Ashley returned the following Thursday with the ring still on her finger.
She had spent the week enjoying the attention it brought her.
She told me that people had noticed it at dinner and that Dale had laughed when she asked whether he could afford something so expensive.
"He told me not to worry about money," she said.
I put a cape around her shoulders.
"That's nice of him."
She smiled.
"He says he's got everything arranged."
I started separating her hair into sections.
She watched me work for a minute, then leaned closer to the mirror.
"There's something else I probably shouldn't tell you."
I kept my hands moving.
"You don't have to tell me anything."
"I know. That's why I like you."
She lowered her voice.
"Dale has an account he keeps separate from the usual business money."
I looked at her in the mirror.
"What kind of account?"
"Money for the boat. That's what he calls it."
She seemed pleased to know something I didn't.
She told me there was around four hundred thousand dollars in it.
The number sounded unreal.
I thought of the medical appointment I had postponed in the spring because I didn't want to pay the copay.
I thought of the cleaning job.
I thought of the bills Dale had placed in front of me, explaining that we had to be careful.
Four hundred thousand dollars.
I had spent months making sure we could afford ordinary things while my husband apparently had enough money set aside for a boat account.
I felt my face grow warm.
I turned away to reach for another clip.
Ashley mistook my silence for surprise.
"He says it's complicated," she continued. "The company has expenses, but he's been putting money aside for the future."
"Whose future?"
She laughed.
"Ours, I hope."
I clipped the section of hair into place.
She began describing the next step in Dale's plan.
He intended to shift the company's debts into my name before the divorce.
Equipment loans.
Unpaid taxes.
Other obligations she did not fully understand.
Dale had told her that once the paperwork was completed, the division would be easy.
I would be left responsible for the debts.
He would keep the money in the boat account.
Ashley spoke slowly, as though she were sharing a secret that made her feel important.
"He says she won't know what happened until it's too late."
I stared at the line of hair between my fingers.
"How is he going to put those debts in his wife's name?"
She shrugged.
"Paperwork, I guess."
"But wouldn't she have to agree?"
Ashley shook her head.
"Not really. He handles all that stuff."
I looked at her reflection.
"What do you mean?"
"He signs for her. He's been doing it for years."
For a moment, I heard nothing except the buzzing of the fluorescent lights.
Dale had signed documents for me before.
He had brought home forms and pointed to the places where he said I needed to sign.
Sometimes he had filled everything in before handing them over.
Sometimes he told me the details were routine.
I had trusted him because he was my husband.
I had trusted him because he had always acted as if these matters were too complicated for me.
I had trusted him because I believed he would never use that trust against me.
Ashley adjusted the cape around her neck.
"He says she never bothers reading any of it."
I felt ashamed.
Not because I had failed to understand every business document.
Because I had never insisted on understanding the things that carried my name.
I picked up a fresh comb.
"That's a dangerous way to handle things."
Ashley looked amused.
"Not if you know what you're doing."
Her phone vibrated against the counter.
She glanced down at it and smiled.
"It's Dale."
She read the message, then gave a small laugh.
"He wants to know if I've talked to you about the paperwork."
I set the comb down.
"What paperwork?"
She turned the screen toward the mirror.
The message asked whether she had spoken to her stylist about getting some documents notarized.
It also mentioned that the stylist should not know who they were or why they needed the service.
My stomach tightened.
There it was.
Not a vague possibility.
Not something Ashley had misunderstood.
Dale was looking for a notary who would handle his papers without asking questions.
He had chosen me.
He did not know I was his wife.
I looked at the certificate beside my mirror.
My notary commission had been displayed there for eleven years.
I had helped customers notarize ordinary documents, always following the required process.
Dale had never come into the salon to see it.
He had never asked what I was authorized to do.
Now his girlfriend was telling me he wanted me to put my seal on documents connected to our divorce.
I kept my voice steady.
"What does he need notarized?"
"Some business documents. He said there were a few signatures to take care of."
"Will the people signing be there?"
She shrugged.
"I don't know. He said he'd explain when he comes."
I looked down at her hair.
I could feel my pulse in my fingertips.
A notary's job was not to make a dishonest document look official.
I knew that much.
I also knew that Dale might be planning to use my name without my permission.
If he was signing for me, then my signature was already part of something I had never agreed to.
I did not know the full legal consequences.
I knew enough to be frightened.
Ashley reached for her phone again.
"He'll pay cash," she said. "A lot more than your usual fee."
I picked up the comb.
"Tell him Friday at four."
She blinked.
"Really?"
"That should work."
Her face brightened.
"You're wonderful, Miss C."
She squeezed my arm as if I had done her a personal favor.
I finished her hair.
I accepted her payment.
I watched her leave with the ring shining on her hand.
Then I locked the salon door behind her.
It was not yet the end of the afternoon, but I flipped the sign on my station and sat down.
My appointment book lay open beside the scissors.
I read the notes from the last several weeks.
The condo.
The boat.
The money.
The debts.
The signatures.
I had written down every detail I could remember.
For the first time, I understood that keeping the book hidden beneath my counter was not enough.
I needed help from someone who understood what Dale was trying to do.
I needed someone who would listen without telling me to calm down or give my husband another chance.
I reached for my phone.
There was one divorce attorney in Bibb County whose hair I had never cut.
Her name was Patrice Moody.
I called her office.
When she answered, I told her my name and said I needed to speak to her about my marriage.
She asked whether I could come in.
I told her I could explain the situation better over the phone first.
Then I began talking.
I told her about Ashley.
I told her about the ring, the condo, and the money.
I told her what Ashley had said about the debts and the signatures.
Patrice did not interrupt.
I kept talking until I had nothing left to say.
When I finished, the silence on the line frightened me more than any question could have.
Then she spoke.
"Carol, I need you to bring me that appointment book."
I looked down at the pages filled with dates and numbers.
"And on Friday," she said, "don't let him know you understand what he's brought you."
I closed the book.
For the first time in twenty-six years, I had a plan that did not depend on trusting Dale.
Click here to continue reading: PART 5: I Took My Appointment Book to Patrice Moody, and for the First Time Someone Asked Me to Stop Making Excuses for Dale
The Woman Who Kept Coming Back Every Thursday, Never Knowing How Much Her Casual Stories Were Costing Me
Part 4 of 24
