by Debbie Burke
Virgie held Tawny at arm’s length, looking up, studying her. “I’ve got about a half hour before I go to work. Let’s have coffee.”
Virgie had been Dwight’s urologist at the Kalispell VA clinic when they still held hope the cancer could be contained in the prostate. She was one of Tawny’s few friends who hadn’t drifted away when Dwight’s condition became hopeless. Tawny understood the desertion. People didn’t like to associate with dying and death. But the abandonment still stung, making her value Virgie’s loyalty even more.
At the coffee shop adjacent to the gym, they ordered lattes and settled in a corner away from other customers. Virgie reached across the table. “Let me see your paw.”
Tawny extended her left hand. “The ring finger still won’t bend but it doesn’t bother me that much, except in the cold.”
Virgie examined the hand, turning it over. “Arthritis. Joint’s pretty swollen. If you ever want to take off your wedding ring, it’ll have to be cut.”
“Good thing I don’t want to take it off.” Not ever, Tawny thought, rubbing the gold band with her thumb.
“This is what I call cancer’s collateral damage.” Virgie cocked her head. “The caregiver sometimes winds up in worse shape than the patient. You got off fairly light, just breaking your finger wrestling with Dwight’s wheelchair. One of my couples, she was helping him from his walker into the tub but she slipped and broke her hip. Got pneumonia and the poor dear died a month before her terminal husband.”
“How sad.” Tawny flexed her fingers. I’m lucky…I guess.
Virgie said, “So, tell me what’s going on, kid? How are you adjusting?”
A surge of gratitude welled in Tawny’s throat. Virgie understood, really understood. Her questions went deeper than polite inquiry. She’d accompanied many patients on the long see-sawing road of life and death.
“OK, sort of. I think most of the estate business is finished—notifications, life insurance, transferred the house deed into my name alone, and all that.”
“Good for you but don’t be surprised if things continue to pop up that you didn’t expect.” Virgie leaned forward and studied Tawny’s face. “But cut the crap, sweetheart. How are you doing?”
Tawny grasped the paper cup between her palms, letting the warmth seep into her aching finger. “Lousy, if you want to know the truth. You know, when we were going through it, all I wanted was to get it over with. Have Dwight be done with the pain. Sleep through a whole night without a crisis.” She grimaced. “Now, I feel guilty, like I wished him away and he’s gone and it’s my fault.”
Virgie gave her a crooked smile. “That’s completely normal. You want the suffering to stop. When you poke an amoeba in the lab, it jerks away. It doesn’t want to hurt. That’s how living beings are programmed. Avoid problems, avoid pain. But we humans are cursed with guilt and remorse, like if we don’t suffer, we’re somehow immoral.” Virgie flipped her bangs out of her eyes. “It will get better but it takes time. You guys were married, what, over thirty years?”
Tawny nodded. “I was right out of high school. Of course, Dwight was so much older and my parents didn’t approve. He was only seven years younger than my dad.”
Virgie snorted. “Thanksgiving dinners must have been a little tense. But you hung in there. That’s what counts.”
Tawny pulled on her braid. “The days are so pointless now. For so long, no matter how hard I worked, there wasn’t enough time to get everything done. Now, I feel empty, useless.”
“Also normal. You got laid off from your career as a wife.”
Virgie’s understanding opened the floodgate of concerns Tawny couldn’t share with anyone else. Problems tumbled out of her mouth. “I can’t concentrate. I forget. I do goofy things and don’t remember doing them. Like, the other day, the TV remote somehow winds up in the freezer and I find my leather boots in the washing machine. I’m the only one in the house, so I must have put them there, but I sure as hell don’t remember doing it.”
Her friend leaned closer, an encouraging smile under her frown.
Tawny gnawed on her lip, wondering how much to confess. Virgie might think she was crazy but Tawny had to go on anyway. “A few weeks ago, I guess I came out of a trance and found I’d driven fifty miles west of town, no clue where I was or why. Sometimes I’m scared I’m losing it.”
