But I wanted to keep the peace for Ethan’s sake, so I nodded and took the gray garment from Ashley’s hands.
I walked into the narrow fitting room, pulled the heavy velvet curtain closed, and stood alone in the small space.
The fabric felt rough and heavy against my skin as I held it against my chest, staring at my reflection in the mirror.
At two that afternoon, I sat on a squeaking wooden bench outside the county registry office, waiting for Ethan.
The office was located in the basement of the old county courthouse, where the radiators hummed and clanked against the yellowing walls.
The air smelled of old floor wax and ammonia, a cold draft blowing in every time the heavy outer doors opened.
Ethan walked toward me quickly, adjusting his silver watch strap with his left hand.
His face was slightly flushed, and he kept looking over his shoulder toward the double glass doors.
“They needed another signature on the catering contract,” Ethan said, his voice coming in a rapid burst.
He sat beside me on the bench but did not look at my eyes.
“I thought the nineteen thousand dollars covered the entire reception, Ethan,” I said.
Ethan looked at the linoleum floor, his fingers still twitching at his wrist.
“There was an unexpected surcharge for the midnight service,” he said.
“Is that where the money went?” I asked, keeping my voice very quiet.
“Yes,” he said, his eyes scanning the empty hallway. “It paid the outstanding catering debt, every penny of it.”
“I thought you said that nineteen thousand would cover the venue and the dinner,” I said.
“Things change, Mom,” Ethan said, his voice rising slightly before he caught himself.
“Ashley’s family has certain expectations, and the caterer required immediate payment to keep the reservation,” he added.
“We had to make some very difficult executive decisions about the seating chart and the billing,” Ethan said.
He adjusted his watch strap again, pulling it so tight it left a red mark on his skin.
“I just wanted to make sure everything was handled,” I said.
“It is handled,” Ethan said. “But we are cutting it very close.”
He stood up quickly, checked his watch, and said he had to get back to the office.
At four o’clock, I walked into the downtown law office building to drop off some estate tax receipts.
The hallway was quiet, smelling of old paper and peppermint tea.
Arthur Miller was walking toward the reception desk, tapping a gold fountain pen against his palm.
“Stephanie,” Arthur said, stopping near the mahogany water cooler. “I did not expect to see you today.”
“Just delivering the receipts,” I said.
Arthur led me a few steps down the carpeted hall, away from the receptionist’s desk.
He lowered his voice, his eyes serious behind his wire-rimmed glasses.
“I saw Ethan downtown yesterday morning,” Arthur said, speaking with slow, measured legal precision.
“He was entering the municipal building with a high-end commercial real estate agent,” Arthur said.
My hand went to my wedding band, spinning it slowly on my finger.
“Did he mention a new property to you?” Arthur asked.
