Chapter 18: The Date on the Stamp

Nobody clapped, and nobody coughed.

Margery stood up from table one.

She walked the length of the carpet to the stage with her handbag in front of her, and the whole ballroom turned to watch her go.

At the podium she opened the bag and took out the plastic sleeve.

"My name is Margery Doane," she said into the microphone.

Her voice shook once and then held.

"I was lying in Harlow Bay Memorial Hospital with a broken back, and my baby was in someone else's house."

Dad stood with one hand still on the lectern.

He had not moved aside.

"I did not sign anything on the eleventh of November," Margery said. "I could not lift a spoon."

She slid the discharge sheet out of the sleeve.

I came up the steps with the surrender form and laid it on the podium next to hers.

Two pieces of paper lay under the stage lights, side by side.

The old judge stepped forward and bent over them.

He took a pair of glasses from his breast pocket.

I watched his eyes go down the left page and across to the right.

"Admission, October," he read. "Discharge, December."

His finger moved to the stamp.

"Notarized, the eleventh of November. Signer present before me."

He straightened up.

He looked at Dad over the glasses.

"You notarized a signature for a woman who was in a hospital bed."

"It was a clerical slip," Dad said.

"A slip."

"Dates slip. Anyone's can."

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