I barely slept that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I remembered Emily's face.
The way she had looked at me.
The way her hand had trembled.
The way she had said that tomorrow I would discover something about her.
I tried to convince myself there had to be a reasonable explanation.
Maybe she was planning to move away.
Maybe she had decided to end our friendship.
Maybe she was going through something she hadn't told me about.
But none of those possibilities explained the way she had looked at me.
It was the expression of someone who had been carrying a burden for a very long time.
And I had no idea what that burden was.
I kept thinking about the photograph.
I had taken it before we went back inside.
We were sitting close together, both looking toward the camera.
Emily was smiling.
I was smiling, too.
Anyone looking at that picture would have thought we were happy.
They would have seen two old friends enjoying a holiday.
They wouldn't have known that one of us was afraid of what the next day would bring.
I looked at the photograph several times.
Then I put my phone down.
I didn't want to think about it anymore.
But I couldn't stop.
By morning, I was exhausted.
Emily was already sitting near the window when I entered the room.
She had a cup of coffee in front of her.
The curtains were open.
The ocean was visible beyond the glass.
She looked as though she hadn't slept either.
I stood there for a moment.
She didn't look up.
I knew then that whatever she had been planning to tell me, she had not changed her mind.
I walked over and sat across from her.
"You knew yesterday that you were going to tell me something."
Emily slowly nodded.
"Yes."
I waited.
She wrapped both hands around her coffee cup.
"I just couldn't bring myself to say it."
I felt my stomach tighten.
"Then tell me now."
She looked at me.
There was something in her expression that I couldn't understand.
Fear, perhaps.
Or regret.
Maybe both.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she reached into her handbag.
She took out a small envelope.
It was plain.
There was nothing written on the outside.
She placed it on the table between us.
"I need you to look at these."
I stared at the envelope.
"What is it?"
"Some records."
"What kind of records?"
She didn't answer.
Instead, she pushed the envelope closer to me.
I opened it.
Inside were several photocopied documents.
I pulled out the first page.
Then another.
I saw numbers.
Dates.
Account information.
At first, I didn't understand what I was looking at.
Then I noticed a name.
Daniel.
I stopped.
I knew his signature.
I had seen it thousands of times.
On cards.
On documents.
On the little notes he used to leave around the house.
There was no mistaking it.
I looked at Emily.
"Why do you have documents with Daniel's signature?"
She swallowed.
"After Daniel died, I found something I wasn't supposed to see."
I looked down at the papers again.
My mind was trying to catch up.
"What are you talking about?"
Emily pointed toward one of the statements.
I followed her finger.
There were several transfers listed.
The amounts were different.
The dates were spread across years.
I didn't understand why she was showing them to me.
Then she spoke.
"Daniel had been sending money to an account you didn't know about."
I looked at her.
"What account?"
"An account that wasn't registered under his name."
I felt my fingers tighten around the papers.
Daniel and I had shared our lives.
We had shared our home.
We had shared the things that mattered.
At least, that was what I had believed.
I looked down at the statements.
I tried to make sense of the numbers.
But all I could think about was the fact that Daniel had apparently been moving money without telling me.
I didn't know what that meant.
I didn't know why he had done it.
And I didn't know why Emily had kept it from me.
"Whose account was it?"
She lowered her eyes.
For a moment, I thought she might refuse to answer.
Then she spoke.
"That's part of what I should have told you a long time ago."
I stared at her.
I could feel anger rising inside me.
Not because she had brought me the papers.
Because she had known something about my husband.
And she had kept it from me.
"Emily, we've been friends for thirty-seven years."
She nodded.
"I know."
"If you knew something about Daniel, you should have told me."
Her eyes filled with tears.
"I know."
I looked away.
I didn't want to see her cry.
Not yet.
Not when I was still trying to understand what she had just told me.
She reached toward the envelope.
I pulled the papers closer.
"Please," I said. "Tell me what happened."
She took a breath.
Then she began to explain.
Source: kaylestore.net
Click here to continue reading: PART 3: The Papers in Her Handbag Led Me Back to a House I Had Not Thought About in Years
The Photograph I Thought Would Be Nothing More Than Another Memory of the Woman Who Had Always Been There
Part 2 of 8
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