“You do not understand how these people live, Mom,” Lauren said, her breath catching as she stood up from the counter. “It is different for them, and I need this to go well.”
She did not wait for me to answer. She gathered her purse and left, leaving her cold toast on the table.
By eleven o’clock, the fluorescent lights of the credit union branch hummed directly above my desk, casting a sharp glare on the stack of mortgage files. The clean, sharp scent of lavender soap on my hands did not mask the smell of old paper and ink.
Brenda, my supervisor, set a blue leave request form on the corner of my desk.
“You need to sign this for the October dates, Margaret,” Brenda said. “We have to schedule the temporary coverage for the week of the wedding.”
I picked up my ballpoint pen, but my fingers would not hold the plastic barrel steady. The tip of the pen made a light, jagged scribble on the line marked for my signature.
Brenda leaned closer, her eyes narrowing as she looked at my hand.
“Are you feeling alright?” she asked, resting a hand on the edge of the partitions. “Your hands are shaking.”
“I am fine,” I said, keeping my voice deliberate. “The weather is changing.”
I pressed the pen down harder and wrote my name, Margaret Miller, in the tight, cursive script I had used since high school. I did not tell Brenda that I would not need those days off after all.
“We will need you back on the Monday after,” Brenda said, taking the form and checking the dates.
“I will be here,” I said.
“Is Lauren all set for the big day?” Brenda asked. “It must be exciting, marrying into a family like that.”
I looked down at the next file on my desk, a thirty-year fixed rate that had been pending for three weeks.
