“Certainly. I just need your ID, and you can fill out this form.”
“No, I don’t—I didn’t bring my ID. I thought this statement with my name on it would be enough,” I say, my voice breaking. I hadn’t thought about not having ID because he took mine so long ago, but I thought this would be enough. I don’t know why, but I thought there was a chance.
“How do we know that’s your name without ID?” she says.
“Please. Please, I beg you. I need this money. It’s mine. That’s me!” I yell. She raises her eyebrows at me. This can’t be happening. I’m so stupid.
“I literally beg you. Woman to woman. It’s urgent. I need to get away,” I say, looking in her eyes, willing her to understand that I am in danger, and I think she does. She softens and swallows and purses her lips.
“I’m so very sorry,” she says. “It’s just not possible. I would if I could, really,” she says, and I open my mouth to scream—to throw myself onto the counter between us and wail and beg and tell her everything, but that sort of scene would mean police, and Lucas has the police in his back pocket. I can’t scream. I need to get back to my baby. I can’t run with no money, and I would never leave Avery behind. I feel tears flooding my eyes. The woman signals to another teller to take her spot a moment, and she comes around and helps me into a chair. She kneels next to me.
“Are you all right? Do you need help?” she asks kindly.Yes, I need help, I want so desperately to say, but I don’t.
“I need a taxi. Please. Can you please call for me? Quickly?” She nods but lingers a moment, seeing if I might say more, then she goes behind the counter and makes a call. I see someone who looks like a manager type in a navy suit and comb-over eye her and furrow his brow. She quickly escorts me, the woman making a scene, out the front door.
“They’ll be here soon. They said to wait out front,” she says, still sympathetic but ready to be rid of the problem. I sit on a bench in front of the building and wait for the taxi. I’m too heartbroken to cry. A woman with a kid of about seven sits next to me. He carries a Happy Meal and has one hand inside of it, pulling out fries and stuffing them into his mouth. Then he drops the red box and begins to howl. His mother consoles him. She kneels to gather up what’s salvageable, telling him the burger is wrapped, so it’s okay. Then my cab pulls up to the curb.
She’s left her purse on the bench as she helps her son. I’m a monster, he’s turned me into a monster, because I grab it and tuck it into my coat before running to the cab door and letting myself in. I watch as we drive away: she hasn’t noticed. I greedily pull out its contents, praying so hard there is a cell phone. There’s not.
I find a gold watch. I think it might be a Gucci. I quickly put it in my bra. There’s forty dollars, which I also take, and that’s it. Besides a hairbrush, some makeup, a roll of Tums, Advil, hair ties, a baggie with half a browned apple, and keys. Goddamn it. I took her keys. I take her ID and shove it into my shoe. Then, I tap the driver and hand him the purse.
“Someone left this on the seat. There’s a name on the credit card if you can get it back to her.”
He takes it with a sort of grunt of recognition but doesn’t really say anything.
I lean my head against the window and let the tears fall, blurring out the world rushing by. The world that I am no longer a part of.
11
CORA
I sit at the piano in my living room with Avery on my lap and she squeals and giggles as I take her finger and plunk out “Mary Had a Little Lamb” with it. After that, she pounds out her own tune by slapping her little hands on top of the keys, delighted with herself. I bounce her on my knee as I page through a three-ring binder of sheet music and familiarize myself with the popular songs at the piano bar.
I think about Grant in the soft candlelight the other night, and it feels so forbidden. Even my private thoughts of him make me jumpy when someone comes in the room, as if they can read my mind. I’m immediately on the defensive if someone talks to me while I’m letting my mind drift to scenarios of us alone after closing time and how it would feel to be touched by him. How can one evening with a man I’ve known for years stir up so much...desire? I guess that’s the only way to put it. I’m ashamed of the feeling.
In all honesty, I feel like I’m behaving like a nervous maniac this last week, and I cannot imagine how Finn could not only betray me but not let on or act at all different. I haven’t actually done anything wrong, and I’m sure I’m acting different. My suspicions were never based on him changing his behavior or my gut feelings; they were always things like lipsticked joints andDrinks with C—actual clues. If he is unfaithful, he’s really good at it. But my own strange feelings over the last days have made me think that maybe he’s really been honest with me. If indulging a fantasy makes me feel this much guilt, surely the act itself would cause him to change and there’d be a shift. Overcompensation, paranoia, I don’t know, but something.
When Avery starts to tire of the piano and get fussy, I notice it’s been almost two hours since Georgia left, much longer than I thought she’d be, so I think about Paige and how much it would cheer her up to hold this sweet baby. I put Avery’s little hat and shoes on and then realize I don’t have Georgia’s number to tell her I’m across the street. I look for a Sharpie so I can leave a note on her door, but I can’t find one, so I look through my phone for Lucas’s number. It’s buried there somewhere from when he moved in, and I shoot him a text telling him Georgia can pick up Avery at Paige and Grant’s place when she gets back and could he please let her know as I don’t have her number.
I give Avery a Chips Ahoy! cookie that she gums on as we cross the street to Paige’s.
“Knock, knock,” I say, as we open the wooden gate on the side of the house, and I shift Avery higher onto my hip as I walk the paving-stone pathway to the backyard.
“Hey, Cor,” she says without turning around, so I sit opposite her, propping Avery on my lap. Her mouth goes slack upon seeing us. She points at Avery.
“You have a baby,” she says, flatly.
“It’s Georgia’s little girl, Avery.”
“Why do you have her?”
“I’m watching her for a bit while Georgia’s out. Isn’t she perfect?”
“I thought she was a hermit. Where did she go?” Paige says. I purse my lips and roll my eyes.
“That was probably just gossip we shouldn’t go around spreading,” I say.
“Youtold me that,” Paige says.
