Page 22 of Passion at the Lake

“Yes, fine, thank you. I have an Angela Lerner opening an account with us, and I’d like to check that it’s okay for her to use your address for her statements.”

I waited during the pause, frozen. Why did Grace have to live on his property, of all people?

Zelda nodded to me. “Oh, I most certainly will. Thank you… And you have a nice day as well.” She hung up the phone. “He said to take extra special care of you.”

“That’s nice of him,” I said, confused.

“So, Ms. Lerner, how much would you like to deposit to start the account?”

Opening my wallet, I pulled out one of my few twenties and slid it across the desk. “Just twenty today.” That left me with sixty-three dollars in my wallet—but the payment from CLP would fix that.

“Normally, we require a minimum of a hundred to open an account, but with Mr. Benson’s glowing recommendation, I’ll just waive that.”

I nodded, schooling my face.Glowing recommendation?Maybe he was a morning drinker now.

“He’s such a nice man,” she continued. “I think you’ll just love that store of his.”

Nice? He sure had her fooled. Either that, or she was ditzy and thinking of one of Boone’s brothers.

I squinted. “Store?”

“Yes. He owns the best little hardware store in the state. They’re so helpful there, not like those big chains where nobody knows your name, much less cares.”

I nodded again and tried to put her mind at ease about my opening deposit. “I’ll be moving over six thousand online,” I explained.

Her face brightened at that. “Of course. Mr. Benson asked me to give you any assistance I could. I think he’s such a nice man.”

There was thenicecomment again. She wouldn’t have thought so if she’d gone to school with us.

She opened a drawer, pulled out a packet, and started writing inside the folder. “Okay then. Here are your account documents and your temporary checks. Your personalized ones should arrive in about two weeks.”

“Thank you.” I accepted the packet and took in the welcome string of digits on the bottom of the first check: the routing and account numbers that freed me from Kevin.

“Welcome to the Clear Lake community,” she said, standing and extending a hand. “I hope you learn to love the place as we do. And give my regards to Mr. Benson when you see him.” Her shake was as warm as her voice.

“I sure will.” Before I left, I asked, “Which way to the Starbucks? I need a Wi-Fi connection.”

She gave a little giggle. “We don’t have a Starbucks in town, but I think you’ll find our little coffee shop is even better. Go left out the door, and Lake Java is down a smidge. They have Wi-Fi.”

I thanked her and pushed outside. The sun was bright, and its warmth matched my mood now that I was one step closer to completing my plan. But as I walked, unease crept in that I hadn’t asked Zelda to clarify her directions. I turned down the street and wondered precisely how big a smidge was.

Precision and certainty were two of the things I liked about coding and computers. Everything was absolutes—ones and zeros. Words likealmost,roughly,about, andsmidgeweren’t terms that fit in my world.

I took a deep breath and started left, forcing myself to let go of the anxiety. It didn’t matter how long the walk took. I was free of Kevin this morning—no comments, no texts, no calls, and everything else was secondary.

When I found Lake Java, it turned out a smidge was two blocks in big-city speak. The wonderful aroma inside made my mouth water.

“For here or to go?” the cheery blonde behind the counter asked.

“Uh, here,” I stammered. It wasn’t a question I was used to being asked at my local Starbucks.

The surprise came when the cappuccino was ready. She handed it to me in a ceramic mug instead of a paper cup. In the big city, they’d be worried about people walking off with these. Score one for the small town.

My first sip of the steaming drink confirmed what Zelda had said—this was as good as any coffee back home.

I mentally kicked myself for theback homethought. That wasn’t my home any longer, and never would be again. I’d make myself a new home somewhere.

All the tables inside were occupied, and not a single laptop was open. Nobody here tuned out the world with earbuds. One person was alone, reading a book—a real book, with paper and a cover. Otherwise it was couples or groups of three talking to each other.

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