Virgie reached over to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Tawny’s ear. “That’s called depression. No fun but also completely normal after what you’ve been through.” Her voice dropped low. “Do you think about hurting yourself?”
Tawny shrugged, trying to appear casual. Virgie’s question dug into the depths of too many sleepless nights in her empty bed. Sometimes the yearning to join Dwight almost felt like a physical pain.
Virgie patted her hand. “Listen, sweetheart, if these symptoms don’t improve, you might think about trying an anti-depressant for a little while to get you over the hump.”
Just talking to her friend reassured Tawny. “OK. Thanks.”
In her pocket, Lucifer trilled. Lousy timing. She pulled it out to send the call to voicemail. Caller ID read Kahlil. She swiped the screen to dismiss it.
Virgie said, “New toy?”
Tawny grunted. “My son sent it to me and it’s been making me crazy. I call it Lucifer.”
Virgie chuckled. “Isn’t that the new model advertised on TV all the time? My office manager keeps pestering me to trade up to that from my old Blackberry, like I need more aggravation in my life.” She peered closer at Tawny. “Hey, how come you’re blushing?”
Tawny touched the back of her fingers to her cheek. “Blushing? Must be a hot flash.”
Virgie’s stare bored through Tawny’s embarrassment. “All right, spill. Who’s calling that’s got you all pinked up?”
Tawny stuffed the phone deep in her gym bag, eager to change the subject. “Nobody. I’m not ready to even think about that.”
“So it is a guy.”
How did Virgie know? Was Tawny that transparent? She gave up trying to distract her friend. “He taught a class on how to use smartphones. He put his number in my contact list in case I had questions. I thought I’d erased him.”
Virgie folded her arms and leaned back, casting a dubious smirk at Tawny. “OK. If you say so.”
Tawny swished her hand back and forth. “He looks like Dr. Zhivago—remember that movie? When I was a kid, I had a terrible crush on him.”
“Good taste.”
Would Virgie never let it go? “But I’ve got a lot more serious issues than him to figure out, speaking of unexpected things that pop up.”
Virgie lost the teasing smile. “What?”
Tawny related the story of the strange cash appearing in her account and her frustration over the bank’s unwillingness to look into the error.
“Well,” Virgie said, “if it were me, I’d withdraw the money. When they find the mistake, they’ll have to come to you.”
“But it’s not mine. I’d feel wrong taking it.”
“You’re not taking it permanently. You’ll give it back. You just want to get their attention.”
“Might get someone else’s attention. Like the FBI or Homeland Security.” Tawny explained the banking laws she’d learned from her neighbor. “They’re probably already aware of me with this”—she made air quotes—“unusual transaction.”
Virgie finished her latte and licked a thin line of foam from her lips. “Well, the choice is, you can be under scrutiny without money or you can be under scrutiny with money. Personally, I’ll take the latter. But you know me, I’m the brokest doctor you’ll ever meet.” She glanced at her watch. “I better go. Let me know what happens, OK?”
After Virgie left, Tawny pondered, twirling her empty paper cup. Was her friend right? She was an educated, sophisticated woman, more so than Tawny could ever hope to be. It felt wrong but maybe bold action would get the bank’s attention.
Tawny rose and flicked her cup into the trash, plan in mind. If s
he could see the manager today and get the mistake corrected, OK. If not, she’d withdraw the money and stash it in Dwight’s gun safe.
* * *
“I’m sorry, the manager isn’t in,” said yet another new teller Tawny didn’t recognize.
“Where’s Margaret?” Tawny asked.
“She’s no longer an employee.”
Uh-oh. “But I just saw her yesterday. She didn’t say anything.”
The teller drummed pink and white nails on the counter. One side of her maroon mouth turned down. “How can I help you?”
Tawny’s hopes sank. The last friendly face of the old bank, dumped out with the trash.
She took in a deep breath, opened her checkbook, and carefully wrote forty-one thousand five-hundred dollars and no cents. She signed it and pushed it across the counter.
“Driver’s license.”
Tawny presented it.
