Page 76 of Just Come Over
“Do you have paperwork showing that?” the woman asked.
“Trust me,” Zora said. “I have paperwork showing everything.”
She folded the letter up again and put it away. She didn’t have to look. She knew what it said.
Dear Customer,
This letter is to inform you that the account referenced above will be deemed dormant due to inactivity in sixty (60) days, as three years have elapsed since the last activity on the account. We have attempted without success to contact you at the email address and telephone number listed in conjunction with the account. If we do not hear from you within sixty days, your account will be deemed dormant, and additional service charges will apply.
Twenty minutes later, the woman, whose name was Esther, and whose overdecorated fingernails made aclackety-clacknoise on the keyboard every time she typed, which was heaps, had made copies of Dylan’s birth and death certificates, his power of attorney, his will, his passport, and Zora’s passport. And she was still typing. Zora had given up asking questions. She was just sitting, now, and trying not to let her mind descend into the hamster wheel.
He didn’t have any other accounts. His pay was deposited every two weeks into the joint account. You paid all the bills. You know what came in and out. You were the one who transferred funds into his personal account for him, and you checked that, too, to make sure he hadn’t overdrawn it.
Except that he did have another account. He had this one. How? Where did the money come from?
There won’t be anything here. It’ll be something old, from before you were married, that he forgot, the way Dylan did. It’ll be nothing.
You know it won’t be nothing.The prickling of the skin on her arms last night had told her that.
Finally, Esther said, “Right. That’s all in order, then. We’re able to transfer the funds to you now. Sign here, please, and here and here, and we’ll send them electronically to your account at Kiwibank.”
“Wait,” Zora said. “What about seeing the history?”
“Once we transfer the funds, there is no history. The funds are in your account, and this account is closed.”
“Before you do that, tell me what’s in there.”
“You’ll have to sign first.”
“Fine,” Zora said, and signed.
Esther pushed a button on her keyboard, stood up, and said, “I can give you a statement, anyway. One moment.”
It was probably thirty seconds. It felt like thirty minutes. Esther came back, sat down again—fussily, with some extra skirt-tucking—then pushed the sheet of paper across to Zora with her blue acrylic nails.
It was there in black and white. On the left side of the paper, the account number andDylan Ihaka Fletcher.Ihaka. “He will laugh,” because to Dylan, everything had been a joke. Fun until it wasn’t. On the right side,
Balance
$127,218.65
She was trying to get air, but she couldn’t. Her chest was tightening, and her hands were tingling.
She was having a heart attack.Black spots appeared in her vision, and then it got wavy. She couldn’tbreathe.
Esther leaned across the desk. She was saying something. What was she saying?
“Put a finger on your nostril.”
That couldn’t be what she’d said. Too weird. She said it again, though, so Zora did it. Maybe it was the angels talking. Some Buddhist thing. Serenity.
She was seriously having a heart attack.
“Breathe,” Esther said. “Short breaths.”
She didn’t want to. She wanted to gulp in air. Sheneededto gulp in air. But this was helping. Wasn’t it? She couldn’t tell.
“Keep doing it,” Esther said. “You’re hyperventilating, that’s all. You’re fine. Keep breathing. Short breaths.”
