Divorce Balance

Negotiation > Recovery > Enhancement

Saturday, May 21, 2005
Twelve Hours, Two Stories, One Conclusion

"Tim's threatening to kidnap the kids."

Rather an unanticipated response to my more or less rhetorical, "How's it going today?" as I walked past her on the street near my home at 8:39 a.m. that Tuesday.

Gwen Cooper knows that I'm a divorce mediator, of course. And, although I wasn't involved in her divorce almost two years ago, I know her, some. I was also more than casually acquainted with her husband, Tim, when they were together.

So I bit on the hook and inquired further.

She eagerly continued: "When he comes to get the children on his Fridays, he says this could be the time he doesn't return them."

"He said those words—?" That didn't sound like the Tim I'd known.

"No, Dell," Gwen responded, as if now speaking to an errant child. "He says, 'We'll see.' That's what he says. When he comes to pick up Kelly and Little Timmy, I say, 'See you on Sunday at five.' And that's when he says, 'We'll see.'"

Sensing the need to offer Gwen a bit more of an opening, I encouraged her to share some other examples of Tim's "threatening" behavior.

"There are no other examples," she said, tersely. "I've already talked to my lawyer about it, and she says that is enough. So we're meeting on Friday afternoon, and we're hauling Tim into court next week.

"Mediation isn't the solution to everything, you know."

At 1:07 p.m. that day, I stopped by Meijer's to pick up a gallon of milk after lunch. There, I ran into quite literally the last person on earth I'd have expected to see.

"Hey, Dell. Remember me?" asked Tim Cooper.

"I do." Sometimes it's best to economize words.

We talked about the price of strawberries and progress on the antique Dodge he's working to restore in his grandmother's garage. Then, since Tim's daughter and my own son ride the same school bus, he asked for my day-to-day observations on that. In answering, I gently tapped the conversational trajectory toward parenting time exchanges.

"Even keel," was how Tim summed it, surprisingly. If he was planning to take hostages, as Gwen feared, his poker face opaquely masked that intent.

"Do you and Gwen talk during any of those times?"

"Not really. Oh, she still tries to bait me," Tim mused. "But I don't respond like I did during the divorce. I just give her a couple of words and I'm on my way."

"What does 'bait me' look like?"

"Okay, well, here's an example that's been going on for a couple of months now. She'll say, 'I'll see you and the kids on Sunday at five o'clock sharp, right?' Shoot — I'm always there on time. But she used to tape all our conversations, so I'm figuring it's some sort of setup. Like, 'you said five o'clock and it's 5:15, so I'm taking you to court.' "Court' was her first answer to everything.

"What if I get stuck in traffic? What if Kelly loses one of her Barbie outfits and we're late because we have to search for it? What if Tim, Jr., gets something on his pants and we have to wait for him to get changed?

"So, I just say, 'We'll see,' which is all I can guarantee. She never says anything after that."

Yup: That's the Tim I remember. Super-uncomfortable committing. Ever fearful of being boxed in on anything.

One might wonder why the woman who was married to him for seventeen years couldn't think of this.

At 7:24 p.m. Tuesday, I ran into Gwen at the neighborhood park where I'd taken my son to play with friends.

Tim had given me permission to share what he'd said with Gwen. But sometimes people like Gwen create situations where the "price" of interacting with them leaves us reluctant to convey information that solely benefits them.

It takes a lot to overcome this — even as a professional divorce mediator.

Still, I told her the other side of the story.

Gwen text-messaged her attorney at 8:32 p.m., canceling their meeting.

—posted by Dell Deaton @9:00 PM EST 5/21/2005 [676]

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