The teller wrote identifying information on the check. “You want this in cash?” The last word ended on a high note.
“Yes.” Tawny hoped the pulse in her neck didn’t show. She should have changed from her still-damp workout gear into the outfit she’d worn yesterday, clothes that made her look more like a self-assured woman accustomed to withdrawing large amounts of money.
With a sigh and eye-roll, the teller said, “I’ll have to get approval.”
“Fine.”
She picked up the check and driver’s license and disappeared behind the partition.
What went on behind the partition that hid the inner workings of the bank? Tawny had suspected employees lounged back there, playing video games and laughing about how long they made customers wait. Now, though, she wondered about one-way mirrors, squinty-eyed security guards, and direct phone lines to the FBI.
She glanced around the lobby. Other patrons lined up in the rope queue. Several minutes passed. She fidgeted with the cup of giveaway pens. Waiting people shot annoyed glances at her. Her skin prickled, like a rising fever. She stared straight ahead, trying to ignore the stink-eyes.
At last, the teller returned with a man about thirty. He noticed the long line of impatient customers and gestured to employees to open more windows.
In the lobby, he scanned Tawny from head to toe, while holding her check and driver’s license like hostages. “Good morning, Mrs. Lindholm.” His starched green shirt rustled when he moved. “This is quite a substantial request for cash.”
“So?”
“Our policy is that we require a forty-eight-hour notice for large withdrawals.”
What the hell? “This is a bank, isn’t it? Where you keep cash?”
He stiffened. His eyes were bright blue, too bright not to be contact lenses. “Would you please step over here?” He escorted her across the lobby to the same desk where she’d faced off with the operations supervisor in horn-rims. He nodded to a chair. “Have a seat.”
Tawny stood her ground. “How long is this going to take?”
“I need to ask you a few questions. What did you plan to use the cash for?”
Tawny’s dry throat tensed. She didn’t expect to be interrogated. “Why are you asking?”
“Just routine. We want to make sure our customers are not withdrawing cash for questionable reasons.”
“Questionable? What’s questionable?” Should she explain? Suddenly Virgie’s idea of getting the bank’s attention seemed idiotic, maybe even illegal. But she forged ahead. “Is there enough money in my account or not? Or do I need a note from my mother?”
He gave an oily smile. “Of course, it’s your money and you’re free to use it as you choose. We simply want to be certain, for instance, that cash isn’t being withdrawn under duress or false pretenses. There are many scams targeting seniors and we feel an obligation to protect our older customers.”
Older? Resentment smoldered inside her. “Thank you for your concern, but I’m not feeble-minded enough yet that I need your protection.”
“I’m sure you’re correct. Now what’s the reason for this withdrawal?”
Tawny couldn’t bring herself to lie. She should just snatch her license back and leave. This whole hare-brained plan was leading her into quicksand. But Virgie was a lot smarter and more sophisticated than she was. She should trust her friend’s advice. “I believe the bank has made an error in my account but you won’t check it out.”
The supervisor drew himself back, apparently horrified by her accusation. “I assure you, United Bankcorp has a stellar reputation for accuracy.”
Behind his blue contacts, a different expression emerged. Before, Tawny had sensed pompous nosiness. Now his face reflected doubt, suspicion, accusation. He must be thinking that she intended to use the money for illegal purposes.
Heart throbbing in her ears, she forced her voice to sound strong. “If the account has enough funds in it, what right do you have to deny my check? Are you going to honor it or not?”
The oily smile reappeared. “Naturally we’ll honor it.” He rubbed her driver’s license and check between his fingers. “Within the confines of the forty-eight-hour policy, that is.”
Or maybe to give him time to report her to law enforcement. Tawny pressed her lips together. “Then how much can you give me today?”
“Mrs. Lindholm, this is an unusual transaction out of your normal banking pattern. We’re simply looking out for the safety and security of our customers.”
She squared her shoulders. “Sounds like the bank is trying to hold onto money that I have a right to take out.” An idea flickered. “What if I need this cash to buy a car today? Is there a law requiring forty-eight hours or is this just your internal policy?”
