Page 7 of Debt of My Soul

Standing, I come face to face with a middle-aged woman with brown hair beaming a smile in my direction.

“Hello, I’m Pam, the account manager here. Let’s get you set up with a checking and savings,” she says, extending her hand to me.

I take it, giving it a brief shake before she pushes open the door to her office and leads us in. It’s small but ample for an account manager. Three large glass windows provide a perfect view of the lobby, and another window on the opposite side offers a view of the drive-through’s brick pillars.

Pam slides into her gray plush chair behind a well-organized desk and types at her computer. I slide out the chair across from her and plop down.

“What brings you to Ruin?” Pam continues to type furiously, eyes popping between her screen and me. Would it be rude to tell her I did an internet search for small off-the-map towns far away from Michigan in a matter of five minutes and started driving?

“Looking for something different.” My lips curl up when she narrows her eyes at me, like she knows I’m full of it.

“Well, we’re always happy to have new residents. The rumor mill says you purchased the old farmhouse outside of town?”

I blink. That was fast. I haven’t met many people, let alone told them I was renovating the farmhouse. She must sense my hesitation.

“I know.” She nods. “Gossip moves fast in this town. Tell a local some news at breakfast, the whole town knows by lunch.”

“Ididwant somewhere different.” I chuckle. Pam joins in with a timid laugh and pulls some paperwork from her drawer.

“If you could fill these out and give me your license, then I can get these two accounts finalized.” She gives me a pen with a pink puff on top of it, and I set out to fill in the few lines of information required.

The office falls into silence for a few minutes. The lobby bank chatter from the open door and the clicking of Pam’s pink nails on the keyboard are the only sounds. My mind wanders back to the message Chris sent.Is he sad I left? Does he realize what he threw away?

I scribble my signature at the end of the last page in frustration and chuck the pen down, startling Pam from her computer.

“Oops, sorry. Got distracted,” she says, eyes lowering down to the desk.

Great. I’m going to manage to alienate all the locals with my behavior.

“You’re fine. It was the pen giving me grief,” I lie, trying to justify why the single thought of a man I devoted my life to causes me to throw a mini tantrum.

I hand her the papers, and she tilts her head to the side, studying me before accepting them.

This woman can see right through me. I’m sure of it.

“Okay, well, let’s get this information in the …” Her words die, eyes widening before she squints through the windows into the lobby.

Four large men, each dressed in black pants and white T-shirts, strut in. However, each man is wearing a black leather vest or jacket lined with patches and skull prints. The whole lobby has gone quiet, and several tellers stiffen behind their windows. The men look around before settling on Pam’s office.

“Excuse me for a moment.” She jolts up from her desk and scurries out of the room.

While I should look away, I can’t help but watch as she approaches them with a finger raised. Her cheeks are flushed, and I can only assume she’s giving one of them a scolding. A young bald man lifts a large leather bag and grins while handing it to her. I scan the rest of the lobby, where people divert their eyes or play on their phones. Some even hurry out of the bank.

Huh.

I slide my perusal back to the men, but I’m greeted with a cold stare that steals the breath from my lungs. A bulky man with shoulder-length blond hair glares in my direction. Embarrassed, I yank my gaze away, choosing to jerk all the way around in favor of the other window and pulling my neck in the process.

I rub my aching muscle while counting the bricks outside. Breathing in and out slowly, I’m unable to place the thrill in my pounding heart. I fumble for my rubber bands, pulling back three times to finally snap myself out of it.

Slowly, I turn back toward the lobby but find the bustle of the day has resumed and the men are nowhere in sight. Exhaling a deep breath, I lean into my uncomfortable chair just as Pam flies back into her office.

“I apologize for that. I’ll get you out of here in a few minutes.”

“It’s okay,” I say, turning back again to the lobby—the lingering cold stare I was given eats away at me. My mouth goes dry as I contemplate the nosy question I’m about to ask. “So, uh, is that the local motorcycle club?”

Pam’s face goes ashen. “No,” she hisses. Her friendly, warm demeanor is washed away with the color in her face.

My gaze darts from side to side, unable to decide where to land after that. I chew on my bottom lip. Pam sighs, her hand coming to rub her chest and fiddle with a gold cross necklace hanging low on her white blouse.

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