Ashley became part of my Thursday routine.
At two o'clock, I usually had my station ready.
Clean towels.
Fresh combs.
A bottle of water near the mirror.
At two, or a few minutes after, the white Lexus would appear outside.
She never missed an appointment unless she had something important to do with Dale.
When she did miss one, she sent a message asking to reschedule.
She always came back.
I learned that she liked the water warm but not hot.
She preferred her highlights a little brighter around her face.
She hated waiting, but she loved talking.
And she never seemed to wonder why I listened so carefully.
The first few weeks, I asked very little.
I was afraid that one wrong question might make her look at me properly.
Not at my reflection.
At me.
If she recognized me as Dale's wife, I had no idea what I would do.
So I kept my voice even and my hands busy.
She told me about dinners he took her to.
She described restaurants I had never visited with him.
She mentioned a weekend trip he had promised her.
I remembered the weekend I had asked him to drive me to the coast.
He had said we needed to save money.
I had accepted that answer.
Ashley described the condo again, including furniture she said Dale had bought for her.
I asked whether she liked living there.
"It's perfect," she said.
"Especially when he stays over."
I rinsed the color from her hair.
The water ran dark at first, then clear.
I kept my eyes on the bowl.
"Does he spend a lot of time there?"
"When he can."
She spoke as if his absence were something she had to forgive.
"He works constantly. The business is his whole life."
I almost laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because I had spent years believing that his long hours were a sacrifice he made for our family.
Now I was hearing the same explanation from the woman who benefited from them.
I dried her hair and began shaping it around her shoulders.
She watched herself in the mirror.
"His wife doesn't appreciate him," she said.
I moved to the other side of the chair.
"Is that what he told you?"
"Of course."
She sounded surprised that I needed to ask.
"He says she barely listens when he talks about work. She doesn't understand the pressure he's under."
I thought of all the nights I had sat across from Dale while he explained that the business was having trouble.
I had listened to every word.
I had cut back on groceries.
I had stopped buying new clothes.
I had taken a second job cleaning a dentist's office on Saturdays because I wanted to help.
I had never told him how much my feet hurt after a full day at the salon and a night of scrubbing floors.
I thought we were carrying the burden together.
Apparently, he had been telling Ashley that I was the burden.
I finished the style and turned the chair toward the mirror.
"There you go."
She smiled.
"Perfect."
She left another twenty-dollar tip.
I waited until the Lexus had disappeared before opening my appointment book.
This time, I wrote down the things she had said about Dale's wife.
I did not write my own name beside them.
I didn't need to.
The following week, she arrived with a new handbag.
She spent ten minutes explaining how Dale had surprised her with it.
She said he had a way of making her feel special.
I nodded while I sectioned her hair.
Then she mentioned that the company had been going through a difficult period.
According to Dale, money was tight.
Some customers had delayed payments, and equipment costs were becoming a problem.
Ashley did not seem concerned.
"He always figures something out," she said.
I looked at the scissors in my hand.
"That must be reassuring."
"It is."
She smiled at herself.
"That's what I love about him. He knows how to protect the people he cares about."
I wondered who he was protecting at home.
That night, I sat at the kitchen table after Dale went to bed.
I took out the appointment book and read what I had written.
The notes were small and neat.
Dates.
Times.
The condo.
The boat.
The business.
The money.
I turned back several pages and found the first entry.
Ashley had been talking about Dale while I stood behind her with a comb in my hand.
I had written only a few words that day.
Enough to remember.
Not enough to prove anything.
I started adding more detail.
I recorded the things she said as accurately as I could.
When she mentioned a price, I wrote the amount.
When she described a purchase, I noted it.
I kept the book at the salon, where Dale never went.
He had never shown much interest in my work.
He knew I earned money, and he liked that I could pay for small things without asking him.
But he had never asked about my notary certificate.
It hung beside my mirror in a plain frame.
I had earned my commission eleven years earlier because a few customers needed documents notarized.
It was useful.
It was not glamorous.
Most days, nobody noticed it.
I had almost forgotten it was there.
Then Ashley mentioned that Dale might need some paperwork handled.
She was talking about something else at the time, and she did not explain what documents he had in mind.
I only remembered the notary certificate because I had looked at it while she spoke.
I wrote down that detail, too.
I wasn't sure why.
A few Thursdays later, Ashley arrived upset.
Dale had canceled dinner with her.
He had told her the company needed him.
She complained that she was tired of coming second to his work.
I nearly told her that I had been coming second for twenty-six years.
Instead, I asked whether she wanted her hair trimmed.
She said yes.
While I worked, she explained that Dale had promised to make things right soon.
He had talked about a future together.
He had said the divorce would not be difficult.
His wife, he assured Ashley, would accept the situation.
"She doesn't care enough to fight," Ashley said.
The words stayed with me long after she left.
I had spent years believing that loyalty meant staying quiet.
I had mistaken patience for goodness.
I had accepted explanations that never made sense because I thought asking questions would make life harder for Dale.
Now he was telling another woman that my silence meant I didn't care.
That night, I opened the appointment book again.
I added one line beneath the latest entry.
He thinks I won't fight.
I stared at the words until the ink dried.
For the first time, I wondered whether I had been keeping those notes because I wanted to understand my husband.
Maybe I was keeping them because some part of me had already stopped believing him.
Click here to continue reading: PART 3: The Ring on Ashley’s Phone Was Worth More Than My Husband Said We Had Left, and She Wanted Me to Admire It
The Woman Who Kept Coming Back Every Thursday, Never Knowing How Much Her Casual Stories Were Costing Me
Part 2 of 24
