I turn the computer to face her, ready for her to be as shocked as I am.
Only it’s not shock on her face. It’s recognition.
“Oh, that.” She bats an unpanicked hand through the air. “That’s nothing to worry about.”
Two
It’s a miracle I don’t vomit.
Not as I close the store four hours early for the day.
Not as I drop Bennie off at Jonathan’s dental practice without warning.
Not as I march into the bank with my mother, who has just finished telling me for the third time what happened to all of the money.
All. Of. The. Money.
Ourmoney.
“Ms. Conway.” Barry, the big-bellied banker, drops into his chair and makes it squeak. He turns to my mother. “And Ms. Conway.”
He chuckles at his idiotic repetition of our names, and Mom smiles. How her muscles have the gumption to make such a shape in a time like this is a fucked-up miracle.
“Barry,” she says sweetly. “Good to see you again.”
In a small town like Fontain, the bank staff is slim. Any time we make a deposit for the store, Barry’s here.
He steeples his fingers on his desk and leans forward. “How can I help you lovely ladies?”
I give my mom a pointed look. “Tell him.”
“Well, it’s a funny story—” Mom pauses when Barry’s face scrunches up to the point his eyes squint and his teeth are showing, mouth slightly agape. He blinks so rapidly it’s a wonder he can see. He looks like a rat.
I look at Mom and roll my eyes—this is Barry’s listening face. No matter how many times I witness it, it’s never any less bizarre.
“Right,” she says. “Well, like I told Rue. I signed up for a dating site—Golden Love—and met a French financial advisor. He collects Limoges enamels.” She pauses like Barry should be impressed by this; I would bet every dollar in this bank he has no idea what aLimoges enameleven is. “Anyway, we’ve been talking for months. His name is ...” She squints at the ceiling, stalling.
For the love of God.
“Andre, Mom,” I fill in to hurry her along.
“I know his name,” she snaps at me. Sweetly, to Barry: “Andre. He’s so ...” She sighs like she’s swept up in a romance novel. “Handsome. And smart. Sexy.” I pin her with a look that turns her smile into a huff. “Rue, will you relax?”
I almost laugh.
At the nerve.
Of this.
Woman.
She always errs on the side of unpredictable, but she’s never done anything like this. Spend money on ridiculous items? Absolutely. But audaciousness at this magnitude? Never once. It’s like someone else was controlling her brain.
“Anyway,” she continues, “he works with small businesses—like ours—to maximize their financial standings—which Rue refuses to listen to.” She and I exchange an icy look. “He explained how the market is so much better in France and if Ilet him invest our money there, we’d make a 400% return in no time—months, even.”
This being the fourth time I’m hearing this story, I’m no less shocked or irate than the first. This French bastard probably isn’t even named Andre. Or French.
Barry blinks, full speed ahead.
