Page 1 of Jeremy
ChapterOne
Melissa
Myfeet are throbbing. I have no idea how far I’ve walked, but I know I have atleast five miles to go. A bus stop with a bench waits on the next corner. I’llallow myself a little break, but it can’t be too long if I’m going to make itto the bank before it closes.
Anelderly lady sits on the bus stop bench, and I can only imagine what she mustthink of me when I approach. I’m skinny, dirty, and dressed in a plain gray dress.Battered slippers encase my feet, torn on one corner where my toe keeps pokingthrough. Anyone else would see a junkie, a homeless person, or assume I’m athief, but she speaks to me as if I’m nothing out of the ordinary.
Herpale blue eyes light up as she addresses me. “Hello, dear. Are you waiting onthe number twelve bus? Because I’m afraid it just passed.”
Sittingbeside her, I shake my head. “No, I’m not catching the bus. I just need to resta moment.”
“Well,I’m happy for the company. It’s such a beautiful day.”
Forthe first time today, I look around me and realize she’s right. The sun is shining,and a light breeze tickles my neck.
AndI’m free.
Homelesswith only the clothes on my body, but free. I’m not technically broke, since Ihave money in the bank. I know the next few days will be especially difficult,but it’s at that moment I realize the enormity of what I’ve done, and a smileforms on my face.
“That’sbetter. You have a lovely smile,” she says.
Abus pulls up to the stop, but she remains seated with me as passengers climb onand off. A couple of minutes later, we’re alone again. “Is your bus the nextone?” I ask, breaking the silence.
“Ohno. I’m not going anywhere. I live right over there.” She points out a small,blue house across the street. “When I get a bit lonely, I like to come here andtalk to people. You meet such interesting people waiting for a bus.”
Afterchatting with her for a few minutes, I find out she has two daughters and a sonwho rarely visit her, and her friends can’t get around like they used to, soshe spends days at a time completely alone.
“Ihave a car, but my eyes aren’t what they used to be, so I only drive once aweek to the grocery store and pharmacy. I really should go today, I suppose.The traffic seems a bit heavy, though.”
Anidea strikes me. “I know you don’t know me, but I’m headed to the First Bank,right across from the grocery store. I could drive you there and back in yourcar if you’d like, and it would save me the walk as well.”
Shegapes at me. “You were going to walk all that way? Oh honey, no. I’d love aride so let’s help each other. That’s what life is about you know. People go onand on about the meaning of life, but as far as I’m concerned, we’re here tohelp one another through.”
She’ssuch a sweet person. “My name is Melissa,” I tell her. “But everyone calls me Mel.”
“I’mAgnes. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mel.”
Wewalk across the street where she retrieves her keys and a handbag. For thefirst time in four years, I get behind the wheel, and her small sedan startsright up. Agnes sits back, seemingly unconcerned about a perfect strangerdriving her around.
Ihead to the bank first, and Agnes accompanies me inside. I can’t help but smilewhen she grabs a lollipop from the counter and takes a seat in the waitingarea.
Weare the only customers, so I make my way to the nearest teller. Her lips pursea little as her gaze sweeps over me, but her voice is pleasant when she asks,“May I help you?”
“Yes,my debit card has been damaged, and I need to replace it.” The card and mylicense were caked in dirt, and too water damaged to be of any use. I’vecleaned them up as much as possible, but the teller still gives me a strangelook when I slide them across the counter.
“Doyou know your account number?” she asks.
AfterI rattle it off—good thing I still have it memorized—she types on her computerand her eyes widen. “If you’ll pardon me for just a moment,” she says, andrushes off.
Iknow what she has seen, and I expected this reaction. There’s quite a bit ofmoney in this account, and it doesn’t jibe with my appearance.
Abalding, middle-aged man gestures for me to follow him back to an office.Butterflies erupt in my stomach. What if I can’t prove my identity? I don’thave my birth certificate or a social security card. And I need some money.
“Ms.Sanders,” he addresses me. “Please have a seat. We just need to verify a fewthings before we print a new card. It appears this account has been dormant fornearly four years.”
Takinga seat, I reply, “Yes, I’ve been…away.”
Realizingthat’s the only explanation I plan to offer, he nods. “I see. Let’s go througha few of your security questions.”
