by Brian Shea
It wasn’t long before sweat emptied from his pores. His body quaked from the exertion. Invigorated. He’d heard Val return with Laney midway through, but she hadn’t disturbed him. She allowed him time to complete his sequence. Finished, he called out, “Hey babe, I’m going to rinse off.”
“Good idea. You don’t want to smell like an old gym sock during the meeting this afternoon.”
Declan had time. His meeting wasn’t until late afternoon. The shower revitalized him. He got dressed and went downstairs to find Laney. She had therapy after lunch. That left him a couple hours with his daughter.
“Hi my love.”
Nothing. She sat with a Where’s Waldo book. Her eyes flickered across the page. Her finger drifted along in a steady pattern that shifted from side to side and dropped marginally lower with each pass. Then her finger stopped. Her eyes shot back to the image of the Waldo she was tasked to find. She held steady on one of the characters in the sea of red and white distraction. Declan peered over her shoulder. She isolated Waldo from the crowd. The page turned. She began the same search pattern. Never deviating.
“You’re so good at this. I’m proud of you.”
Nothing. The only sound was that of her finger as it moved across the oversized glossy page.
Declan was used to this treatment. Not offended by her silence. He held out hope that his presence was perceived by Laney. That she embraced his words, even though she had never spoken her own. Hours were spent by her side each day. He wondered if he reached her. The doctors and therapists said that her speech would most likely be delayed. They warned that it may never fully develop if at all. A hard thing for any parent to hear. The only form of verbal output that Laney had provided in her three years of life came in the form of tormented screams. Those times challenged the mental reserve of both Declan and his wife.
Declan sat close to his daughter. He avoided contact. She did not respond well to physical touch. It was difficult to love someone so much, but never be able to hold them. Laney reacted to a hug like someone touching a hot stove. Occasionally he would be lucky enough to lay a kiss upon her head. He wanted her to know how much he loved her. Declan told her at every opportunity but feared that the words never reached her.
He watched his littlest child. Lost in a world of Waldo impostors. He couldn’t imagine the impact on his family if today’s meeting didn’t go in his favor. The impact on Laney. Her routine was so regimented. And was so by design. It comforted his little one. She did not do well in new surroundings. She needed this house. She would be as lost as Waldo without it.
Declan sat in the waiting area of his local bank, the Clover Leaf Bank. His muscles still quivered from the hour of mat time. A subtle reminder.
But nothing quelled his nerves. Declan caught himself holding his breath. The involuntary action of desperate people. He prided himself on control, angry at his lack of it now. He’d experienced things that shook the toughest of soldiers and had walked away unscathed. His mind Teflon. Yet, here he was. In the bank’s climate-controlled environment. Terrified. He saw his reflection in the glass partition that separated the lobby from the bank’s management division. He looked weak. A shadow of himself. How far he’d fallen.
Anticipation was worse than death. Declan knew this was his last chance to salvage their financial downturn. He dreaded the potential outcome.
Months passed without a paycheck. Their bank account, already tight, was nearly empty. He’d always landed on his feet in the past and told himself that this would be no different. A lie. Everything happens for a reason. Val’s mantra. She used it on the good days, the bad days, and pretty much everything in between. Declan disagreed with the logic. He made his own luck. He cut through adversity, though this time he’d come up short.
Their mortgage had been refinanced a year ago while he was still employed. Still a cop. Even then the financial squeeze of Connecticut gripped them tightly. The refinance saved a couple hundred a month but extended the years owed on the house. A short-term trade-off to alleviate the monthly burden. Even with all the cutbacks and budgeting, the bills continued to stack up.
Val had been prepared to return to work as a school psychologist. But then Laney was diagnosed with Autism. It rocked their world. A dynamic change of plans. They held a family meeting and decided that Val would not return to work. A tough choice. Their girls, Abigail and Ripley, had reached school age. They needed the second income, but Laney required so much attention. Val’s expertise would be more beneficial at home.
Declan never took Val for granted. He was lucky to have found her when he did. He was adrift. The Navy’s inconsistent moves and assignments his only constant. The teammates he served with were his family. Then he met her and it all changed. At the time, she was completing her master’s degree in psychology at Old Dominion University. She’d received approval from the Navy to study the effects of long-term exposure to combat stress on elite soldiers. Declan had been selected by his commander to participate. Against his wishes, he agreed. It turned out to be the best order he’d ever received.
Val challenged him during their sessions. He liked that. Most women fell head over heels for Declan. Yet, his charm and mystique had no effect on her. She made him work for her attention. The more he worked, the more he fell in love. Once that happened, he was done for. To hell and back for her.
He realized that there was no way the relationship would survive the strain of his training workups and deployment rotations. He’d seen too many fail. Good marriages shredded by the grind. So, he made the choice to walk away. Thirteen years of service and he called it quits. His commanding officer tried to convince him otherwise. Declan was not a man that could be influenced easily. He separated from the Navy and never looked back.
Val completed her master’s degree and planned to return to her home state of Connecticut. Closer to family. Something Declan was unaccustomed to. A welcomed change. Over time the decision to leave the service and follow Val was reaffirmed with the birth of each of his three girls.
