“Mr. Reynolds? He’s here,” she explained patiently, “because the Finnigan brothers declared bankruptcy and you’re one of their creditors.”

“Is this a bad time?” the lawyer asked, looking from Roberta to Stormy.

Stormy shook his head tiredly. “No, it’s fine.” He found that he was a little disappointed Roberta was not trying to divorce him, and he tried to pay attention as Reynolds explained that the status of the downtown Albuquerque theater he’d bought with the Finnigan brothers with the intention of turning it into an art theater was now in limbo, but his mind kept wandering. He accepted the forms and folders given him, listened to his options, but figured he’d go over the details later at his leisure.

There were still questions as to whether, as a distributor, he was legally allowed to own a theater, and he’d remained a minority partner, owning forty-nine percent of the enterprise to the Finnigans’ fifty-one. There were a lot of cases pending before various courts that addressed this issue and he’d hoped to avoid it entirely, but apparently unless he could get another majority partner, he’d either have to jump in and buy the entire business or forfeit his interest in the project to the bankruptcy court and accept whatever they could get for the theater at auction.

His mind was still on divorce, though. Somehow, this false alarm seemed to have lent him the confidence he’d lacked until now. He realized, for the first time, that an end to the marriage was a realistic possibility. Before now, it had been an abstraction, a fantasy almost, and for some stupid reason he’d assumed that if there was going to be a divorce, it would be initiated by her.

But why?

He could start divorce proceedings himself. He could take an active role in this. Instead of passively waiting for something to happen to him, he could take the initiative and do it himself.

Reynolds stood, handed him a card. “I guess that concludes it. If you have any questions over the next few days, feel free to call.”

“I’ll talk to my lawyer,” Stormy said, “and have him get in touch with you.”

Reynolds nodded. “My phone and fax number are on the card.”

Stormy saw the other man to the door, watched him get into his black Bronco, and waved good-bye. He shut the door and looked back toward Roberta, who was still standing next to the coffee table.

She stared at him. “You really thought I wanted a divorce?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

She said nothing, only nodded and walked into the kitchen, an unreadable expression on her face.

He drove down to Albuquerque the next day.