The same day Andy and Laurie signed divorce papers, Andy boarded a plane that took him to California.
He wanted to do everything but to be in the same place where his son had lived and died. Anything that remotely would remember him of the life that had been destroyed by that damned murder accusation, he wanted to forget the last three years of his life.
The process was simple. Their assets were sold, it took a while to sale the house, and he gave her 70% of everything, he would pay her alimony when he started to work again. All his own decision. Laurie asked for nothing, Laurie said nothing, Laurie did not agree nor did she opposed to the divorce. Laurie simply was not there anymore.
Through it all he kept thinking, what kind of man leave his wife after such a terrible accident? After losing their child? He stayed through her recovery; a whole year he stayed, and helped, and tried so hard to convince himself that they probably could make it work.
He tried to convince himself that it had been an accident.
But he knew better and it haunted him. He felt it in his soul, the terror his son felt as his deranged mother drove them straight into the bridge abutment.
He had loved Jacob. He had loved Laurie. He had loved the life he worked so hard to build for himself. For them.
It didn't matter anymore. It all had been for Jacob, and he was gone. And Andy couldn't do it anymore. He could not sleep in the same bed as Laurie, let alone think of touching her again. He could find in his heart to forgive her, he protected her from getting charged for murder, just like Logiudice was so bent on doing, but he couldn't do it anymore.
So Andy signed the papers and left the courthouse with only a carryon duffle bag and took a taxi to the airport. It was raining in Massachusetts when he left, the sun was high and bright in Santa Barbara when he landed. Yet it didn't lift his spirits at all.
He didn't think anything ever would.