Part 4
Nina asked to have the original note examined. She took the brown envelope from me, handed it to the clerk, and identified the paper inside as the document Matthew had already acknowledged writing. His attorney had a copy open in front of him.
Judge Keller unfolded the sheet, glanced at the tuition record, and read aloud: “I owe Laura the eighteen thousand six hundred dollars she borrowed for my spring tuition.”
A short, surprised laugh escaped her. Matthew’s hand stopped moving against his knee. She pressed her lips together, then looked at him without smiling.
“Excuse me,” she said. “Dr. Carver, did that money pay your tuition?”
His lawyer shifted forward in his chair.
“Yes,” Matthew said. “She helped with that payment.”
“Then why did you say she didn’t finance your education?”
“I meant most of it. I had substantial student loans.”
“We’re aware of those loans. Please answer about this payment.”
His lawyer said they were not contesting where the funds had gone, only what conclusions should be drawn from a note between spouses. The judge acknowledged the distinction. She kept the paper on her desk while Nina finished her questions.
The fifty-two thousand dollars required more questions. Matthew said he expected Claire’s company to do well and believed she would repay him eventually. He agreed that nothing set out when or how, and that he held no ownership interest. When asked whether he had discussed the transfer with me, he said he had intended to.
“Before or after sending it?” Nina asked.
He pressed his lips together. “After.”
I had imagined feeling pleased when he had to say these things. Instead, I felt an old embarrassment on his behalf, the reflex that used to make me smooth over whatever had gone wrong. I kept my hands in my lap and let him answer for himself.
When it was my turn, the clerk showed me where to sit. From the witness chair, I could see Matthew clearly. He looked tired, with a shaving cut below his ear, and for a moment I remembered finding him asleep at the laundromat with one hand resting on our basket.
Nina asked about my work, my schooling, and how we’d paid our expenses. I answered without trying to make every year sound miserable. Some had been good. We had laughed, taken care of each other, and wanted a future together. Saying that cost me more than describing the extra shifts.
Then she asked why I hadn’t returned to school during residency.
“We kept moving the date,” I said. “Sometimes there was a reason I understood. Sometimes I didn’t ask enough questions. I thought we were still working toward the same thing.”
I wished I could give her a date for when we’d stopped working toward it. I had gone on planning as though we still were.
“What are your plans now?”
I told her about the classes, the credits that wouldn’t count, and the schedule I’d arranged at the store. I explained that I’d left the restaurant because I couldn’t work both jobs and keep up with school. The budget she submitted included tuition, rent after the condo was sold, and the income I would still earn.
Matthew’s attorney asked whether I had ever been forbidden to enroll. I said no. He asked whether I had chosen to work and whether Matthew had paid more of our bills as his income increased. I said yes to both.
“So your husband did support you financially.”
“He contributed to our household. I did too.”
“But you could have enrolled before the separation.”
I looked at him, then at the judge. “I made the adviser appointment before he told me he was leaving. I’d been trying to find a time that worked for both of us.”
“And now you’re asking him to pay for your education.”
My mouth had gone dry. Nina sat still, giving me room to answer, and I resisted the urge to look at Matthew for some sign that I was being reasonable.
“I’m asking for support while I finish the program,” I said. “I’ve registered for two classes and arranged my hours at the store.”
There were more questions about hours and expenses. I answered them, corrected a figure I’d remembered wrong, and said I didn’t know when I didn’t know. When the judge released me, I walked back to my chair without checking Matthew’s face.
Judge Keller explained that her decision would be put in writing, and the clerk gave the attorneys the information they needed. Nina closed her folder while I refolded the old note along its creases.
In the hallway, Matthew stopped a few feet from us. He glanced at the envelope and said my name. Nina looked at me, waiting to see whether I wanted her to stay.
“Send anything about the case to Nina,” I told him.
He nodded, almost imperceptibly, and stepped aside. I walked with her to the elevator. Downstairs, we ate sandwiches at a counter near the courthouse because neither of us had remembered lunch.
The written decision arrived several weeks later. The court accounted for the money sent to Claire against Matthew’s share of our property and awarded support for a limited period, giving me time to complete school. The old note helped establish my contribution; it didn’t produce a separate payment for the same loan.
I read the decision twice and called Nina with questions. There were bills to pay, a condominium to sell, and forms still to sign. I would have enough to rent a place, pay tuition, and keep working fewer hours. I still didn’t know what to do with the part of me that wanted those fourteen years to have ended differently.
For my new apartment, I bought a small used table. One leg was uneven, so I put a folded piece of cardboard beneath it. My file box fit on the shelf of the coat closet, where I could reach it without moving anything else.
In July, I set the college bill on that table and opened my bank account on the laptop. After setting aside rent, I could pay the tuition balance without taking back the restaurant shift. I checked the amount once more and clicked Submit. Then I printed the confirmation and put it behind the deposit receipt in my school folder.
On the first evening of classes, Marcy found me in the employee restroom combing my hair. I’d changed out of my store shirt, but my name tag was still clipped to the cardigan I’d put on. She pointed to it, and I took it off.
“Got something to eat?”
“There’s a sandwich in the car.”
“Eat it before you go in. You get mean when you’re hungry.”
I laughed and dropped the comb into my bag. She had work to finish, and I had somewhere to be; we parted at the time clock without making plans for me to cover a shift.
The college parking lot was almost full. I ate half my sandwich, wiped a crumb from my sleeve, and checked the room number once more. Inside, the hallway smelled of warm copier paper, and a custodian was pushing a wide mop around the shoes of people studying the signs.
I reached the classroom early and chose a seat near the front. The desk was narrower than I expected. I took out my notebook, set my pen beside it, and silenced my phone before putting it away.
A woman carrying a motorcycle helmet stopped at the next chair. “Anybody sitting here?”
I moved my bag to the floor. “It’s free.”
She sat down and began searching for a pen. I offered her the spare one in my bag, and we talked about how difficult the parking had been until the instructor came in.
When the first problem appeared on the screen, I didn’t know how to begin. Around me, people were turning pages, tapping at laptops, and trying to find the right place. I looked at the example in the textbook, read it again, and raised my hand.
The instructor came to my desk. I showed her where I’d gotten stuck, and she worked the first step in the margin of my notebook. I wrote down what she’d explained, then worked through the next line myself.
Beside me, the woman with the helmet leaned over her own notebook. I moved my elbow a little to give us both room and kept writing.