He’d never given much thought to civilian life. But law enforcement seemed a good fit. From one uniform to another. The rules of engagement different. But Declan adjusted. The children followed shortly after. Val stayed home. It was important to her and to Declan. Things had been tight on one income. Declan picked up extra shifts when possible. A constant juggling act between work and family. Many couldn’t find that balance. He had managed to.
And then it all fell apart. Betrayed. Left to hang. He’d been placed on administrative leave after the Jamal Anderson shooting. A normal procedure. In the interim months, Declan had battled the demons of that night. He replayed those final seconds. Scrutinized every aspect of his decision. The outcome undesirable. But justified. A righteous shooting by his account. His actions saved the life of a fellow cop.
The department initially showed support. The administrative leave only a formality. Time passed. Rumors flew. The investigation shifted course. The decision, termination. He had been blindsided by the outcome. No criminal charges were filed against him. A violation of policy at the root. The union said that they would fight the verdict. He was told not to worry. They’d get his job back. But then union leadership changed hands during his appeal process and with it, so did their support. Without the union’s backing, Declan was forced to hire an outside attorney, on his own dime, to help get his job back. It didn’t work. The lawyer was only able to reach an agreement that prevented decertification. That meant he could be a cop somewhere else if any agency would be willing to hire him.
Declan applied to numerous local departments in the wake of his dismissal. He was told his recent termination would have no bearing on the process. Rejected at every turn, Declan read the writing on the wall. Blacklisted. His police career tanked. After that nobody would hire him. He’d even been turned down by several local construction companies. He’d seen ex-cons get a better shake. He went from the military’s elite to a decorated police officer to unemployed. A hard
pill to swallow.
Laney’s medical costs were stifling. Therapy sessions were initially covered by the city’s insurance. One of the fallouts of his unemployment was that the deductible cost them thousands in out-of-pocket expenses. Money they didn’t have. Declan applied for state aid. He was wait-listed, told that the process could take several weeks. That was three months ago. Delinquency notices stacked up.
Declan tried to stay afloat. The bills had mounted, and the credit cards had found their limits. Everything they’d built together was falling apart like an asteroid fragmenting upon entering Earth’s atmosphere.
Val looked at job opportunities, but she was such an integral part of Laney’s routine. The change would be devastating.
Friends and family passed the hat. His pride shattered. They’d become a charity case. Declan had forgone his mortgage payments for a few months in the hopes that limiting his output would enable him to cover other bills. Keep the basics at status quo. Food on the table. Temporary amnesty from shutoff and collection notifications. The mortgage company began foreclosure on the house. Pressure mounted. Declan needed to secure a loan to cover the spread. Buy a little time. Stall until something broke in their favor.
That desperation brought him to the red faux-leather seats of the Clover Leaf Bank’s waiting area. Other people went about their business. They took no notice of him. Normally he welcomed anonymity. Today it left him feeling odd. Declan sat at his breaking point. An all-time low. The patrons around him laughed and carried on. A steep contrast to his fog. He didn’t fault them. Jealous he’d guessed. An emotion he wasn’t familiar with.
His patience waned. He’d been waiting for nearly forty minutes beyond the scheduled meeting time. He’d always lived by the saying early was on time and on time was late. The manager must not have learned that lesson.
A thin Hispanic man with a dark button-up shirt and white fedora sat down across from him. Although well-dressed, Declan observed the calloused hands of a worker. Eager. Fidgety. He looked at Declan and nodded. “Been waiting long?”
“Too long.” Declan not feeling the small talk.
“This is a big day for me. I’m here to see if I qualify for my first house. You?”
“I’m here trying to save the house I have.”
The quick, jaded response shut the man down. Not much to say after that. The man broke eye contact and Declan returned to his thoughts. Normally he would have enjoyed this conversation. Declan enjoyed drawing out information from strangers. But today he had no energy for such games.
A heavyset woman approached. Her body tested the limits of the blue pantsuit. A gaudy floral brooch accented the ensemble.
“Mr. Enright?”
He nodded.
“Good afternoon. Please follow me back to my desk so we can discuss how I can help you today.”
She led him to a cubicle containing a desk and a couple cheaply made chairs.
“I’m Janet Morgan, the Assistant Account Manager for the bank. Hopefully, I will be able to help you with your banking needs,” She said warmly.
Declan nodded again.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of pulling your accounts prior to our meeting. I wanted to have a better understanding of your financial situation.” Janet’s tone hinted at concern. The depleted account balance would be worrisome to any banker. She continued, “So, let’s begin by discussing what you need and maybe I can figure out a solution that will work for you.”
Her stubby fingers banged at the keyboard. Declan’s financial history populated the screen. He had joined the bank at Val’s request seven years ago. That had to account for something. Customer loyalty. Companies needed that in today’s ever-changing economy. Right?
