"Counselor Sack! Are we boring you?" Judge Brown was glaring down at Carl. "Well?"

Carl, who had zoned out thinking about Shirley, stood up and sputtered, "My apologies, Your Honor. My mind…went somewhere else."

"So we are boring you? Is your client's case so airtight you feel there's no need to present it?"

"No, Your Honor, these proceedings are not boring. Well," he amended, "maybe a little."

Thwack! Judge Brown pounded his gavel. "This is outrageous! Fortunately for you, Sir, opposing counsel had just requested that we adjourn until Tuesday. I was asking you if you had any objections."

"Oh. No, Your Honor, Tuesday is fine. Mr. Chin, who is the lead counsel on this case, will be well enough by then."

Judge Brown rolled his eyes. "I don't care, Counselor. Whoever is sitting at that table Tuesday morning had better be ready to give this case all the attention it deserves."

Carl hung his head. "Of course, Your Honor."

The judge sat back in his chair and announced, "We will reconvene Tuesday at ten. Court is adjourned."

The bailiff ordered, "All rise" and the judge stalked off the bench and out of the room.

Carl sat down and began to gather his papers. As the room emptied out, opposing counsel, a man he was acquainted with, stepped over to him and said, "You know, as crazy as Brown is, and he is nuts, he still expects lawyers in his courtroom to pay attention. Are you alright, Carl? You look like you could use a sympathetic ear."

Carl looked at the lawyer, Cabot Wellington IV, and shook his head. "No, I'm not really alright and if you're free for the next seven or eight months, I have a tale to tell you."

Cabot laughed and hitched one haunch onto the table. Cabot was unassuming even though his name pretentiously spoke of a moneyed background. He was fifty – three years old (but looked much older), five feet ten inches tall to Carl's six feet four inches with a head of thick salt and pepper hair whose hairline had starting marching to the back of his skull. He had been married to his high school sweetheart, but had lost her cruelly to pancreatic cancer about four years earlier. "Well, I don't have months, but I have a couple of hours after work. Tell you what: Why don't we meet for drinks later? There's a place not too far from here called Marceau's. You know it?"

"Yep, I do, indeed."

"Good. Say…six o'clock?"

"Sure, why not." Carl finished putting his papers in his briefcase and stood in preparation to leave. He put on his coat and the two men walked out together. "I'll see you later."

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Carl actually arrived at Marceau's a little before six and took a seat at the bar to wait for Cabot. He automatically pulled his phone from his inside jacket pocket and placed it on the bar. "Scotch and soda," he said when the bartender looked his way. When his drink arrived, he took a sip, put it down and picked up his phone to send Shirley a text. Decided to stop for drinks. C U later. He pressed "Send" and watched the line across the top of the screen go from left to right followed by the "whooshing" sound his phone made when a text was sent successfully.

Cabot slid onto the barstool next to him. "Give me the Bass Ale on tap," he called to the bartender. When he got it, he raised his glass and tapped it against Carl's. "To Fridays: They don't come around fast enough." The two men took strong pulls from their glasses. "All right, my friend, what has you so distracted?"

He didn't know why; maybe it was the fact that Cabot, though not a close friend, seemed genuinely interested, but whatever it was, Carl found himself pouring all his frustration, annoyance and anger that he was feeling toward his wife into the other man's ear. As his conversation became more personal, Cabot suggested they move to a booth for more privacy. Once there, the talk and the drinks flowed easily.

Cabot had proved to be a very good listener. He was mostly silent, but asked just enough questions to encourage Carl to keep talking. When it seemed finally that Carl was winding down, Cabot commented, "So, it sounds like you are really angry with Shirley for essentially making plans for both of you without consulting you. What you need to ask yourself now is: How angry are you? Is this a deal breaker or is this something you think you can resolve?"

Carl stared at the man. "Deal breaker? As in divorce?" He sighed and allowed his shoulders to droop. "Honestly, I haven't thought that far."

Cabot checked his watch, drained his glass and pulled out his wallet. "I know I'm a few years younger than you, but I've had an experience you have not. I'm a widower, you know that. Before Celia was diagnosed, we had been arguing a lot about nonsense though it didn't seem like nonsense at the time. I guess when you've been with someone as long as I had been with her, there comes a point in time where you're just on each other's nerves. Things I had always done, or not done, began to annoy her and vice – versa. Truth be told, I was even considering an affair. You know, to find out what I had been missing."

"Did you?"

"No. I had actually made a date with a woman I had met about a week earlier. I called Celia and was about to tell her I was going to be working late when she broke down on the phone and said she had gotten horrible news from her doctor and I had to come home. When I got home and she told me she had cancer, the realization of how much I loved her hit me like a speeding train." He cleared his throat and threw some bills on the table. "My treat. All I'm saying to you, Carl, is that if you truly love your wife, this is just a bump in the road. It's bullshit designed to make you take your eyes off the prize. Deal with it." He stood up and put on his coat. "I would do anything to have my Celia back whole and healthy. She could have won every argument every time if I had known my time with her was coming to an end. I would have enjoyed her." He picked up his briefcase. "And you know what? I never spoke to that other woman again. I don't even remember her name. Goodnight, Carl. Take it easy."

Carl watched Cabot leave and ordered one more drink and thought about what the man had said. He sat there a good while nursing his last scotch and soda. He pulled his phone and was surprised to see that it said nine forty – five. He sent a text to Shirley. Getting a cab. Will be home soon. Just before he pressed "Send," he added Love, Carl.

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An hour later found Carl and Shirley lying in bed. Carl had come home to find her sitting in the kitchen with a glass of white wine reading a magazine. She had looked up at the sound of his key in the door and smiled when he walked inside. "So," she asked, "how was your evening?"

"Enlightening. I was with Cabot Wellington and we had a…great conversation. I want you to know, Shirley, that I may be angry with you right now and I don't know how long that's going to last, but I do love you. Very much so."

"I love you, too."

They had gone upstairs then, together, to get ready for bed. As he felt himself drifting off to sleep, Carl thought, It's just a bump in the road, just a bump in the road. But it is one helluva big bump.