Page 21 of Passion at the Lake

“Anywhere in town,” she answered without looking my way.

God, she didn’t have to be so snooty. She was getting a ride. “Fine.”

“The bank, please,” she added a minute later.

When we arrived, I stopped across from Old Community Bank and pointed. “There you go.”

“Thank you for the ride,” she said as she climbed out. “It was very nice of you.”

She almost sounded surprised that I could be nice, when she’d been the one to shit on my life back then. And over what? The fact that I didn’t want to stay in town and settle for community college?

But her fake pleasantries forced the same out of me. “You’re welcome. Is there anything else I can help with?” I could be a gentleman, even to her.

“No way.” She threw down the olive branch I’d extended and spit on it. Apparently pleasantries only extended so far.

I hadn’t expected her to ask for or accept any help from me, yet the vitriol of her reply confirmed our disdain was mutual and hadn’t been softened by the years.

She closed the door, and I watched as she crossed the street, focusing on her ass a little longer than was polite. In this morning’s light, I noticed what I hadn’t in the few seconds before I’d left the pool table last night, or even this morning when I’d bumped into her with Marge. The cute girl Angela once was had grown up to be quite an annoyingly attractive woman. The glasses gave her a bit of that sexy-librarian look, and the way her ass swayed made me picture it—

What the hell am I doing?

I had to cut that shit out. Being pretty didn’t make a viper any less dangerous. It was still a mean snake.

I waited until she was safely inside and the door to the bank closed behind her before moving on. I could take the high road. It was the gentlemanly thing to do. When I steered back on to the street, one thing was certain. To avoid any more awkwardness, I wasn’t returning home until exactly dinner time.

* * *

Angela

I pulledopen the glass door to the bank and looked behind me after it closed. He couldn’t be staying to see that I made it safely inside.GentlemanandBooneweren’t words that belonged in the same sentence.Ogrewas closer to the truth. I’d caught him watching me as I crossed the street, probably considering whether he could get away with running me down or not—either that or wondering how best to humiliate me this evening. Maybe he’d bring Mary-Jo Starney around for a repeat performance.

I scanned the inside of the bank after Boone finally pulled away from the curb. It was tiny, with two teller windows, a couch, and a glass-walled office to the side.

A woman came out of the office. “Good morning. May I help you?”

I stepped forward. “I’d like to open an account.”

“I can help you with that. Zelda Becker.” She offered her hand. “New in town?” In a town with only one bank, it wouldn’t be surprising that the manager knew pretty much everybody.

“Yes.” I shook with her. “Angela Lerner.”

She escorted me into her office.

I took the chair opposite her small desk and set my laptop down. I explained that I wanted to open a checking account, and she gave me an application to fill out while I gave her my Massachusetts license as ID.

I had to pull out my new phone to check its number for that item, and when I got to the line that wanted my mailing address, I realized I wasn’t as prepared as I should have been.

Since destroying my old phone before transferring my contacts, I’d vowed to slow down and be more careful. But not thinking to go over the information I’d need to open a bank account didn’t qualify as being more careful.

“I’m not sure what to put down for my address. For now I’m staying in my sister’s cottage. Grace and Dirk Plinken. Maybe if I call Marge, she can tell me.” Mentioning that it was only for four weeks didn’t seem wise.

She typed into her computer. “They use Boone Benson’s address. I can fill that in for you.” She tapped another piece of paper. “You’ll need to select a style for your checks.”

After I picked the simplest check style, I finished the form and slid it over to her.

She wrote in the address for me, reviewed the form, picked up her phone, and dialed. “Hi, Mr. Benson. It’s Zelda at the bank…”

Shit. I had no idea how small-town banks operated. Did I need a local reference? If so, I was sunk now.

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