“We’re desperate Ms. Morgan. I really need this loan to help keep my family afloat until I can find employment. We’ve been through a lot since I lost my job. I’m not a man prone to begging, but I’m out of options.” Declan was not comfortable with desperation, but he felt it now and knew that it was evident in his expression. He added, “Please, I know that there must be some loophole that will allow the bank to assist me.”
In an instant, he knew that Janet would be denying his request. Declan had been told by many fellow servicemen and cops that he had a gift for reading people, but he knew differently. It wasn’t a gift. It was time. Painstaking hours spent observing and interrogating others. He picked up on the subtle physiological clues a person gave off. He could watch people in conversation and understand what was said, without hearing a word.
Janet had yet to answer his plea. A person with lesser skill wouldn’t have recognized the clues. Declan noticed. A slight dip in her shoulder. A minuscule interruption in her breathing pattern. That was all it took, and he knew she was going to deny his loan request. He waited patiently for her to speak. To nervously fumble with the words. He wanted her to work for this rejection.
“I wish there was something that I could do, but your debt-to-income ratio is so high that I can’t approve a loan that would meet your needs.” Janet Morgan seemed truly regretful at her inability to help. Regardless, Declan’s face warmed. Her attempt at softening the blow only fueled the flames of his deep-set frustration.
She continued in a soft voice that only managed to irritate Declan further, “Twenty thousand dollars would not be a feasible loan without any source of discernible income to back it. You’ve already taken collateral on your Toyota and the refinance of your home left you without any equity to borrow against.”
Janet deflected ownership in the decision, claiming that banking protocols would not allow for the loan’s approval. Declan half listened and then interjected, “I’m willing to take a higher interest rate. Extend the repayment deadline. Anything to help us keep our house.” He knew the odds of a favorable outcome were unlikely based on several other recent attempts he’d made online.
Declan had calculated that he needed twenty thousand dollars to get him over the hump of the next few months. Without it, he and his family would be sunk. The local bank was his last hope. His best chance was in this face-to-face meeting. A sudden sense of failure swept over him. A foreign sensation that sickened him.
Declan laid out his case in plain language. “Without the loan, I’m going to lose our home and displace my family.”
Janet Morgan wouldn’t budge. “Mr. Enright, your application for the loan has been reviewed and our bank is unable to meet your needs at this time. I’m truly sorry that there isn’t more that I could do to assist you.” Janet’s tone indicated that she’d given this speech many times before. It sounded rehearsed.
“I’ve been with this bank for several years and my wife years before that. We’ve been good customers. I’m just looking for some flexibility in your bank’s decision-making process,” Declan pleaded. A last-ditch effort.
Janet was kind, uncomfortable with conflict. Her thick cheeks flushed. Her denial of the loan request was based on a computer program’s algorithm that crunched the numbers and determined the outcome. An inhumanely cold existence this world had become. Declan held out a modicum of hope that she could break free and see the human being sitting before her. Wishful, but futile.
Janet Morgan was rigid in her decision. The meeting concluded. Declan pushed upward from his uncomfortable seat. He knew that he had mumbled some parting words but couldn’t recall them as soon as they left his mouth. He was numb.
Declan had been in bad places during bad times before, as many of his brood had been, but the failure at the bank rocked him to his core. An emotional flash bang of fear and confusion. He stumbled toward the exit in a haze and bumped into another patron, as he walked out to the sidewalk.
The crisp New England air crossed his face. An early taste of fall in the breeze. The sensation normally revitalized him, but now it left him drained. A reminder of what he might lose.
In his stupor, he slumped against the hood of his Toyota. Desperate for a moment’s reprieve from the imminent discussion with Val.
Everything slowed, time no longer held significance.
Deep in thought, frantic for the solution, his mind raced. How would he tell Val about this failure? Where do we go from here? She would be strong for him. The thought of losing their house would now be a reality. There’d be no way to hide this from her. Val would see the disappointment on his face as soon as he came home.
There are always options. He’d been trained by the best to win at all costs. He needed to find the answer. In his old life, Declan mastered the art of the impossible. His teammates remarked that he always had an ace up his sleeve. Thus, his nickname was born. Declan “Ace” Enright. The calm in the storm.
Now he was failing to save his house and take care of his family. He’d played by the rules and that didn’t work. Rules could be bent, broken, or obliterated if the mission called for it.
Declan ran his fingers over the hood of his beat-up Corolla. The red paint faded. Its lacquer long ago had yielded to the harsh winters and warm summers of New England. He glowered at the bank that had just screwed his last chance of salvation. Declan found himself facing the drive-thru of the bank’s Automatic Teller Machine. And then he saw it. The solution.
Declan watched as an armored car leisurely pulled through the bank’s parking lot. It stopped at the ATM located in the drive-thru banking attachment. He observed as a male exited the passenger door and ambled toward the teller machine. Declan guessed that he was in his mid-thirties. He looked average. His physical condition diminished through the years, most likely due to long days and limited personal drive. He wore the guard uniform with as much pride as a pizza delivery driver. His pasty skin indicated to Declan that he rarely spent time outdoors. Declan named him Casper, accordingly. Always good to assign nicknames to targets. It improved recall.