for lean corned beef to what Tess's paternal grandfather called Jewtown. Pop-Pop Monaghan had called the neighborhood that to the day he died, literally. In his bed in the old house on Wilkens Avenue, he had reached for Tess's hand, mistaking her for his only daughter, Kitty, the youngest and best loved of his seven children.
"Well," he had said, "Patrick married a Jew. What do you know about that, Kitty? A Jewess from Jewtown."
There was no meanness in his tone, no censure. He was just calling a spade a spade, a Jew a Jewess. As for Jew-town-well, that designation had appeared on some local maps well into the 1930s, and Pop-Pop Monaghan's world-view had pretty much jelled by then.
"I know," Tess had replied, trying to find something that would be neither rebuke nor agreement, "that he loves her."
"Love," her grandfather scoffed.
Some men might have been smart enough to exit on a line like that, but Brian Monaghan, a belligerent Irishman to the end, wore out his welcome, coming back from death several times in that last day. Finally life seemed to tire of him and shuttered itself against his return, like a tavern giving someone the bum's rush.
But her Monaghan side was of no use here. Today Tess needed to rely on her Weinstein genes if she was going to find any affinity with this prickly man who clearly had the wherewithal to help her out of her financial slump.