Dale watched me turn the first page.
He seemed impatient, but he was trying to hide it.
I had seen him do that before.
He would tap his fingers against a table or glance at his watch, then act as if the delay were my fault.
I kept reading.
The first page contained business information.
There were names, numbers, and references I didn't fully understand.
I did not rush past them.
The second page had more figures.
The third had lines for signatures.
I could not tell from those pages alone whether the documents matched Ashley's description.
I needed time.
Dale shifted his weight.
"Everything all right?"
"I'm reading."
He gave a short laugh.
"I thought you might be familiar with this sort of thing."
"I am familiar with notarizing documents."
I looked up.
"That doesn't mean I skip the details."
His expression changed slightly.
Ashley looked from him to me.
For the first time since she had entered, she seemed uncertain.
Dale leaned one elbow against the counter.
"Nobody's asking you to skip anything."
"Good."
I returned to the papers.
There were places where signatures were expected.
I would not assume that a name on a page had been written by the person it claimed to represent.
I would not certify an act I had not properly witnessed or verified.
The stamp beside my mirror had been part of my work for eleven years.
I was not going to misuse it because my husband had found a way to turn my job into a trap.
Dale cleared his throat.
"We're on a bit of a schedule."
I looked at the clock.
"You arrived at four."
"It's business. Things move quickly."
I thought of the dentist's office.
I thought of the money I had saved by skipping small comforts.
I thought of his promise that we would be all right.
"Then you should have brought the documents earlier."
Ashley let out a nervous little laugh.
Dale didn't look at her.
He stared at me as though he were hearing my voice for the first time.
Perhaps he was.
For years, I had softened every question before asking it.
I had apologized when I didn't understand something.
I had allowed him to make decisions because I thought that was what a supportive wife did.
Now I was speaking to him as if he were a man asking me to perform a professional service.
Because that was exactly what he was doing.
I turned another page.
Dale reached toward the folder.
"I can explain the important parts."
I kept my hand on it.
"I'll read them first."
His fingers stopped.
The room went quiet.
Ashley looked down at her ring.
I wondered whether she was beginning to understand that something had changed.
I wondered whether she had ever considered that the wife Dale described as careless and uninterested might have been a real person with a real life.
A woman who had spent Saturdays cleaning floors.
A woman who had put off a medical appointment.
A woman who had trusted her husband to handle the paperwork because she believed he would never use it against her.
I didn't want Ashley's pity.
I didn't need her to feel guilty.
I needed her to see what she had helped arrange.
Dale pulled the folder a few inches closer to himself.
"Carol, this really shouldn't be difficult."
My fingers went cold.
He had said my name.
Not Miss C.
Carol.
He had said it without thinking.
For a moment, I was back in our kitchen.
He was standing behind me with a pen.
The papers were spread across the table.
His voice was soft.
Just sign here, sweetheart.
I looked at him across the counter.
"Why did you call me Carol?"
His face went still.
Ashley lifted her head.
"What?"
Dale didn't answer her.
He stared at me.
I could see the moment he began to understand that he had made a mistake.
Not because he had used my name.
Because he had forgotten which version of himself he was supposed to be.
He had come to my salon expecting a stranger.
A woman who would accept cash, stamp his papers, and ask no questions about the people involved.
Instead, he had found his wife reading the documents he had brought.
I closed the folder.
Not hard.
Not dramatically.
Just enough to make the papers stop moving.
Dale took off his sunglasses completely and set them on the counter.
"Carol," he said again, more carefully this time.
I waited.
Ashley looked at him.
Then she looked at me.
Her eyes moved to the ring on her hand, then to the certificate beside my mirror.
I could almost see her trying to put the pieces together.
Dale opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
For twenty-six years, I had wondered what I would say if I ever caught him in a lie that could not be explained away.
I had imagined shouting.
I had imagined crying.
I had imagined asking him why I had never been enough.
But standing there, with the folder between us and Patrice silent behind the curtain, I found that I had no interest in begging him to explain himself.
I wanted the truth.
I wanted my name protected.
I wanted to know what he had done with our money and what he had planned to leave me with.
And I wanted to stop being the only person in the room who had to live with the consequences of his choices.
I placed my hand beside the folder.
"Before we go any further," I said, "you need to explain why you brought these papers to me."
Dale stared at me.
Ashley took one small step away from him.
Behind the curtain, I heard the faint sound of a chair moving.
Patrice was getting ready to stand.
I did not turn around.
I kept my eyes on my husband.
For the first time that afternoon, he had nothing ready to say.
Click here to continue reading: PART 9: My Husband Stood Beside the Papers He Had Brought to Betray Me, and His Girlfriend Finally Understood Whose Chair She Had Been Sitting In
The Woman Who Kept Coming Back Every Thursday, Never Knowing How Much Her Casual Stories Were Costing Me
Part 8 of 24
