Page 17 of A Night to Remember

“Well, a lot of states require by law that banks give borrowers an opportunity to refinance their loans before foreclosure. Missouri doesn’t, but Bank of Kentwood’s policies” – he swivels around his laptop to show me the website – “hold it to that standard. The bank isn’t breaking the law in your case, but it’s a bad look. They don’t seem to have a good reason to deny you this option.”

My built-in skepticism prevents me from fully accepting this good news. Something’s got to give, right?

“Well,” I start, “so, what? We bring their attention to their error and they let us refinance? It can’t really be that simple, can it?”

“It still won’t be exactly simple. It could be that the bank sent the letter with the regular mail and it got lost. They could claim that your mother got it and, by ignoring it, chose not to act on the opportunity to refinance. We’ll also want to check the post office’s records to make sure that she didn’t sign for somethingwithout you knowing about it. And they could still choose to not approve a new loan. But you guys aren’t that deep in the hole, all things considered. My hunch is that if we point out the error, they’ll feel pressured to resolve this in your favor.”

“Well, that would be great,” I say, trying not to jump around the kitchen squealing. It would be incredible if he were right.

“You also should have received a notice of your right to request mediation,” he continues. “That means that a court-approved mediator would work with you and a representative from the bank to find an alternative to foreclosure.”

“I don’t remember getting anything like that, either,” I reply.

“No, you probably didn’t. The next thing to do,” he explains, “is to get a copy of all of the bank’s records concerning your mom’s loan. They’re required to give her access to everything. If they don’t have a receipt for the letter there, it was never sent in a legal sense—even if it really was.”

Grown-up Gabe is serious, calm, composed. His professional demeanor makes him seem like a totally different person from the boy I once knew. I find myself trusting his expertise the same way I trust Dr. Lim’s. He would make a great lawyer, I think to myself fleetingly. Why isn’t he one?

“I can bring her by the bank tomorrow before work,” I say.

“Good,” he replies, clicking his laptop shut. “Once you’ve gotten that information, I can draft a letter that asserts your mother’s rights. Bank of Kentwood really ought to rectify this, if they want to maintain their reputation.”

Our meeting is clearly over. As Gabe begins packing up, I feel a rush of gratitude. I hardly know what to say to him. Even if he’s technically not an attorney, he’s the only person who’s been able to give me even a tiny glimmer of hope about this entire situation. At the same time, I’m kicking myself for not noticing the bank’s mistake myself. I’m an educated woman, fully capable of reading a website. But I’ve also grown up in anenvironment where most people feel totally powerless against large institutions like the bank. The thought that one of them could mess up didn’t even cross my mind.

“Thanks,” I stammer, “I never would have known this was a possibility if it wasn’t for you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he says. “There’s a long way to go. You have to go through mediation, and the bank still has to approve your mom for refinancing.”

I nod. “So will you come back tomorrow to see the bank records?”

“I will if you want me to.”

There’s a moment of silence as he looks me squarely in the eyes. I feel like he’s asking me to let him back into my life. I shift uncomfortably in my chair and our knees touch under the table, sending shock waves through me. He doesn’t move away.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask hoarsely. He breaks eye contact.

“The bank made a mistake. I can’t in good conscience let that stand.” He slowly buckles his bag closed, apparently waiting for me to make the next move.

I want to take him to bed. I want to peel back the layers—the professional calm, the suit, the tie—until I find my lovable old friend. But that’s impossible.

I’ve got to get him out of here. We’re sitting much too close together. We’re too alone in this house, on this remote country road. I feel like eighteen-year-old Kayla, pinned against a wall andlovingit, even though present-day Gabe is keeping his hands to himself. I remind myself that I shouldn’t necessarily trust him. What’s worse, Idefinitelyshouldn’t trust myself around him. I stand up abruptly.

“Well, thanks for your help,” I say, businesslike. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Tomorrow, my mom will be here, and maybe I’llunearth that bottle of Bloody Mary mix to smash over his head if need be.

“Okay,” he says, ignoring my change in tone. “I’ll be in touch if I think of anything else.”

I close the front door behind him and lean against it as I hear the Lincoln Navigator start up in the driveway. I need to stay in control here, both for my mom’s sake and mine. My eyes flick over to the painting of the pioneer woman that Gabe admired before.

She’s smart and strong, I think to myself. She knows better than to trust a man.

And so do I.

9

Gabe

“Now Blake Petrovic,he and his brother have been breeding pit bulls for time out of mind, and no one’s made a fuss, though of course they haven’t registered the dogs with the city or any nonsense like that. You know their property, Gabe—it backs right up to the fishing pond, and all that water has rotted away their fence, see?—and one day Russ Hurley goes fishing with his cocker spaniel bitch, and the thing is inheat, can you believe it, Gabe? Well, of course Blake’s sire Max busts out of the fence, and one thing leads to another—you know what I mean, Gabe?—and now we’ve got an animal nuisance case on our hands, but if you want to know whatIthink?—”

The morning after my evening at Kayla’s house, I’m back at the office at the courthouse, sorting through some building permits while Mark natters on. Though it’s only my second day on the job, I’ve learned that I can safely tune out his rambles, which allows me to go over the events of the previous evening in my mind.

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