Page 38 of Ruthless Creatures
I heard his big SUV roar off into the night, watched its red taillights from the kitchen window until he turned a corner andthe car went out of sight. It was then that I realized I don’t know where he came from or where he’s going, or why I should care in the first place.
I mean, I don’t care.
I think.
Getting through class Monday is sheer hell. I watch the clock like a bird of prey, counting down every second until I can leave and go to the bank.
There’s only one branch of Wells Fargo in town, so it’s not like I’ll have to drive all over the state looking for the right one. That’s not a problem.
The real problem lies in gaining access to the safety deposit box.
David and I weren’t legally married when he disappeared. We had the marriage license, but you also have to have a ceremony performed by an authorized person to make the marriage official.
As only his fiancée and not his wife, I won’t be allowed access unless I’m named on the account. Which I’m not, considering I would’ve had to be there with him and provide ID when the box-rental agreement was signed.
At least according to Google.
Also complicating the situation is the lack of a death certificate.
Although David is presumed dead under state law because he’s been missing for five years, there’s no death certificate. I can’t petition the court to get one, either. Only a spouse, parent, or child can do that, and I’m not any of those things.
If I had a death certificate, Imightbe able to convince a sympathetic bank employee to allow me access, especially if I also produced our marriage license.
Even more especially if the person lived in town five years ago. Nobody talked about anything else for months.
I’d get sad-sack bonus points, for sure.
Additionally, David didn’t have a will, so I’m not the executorof his estate, either… not that there was any estate to speak of. He had less than two thousand dollars in his checking account when he went missing. He didn’t own any property. The modest investments we made were in a brokerage account solely in my name. The plan was to add him as a beneficiary to all my accounts as soon as we got back from our honeymoon, but that never happened for obvious reasons.
So I’m not his wife, I’m not his family, and I’m not his executor. I’m pretty much not anything but shit out of luck.
I’m gonna try anyway.
At ten after four, I park in the bank parking lot, turn off the car, and stare at the double glass doors of the entrance, giving myself a pep talk. I don’t bank at Wells Fargo, so I don’t have an in with anyone, a friendly account manager or familiar teller I could try my luck with. I’m going in totally blind.
I hesitate just inside the doors, looking around to see if I recognize any of the tellers. There are three of them, but they aren’t people I know. The teller I decide to approach is a young redhead with a friendly smile.
I know I’m going to hell for hoping she might have a tragic romantic past and take pity on me when I have to trot out my woeful story.
“Good afternoon! How may I help you?”
“I need access to a safety deposit box, please.”
“Certainly. Let me just verify the signature card. What’s the name on the account?”
Smiling pleasantly, I say, “David Smith.”
“Just a moment, please.” She pecks away cheerfully at her computer keyboard. “Here it is. David Smith and Natalie Peterson.” She looks at me. “That’s you, I assume?”
My heart pounds.I’m on the account. How could I be on the account? Maybe Google was wrong.“Yes, that’s me.”
“I’ll just need to take a peek at your ID, please.”
I fumble through my purse, pull out my wallet, and hand over my driver’s license, hoping she won’t notice how badly my hands are shaking.
If she does, she doesn’t mention it. Her cheerful smile remains fixed firmly in place.
She holds my ID up against her computer screen, then nods. “Yep, that’s you all right! Gosh, I wish I had your hair. It even looks good in a DMV picture. My license picture makes me look like a corpse.”
