Dale was in the living room when I got home.
His work boots were beside the door.
His phone lay face down on the coffee table.
He looked up when I entered.
"We need to talk."
I put my handbag on the chair.
"All right."
He seemed surprised that I didn't ask what was wrong.
He stood and walked toward the kitchen.
I followed him.
The table was clear except for a glass and a stack of unopened mail.
He pulled out a chair.
I remained standing.
"What was that today?" he asked.
I looked at him.
"You brought documents to my workplace."
"You know what I mean."
He rubbed his jaw.
"You made me look like a fool in front of Ashley."
I waited.
He seemed to expect me to defend myself.
When I didn't, he continued.
"I had a business matter to take care of. You turned it into something else."
"What business matter?"
His eyes narrowed.
"The paperwork."
"What paperwork?"
He stared at me.
I had never heard him struggle so hard to find a simple answer.
"Company documents. Things that needed handling."
"Then why did you need me to notarize them?"
"Because you're a notary."
"Did you expect me to notarize signatures without verifying them properly?"
He looked away.
"Nobody said that."
"Then we agree."
I moved toward the counter and filled a glass with water.
My hands were steadier than they had been at the salon.
Dale followed me with his eyes.
"You could have spoken to me privately."
"I could have."
"But you didn't."
"No."
The answer seemed to irritate him more than an argument would have.
He pulled out the chair and sat down.
"Who is this attorney?"
"Patrice Moody."
"You hired her without telling me?"
"Yes."
He let out a sharp breath.
"After twenty-six years, you couldn't come to me first?"
I set the glass down.
I wanted to remind him that I had come to him first for twenty-six years.
I had asked about the business.
I had asked about the bills.
I had asked whether we were going to be all right.
He had answered those questions with stories about struggling.
I had believed him.
Instead of listing every example, I asked one question.
"Have you been signing my name?"
His expression changed.
Only slightly.
But I saw it.
"Where did you hear that?"
I felt cold.
It was not an answer.
I moved the glass away from the edge of the counter.
"Ashley told me."
He looked toward the window.
"She doesn't understand how business works."
"That isn't what I asked."
He stood.
"Carol, these things are complicated. Sometimes a business owner has to make decisions quickly."
"About my signature?"
"Don't twist my words."
I looked at him.
"I am asking you a direct question."
He shook his head.
"This is exactly why I didn't want to discuss it at the salon."
I nearly smiled.
He was still trying to make the location the problem.
Not the papers.
Not the debts.
Not the money Ashley had described.
Not the fact that he had brought documents to my station expecting me to stamp them.
I sat down across from him.
"Did you sign my name on any documents without my permission?"
He opened his mouth.
Then he closed it.
The silence lasted long enough for me to hear the refrigerator motor start.
Finally, he said, "I've handled paperwork for us for years."
I felt something settle inside me.
It wasn't relief.
It was recognition.
He had chosen not to answer the question.
I no longer needed to pretend that his refusal meant nothing.
"Patrice will be handling my questions from now on," I said.
Dale pushed his chair back.
"Your questions?"
"Yes."
He stared at me.
"You really think a lawyer is going to help you understand a roofing business?"
"No. I think a lawyer can help me understand what I've signed and what I haven't."
He picked up his phone.
"You are making a terrible mistake."
I looked at the glass of water.
For years, that sentence would have frightened me.
I would have wondered whether I was being selfish.
I would have tried to make peace before bedtime.
That evening, I heard the sentence for what it was.
A warning from a man who had lost control of the conversation.
I stood.
"I'm going to bed."
He followed me into the hallway.
"You're not even going to listen?"
"I've listened for years."
I walked into the bedroom and closed the door.
Not hard.
I didn't lock it.
I simply needed a little space to breathe.
I sat on the edge of the bed and looked at my hands.
They were the hands that had cut hair for decades.
The hands that had cleaned the dentist's office.
The hands that had signed documents because my husband told me where to write.
I had been ashamed of how much I didn't know.
Now I understood that shame would not protect me.
Questions might.
Records might.
Professional advice might.
I changed into my nightclothes and placed my phone beside the lamp.
I did not know what Dale would do next.
I did know that I would not sign another document merely because he told me it was routine.
That was a small decision.
It was also the first one I had made in years without asking myself whether it would upset him.
Click here to continue reading: PART 12: The Next Thursday, Ashley Returned Without Her Usual Smile, and the Twenty-Dollar Tip Stayed in Her Hand
The Woman Who Kept Coming Back Every Thursday, Never Knowing How Much Her Casual Stories Were Costing Me
Part 11 of 24
