Friday morning, I called the detective that was investigating him. There’s nothing new to report. My husband is still locked up. It feels weird to even write that sentence. One on side of the verb we have “my husband”, which is only correct in the legal sense. On the other side, we have “locked up”, something that no one wants to ever use in describing a loved one. The detective couldn’t tell me much more than I wasn’t already seeing on the court website and his inmate information; once he had his bail hearing, it was out of the detective’s hands. I message his mother every couple of days to let her know that nothing is changed, and I’ve promised to pass on her phone number if he ever reaches out to me. Last weekend she asked me to sell things and bail him out so he could get a menial job, just to bring in some money. I explained no one was going to hire someone with a felony sex offense charge currently under investigation.
In poking through the various court and inmate information, he’s got one charge against him, indecent solicitation of a child. I’m not bailing him out; if I was going to do it, I would have done it last week, before he missed a week of work and probably lost his job. Part of me regrets not paying it, because I probably could have, and then I wouldn’t be completely freaking about money constantly now. But after everything that’s happened in the last couple of years, a police raid was most definitely the last straw in a whole pile of straw. There’s no coming back from that, and I probably couldn’t stand to be near him. It took me a while to no longer feel a small twinge of disgust after I found out he’d cheated – disgusted at him for doing it, at myself for staying – and I don’t think I could handle what I would feel if he was here right now.
I’m having a difficult time forcing myself to even start sorting things in the house. In an effort to try to gather as much financial records and house paperwork as I can before arranging a meeting with a lawyer next week, I tried to sort through the desk and the books in the Pink Room on Friday. I ended up with some of the house paperwork, but I thought we were also given a CD with copies of most of the closing paperwork on it and I can’t find it, if it existed at all. I need to attempt to get some of the mortgage info, and any retirement fund info, which is going to involve finding the printer and getting it to work with one of the laptops, because I don’t want to go to Kinkos and print things out.. I need to talk to his mother about what the future holds, because he’s there’s a decent chance going to end up having to give up his green card and go back to Canada.
He hasn’t reached out to me, or anyone else to my knowledge. I don’t know if it’s fear, or embarrassment, not wanting to call collect or upset me with a call while I’m at work. I very much doubt that he’d call one of his masonic brothers, even if he knew their numbers, because I know he’d be ashamed to admit that he’s not the good person they accepted into the lodge, and I don’t think he knows his mother’s phone number. I’m not sure what I would say to him if he called me.
At some point, I probably will go to see him. I don’t know why I should want to, because it’s not going to change anything, but I feel like I need it. Not for closure, but to tell him how sad I am for him stupidly throwing everything away that we’d worked hard for, and how I’m going to come out of this a stronger person.