I locked the salon after my last customer left.
The appointment book was in my handbag, wrapped in an old towel so the pages wouldn't get bent.
I had never carried it home before.
That evening, it felt heavier than it should have.
Patrice Moody's office was in a small building with a parking lot that needed repainting.
I arrived ten minutes early and sat in my car.
I watched people come and go through the glass entrance.
Some carried folders.
Some carried purses.
Nobody looked like they were about to lose twenty-six years of their life.
I almost drove away.
Then I remembered the number Ashley had given me.
Four hundred thousand dollars.
I got out of the car.
Patrice's receptionist showed me into a room with a desk, two chairs, and a shelf of thick legal books.
Patrice stood when I entered.
She was a little younger than I was, with short dark hair and a way of looking at people that made it difficult to hide behind small talk.
"Carol?"
"Yes."
She offered her hand.
"Come sit down."
I placed the appointment book on her desk.
For a moment, neither of us touched it.
Then Patrice opened the cover.
She read the first entry.
Then the next.
I watched her eyes move across the pages.
I wanted her to tell me that I had misunderstood everything.
I wanted her to find some explanation that would let me go home and sleep beside Dale without wondering what he had signed in my name.
Instead, she asked me when Ashley had first mentioned the condo.
I gave her the date.
She asked about the boat.
I showed her the entry.
She asked whether I had seen any bank statements or company records.
I told her what I had and what I hadn't seen.
I was embarrassed by how little I knew.
Patrice didn't make me feel stupid.
That almost made it worse.
"I trusted him to handle the business," I said.
She turned another page.
"That isn't the same as giving him permission to deceive you."
I looked down at my hands.
I had spent years defending Dale whenever somebody suggested he worked too much or cared too little about home.
I had told myself that marriage meant giving each other room.
I had called it patience.
I had called it loyalty.
Now I was sitting in a lawyer's office trying to explain why I had never questioned the man who had apparently been planning to leave me with his debts.
Patrice closed the book.
"Do you know whether he's actually signed anything for you?"
"Ashley says he has."
"Have you personally seen a document?"
"No."
She nodded.
"Then we need to distinguish what you know from what you've been told."
I appreciated that.
For the first time, somebody was asking me to be careful rather than simply frightened.
I explained the proposed notary appointment.
Patrice's expression changed when I told her Dale wanted someone who didn't know him.
"He knows you're a notary?"
"I don't think he remembers. The certificate has been on my station for eleven years."
"Does Ashley know you're married to him?"
"No."
"Does Dale know she's been talking to you?"
"He knows she's been asking about paperwork."
Patrice leaned back.
I could hear the clock on the wall.
"Carol, do not notarize anything simply because he's offering you money. You must follow the rules that apply to your commission. Don't certify a signature you haven't properly verified, and don't pretend you've witnessed something you haven't."
"I wouldn't do that."
"I believe you. I want you to understand how serious this could become."
She asked me to keep the appointment book safe.
She also told me not to confront Dale before we had a clearer picture of the situation.
I asked whether she thought I should cancel Friday.
She took a moment before answering.
"Not necessarily. But you must not promise him anything improper, and you must not put yourself in danger to catch him doing something wrong."
I nodded.
The room seemed very quiet.
"What if he really does have four hundred thousand dollars?"
"Then we need to establish what that money is, where it came from, and what rights you may have."
"And the debts?"
"We need to establish those, too."
She spoke plainly.
No promises.
No dramatic claims that she could fix everything.
Just questions that needed answers.
I had never realized how much comfort there could be in someone refusing to guess.
Before I left, Patrice asked me to write down everything I remembered about the documents Dale had brought home over the years.
I told her I would try.
She gave me her card and asked me to call if anything changed.
I put it inside the appointment book.
That night, Dale was already home when I arrived.
He was sitting at the kitchen table with his phone beside his plate.
He looked up and smiled.
"Long day?"
"Busy."
He asked whether I had eaten.
I said I had.
He told me he might have to spend Friday afternoon dealing with some company paperwork.
I kept my eyes on the cupboard while I took down a glass.
"Will you be home for supper?"
"Probably not."
He said it as if he were doing me a favor by letting me know.
I filled the glass with water.
"All right."
He watched me for a moment.
Then he returned to his phone.
I wanted to ask him about the condo.
I wanted to ask him about the boat account.
I wanted to ask him whether he had ever signed my name without my permission.
Instead, I carried my water to the other side of the kitchen.
Not because I was afraid of his answer.
Because I was finally beginning to understand that an answer from Dale would not necessarily be the truth.
Later, I placed the appointment book in the drawer beneath my folded towels.
Patrice's card stayed inside the cover.
I checked that the drawer was closed.
Then I went to bed.
Dale came in after me.
He kissed my forehead.
I lay still until his breathing settled.
For the first time in twenty-six years, I understood that keeping the peace and being safe were not the same thing.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: He Asked Me to Sign Papers So Often That I Had Stopped Looking, and Now I Needed to Remember Every Single Time
The Woman Who Kept Coming Back Every Thursday, Never Knowing How Much Her Casual Stories Were Costing Me
Part 5 of 24