His chest thrust out. “It is the bank’s official policy.” As if bank policy obviously trumped the law.
She tightened her muscles to keep from twitching. Dwight’s voice played in her mind. Look him in the eye, don’t blink. “Then I’m asking you to make an exception. I need the money today.”
His shoulders shifted. “Are you sure there isn’t anything you want to tell me?”
“Positive.” Actually, anything but positive. Maybe she was rationalizing. She hated to mislead him about buying a car but she’d had it with the bank jerking her around. She’d tried to be straight with them and they blew her off. Virgie was right—get their attention then let them fix the mess they’d made.
Long seconds passed as they stared at each other, the only sound the beat of her heart in her ears.
Finally, the supervisor blinked first and returned to the teller window, where he initialed the check and handed it to the clerk with a curt nod. Tawny followed, hoping he didn’t hear her sigh of relief. It worked, Dwight, thank you!
The feeling of triumph lasted only long enough to put on her reading glasses. When the teller returned from the vault with an armload of bills, regret bit Tawny. She shot quick glances over her shoulder, wondering how many people watched as the teller counted out hundreds in piles of a thousand dollars each. Once Tawny had the money, could she get home without being robbed?
After an eternity, the teller snapped the last bill down. “You want a bag?”
Tawny stared over the tops of her readers until the young woman seemed to recognize the stupidity of her question. She loaded the stacks in a paper sack. Tawny retrieved her driver’s license and hurried away, gripping the bundle of cash. In the vestibule, she whipped her head side to side, peering through the glass doors, scanning the parking lot for threats.
What if a thief tried to jump her? She mentally ran through defensive moves—knee to the groin, karate chop to the windpipe, smash the nose with the heel of the hand. You were right, Dwight, insisting I take that self-defense class even though I didn’t want to.
Tawny raced across the lot and climbed into the Jeep, immediately locking the doors. Virgie, I hope your advice doesn’t backfire, she thought, driving home as fast as she dared.
With the money locked in the gun safe inside her closet, she breathed easier. In the kitchen, she ma
de a salad and iced tea. While she ate, she set the smartphone on the counter and noticed a message. Playing it back, she heard Kahlil’s softly-accented voice. “Hello, Tawny. I hope you are doing well with your phone. If you have any questions, I’d be happy if you’d call me. As a matter of fact, I’d be happy if you called me without questions either.” A teasing lilt came through, turning the comment into an invitation.
“Honestly!” She deleted the message and started to remove Kahlil from the contact list but hesitated. She might have more questions.
In her head, she heard Virgie’s mocking voice: Damn right, you’ll have more questions for that hunk.
* * *
Two days later, Tawny wasted forty-five minutes searching the house for her checkbook. She finally located it in the garage trash bin, under empty plastic bottles from the previous afternoon when she’d changed the oil and filter in the Jeep. “I am losing it,” she muttered. Despite Virgie’s assurances, her memory lapses and zoning out weren’t improving with time.
She wiped oily grime off the checkbook and sat at the breakfast bar to review finances. Ignoring the mysterious windfall, she knew the day fast approached when she’d need to find work. Expenses that the VA didn’t cover had gobbled up most of their retirement savings. Dwight’s life insurance dwindled quickly despite her thriftiness. She wouldn’t be eligible to draw on his Social Security or VA pension for ten more years.
She planned to go back to her old summer job leading tours at the Hungry Horse Dam but four months of seasonal paychecks wouldn’t stretch far enough to live on. She needed more.
But what business would hire an absent-minded fifty-year-old with no degree and rusty bookkeeping skills after eight years out of the workforce? Even tech-savvy young college grads struggled in this recession, forced to live at home with their parents.
Tawny had years of hands-on caregiving experience. But, with her reading difficulty, she feared she’d never pass the book work required to earn official certification.
Maybe she could teach Zumba at the gym. She’d check with the instructor but substituting was hit and miss, at best. Employees clung to their jobs with a death grip.