“I’m Earlene,” I said. “Bill’s wife.”
The smile went away. She looked at the ring on her own hand, then back at me.
“His wife?”
“Forty-one years.”
She opened the door wider but didn’t step aside. The dog pushed its nose between her legs, and she held it back with one hand.
“He told me you knew,” she said.
I felt my throat tighten. “Knew what?”
“That he was leaving. He said you were staying in the house and you’d agreed to separate. He said he was just waiting until after the family got used to the idea.”
I looked past her at the rocking chair. The tags were still tied to the arm. I could see the edge of the bed box through the open doorway, leaning against a wall.
“I didn’t agree to anything,” I said. “I heard him tell you at the airport he was leaving in two weeks.”
Her mouth opened, then closed. She finally stepped back and let me in.
I didn’t want to go into her house. I did anyway. The place was still half empty, with a small table and two chairs in the front room. The furniture ticket had listed all three pieces, and seeing them there made my stomach twist.
Christa shut the door. The dog circled my legs, then settled near the rocking chair.
“He said you two had been living separate lives for years,” she said. “He said the marriage was over, just not on paper yet.”
“We still sleep in the same bed.”
She stared at me. “He said you knew he was seeing me.”
I was so angry I almost laughed. Instead, I took the delivery ticket from my purse and held it out.
“He paid for this with the card we use for groceries.”
She read the address. She didn’t take the ticket from me.
“He told me he was using his own money.”
“He’s been saying things like that to both of us, I suppose.”
Christa’s face changed. She wasn’t smiling anymore. “He told me it was his card. He said he was keeping his money separate.”
I told her about the airport, the fishing camp, and the cooler of fish he’d bought at the bait shop. I told her he came home smelling like his brother’s woodstove and kissed me on the cheek.
She sat down at the table. Her hand stayed flat on the wood, and she stared at it.
“I asked him if you knew,” she said. “He said you had made your decision and he had made his.”
“Did you ask him to leave me?”
She looked up. “I told him I wouldn’t move into a house while he was still living with you. He said he was leaving in two weeks.”
There it was. Not an excuse that made me feel better, just another piece of the truth. She’d believed the part that made her comfortable. I had done the same for forty-one years.
I asked for her phone number. She hesitated, then wrote it on the back of a store receipt and handed it to me.
“I don’t want to be part of your fight,” she said.
“It started before I knew about it.”
She looked at the rocking chair. “I know.”
I drove home with the ticket in my purse and Christa’s number tucked behind it. The whole way, I kept seeing the same things: Bill’s hat, the red suitcase, the easy way Christa patted his chest. When I pulled into my driveway, I could see the garden club card through the kitchen window.
I called my daughter again.
“Did you go?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Mom.”
“She says he told her I knew. He also told her the card was his.”
My daughter let out a breath. “Then you have to get the records and talk to somebody before you confront him.”
“I know.”
I did know. I also knew Bill would be home soon, and I didn’t want to spend another night folding shirts for him while pretending I hadn’t heard his voice at the airport.
I went online and printed the card activity for the furniture charge. I put it on the kitchen table with the delivery ticket. The charge was there, and the address matched. No secret account, no complicated trail. Just a transaction on a card we used for groceries.
I called the number on the back of the card and asked how to keep it from being used again. I also called the lawyer my daughter had mentioned. I made an appointment for the next day. The person who answered didn’t promise me anything. She just told me what papers to bring.
I took the fish-fry dish from the cupboard and set it in the sink. I was standing there with a wet cloth in my hand when Bill came in.
“How was the meeting?” I asked.
“Fine,” he said. He set his keys down. “Why?”
“Just asking.”
He looked at the table and saw the delivery ticket. His hand stopped halfway to his wallet.
“Where’d you get that?”
“Your truck.”
He looked at the card activity underneath it. “You went through my things?”
