I let my hand drop to my side, my palm flat against my wool skirt.
“Richard has just been under a lot of pressure at the office,” I said, keeping my voice low. “The firm is restructuring their accounts, and he has to approve every major expense.”
“He kicked your nineteen-year-old son out of the house over a forty-two dollar birthday cake, Mary,” Caroline said, leaning over the display of sugar bags. “That isn’t office pressure, that is something else entirely.”
“It was more than just the cake,” I said, looking away toward the end of the aisle where a stock boy was piling cans.
“Have you even heard from Ethan?” she asked, her keys finally stopping their tapping.
“I tried calling him three times yesterday,” I said. “It went straight to voicemail every time.”
“He’s staying with a friend from his art class, but that won’t last,” Caroline said, her voice dropping an octave. “You are letting Richard isolate you, and he wants you too afraid to ask where the money is going.”
“We are just budgeting,” I whispered, the word tasting sour in my mouth.
Caroline reached into her deep scrub pocket and pulled out a small, stiff piece of cardstock with a gold-embossed border.
“I want you to take this,” she said, sliding it into my hand before I could pull away.
I looked down at the crisp black lettering that read Evelyn Vance, Family Law, with a local phone number printed in the corner.
“I don’t need a divorce lawyer, Caroline,” I said, trying to press the card back into her palm.
“You need someone who knows how to look at bank statements,” Caroline said, pushing my hand away. “Just keep it in your pocket where he won’t see it.”
She turned her cart around and headed toward the dairy section before I could argue, her keys resuming their sharp tap against the metal frame.
