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“Of course.”
Jules took out her wallet, handed over her driver’s license and wrote down the account number on a withdrawal slip. The woman notated the license in her system and handed it back to Jules.
“Whoa!” I said, perking up and grabbing her I.D. “I’ve never seen your license before. You’re very photogenic Jules.”
“Oh hush!” Jules said embarrassed. “But thank you.”
The teller pursed her lips trying not to appear amused by my comment and exchanged a glance with my Jules. Jules rolled her eyes with a grin and shrugged her shoulders.
“Do me a favor,” asked the teller, “and fill in the amount you’d like to withdraw.”
Jules bit her lip crookedly, almost sending me into a frenzy.
“Well,” she said, “that’s the thing. You see, we’re trying to help out a friend and we need to know what they owe in missed mortgage payments.”
“Oh,” said the teller, her face squished, “I’m afraid I can’t give information like that out.”
We all sat in silence for a minute.
“Well, let’s see what I can do,” whispered the teller. “Do you know the account holder’s name?”
“Yes,” said Jules. “Their names are Robert and Arlene Chambers.”
We heard the clacking of computer keys.
The teller looked up, her eyes hopeful, “And their address?”
“Yes, I think so,” said Jules eyeing me.
“Uh, yeah,” I said, “it’s 587 Sycamore, Bramwell.”
“Okay,” said the teller perching closer to us from her chair and speaking under her breath, “I could get into tremendous trouble for doing this, but I figure, you came all the way from Bramwell and that means you’re looking for anonymity. So, I’ll strike you a deal.”
Jules and I leaned closer.
“I’ll give you the dollar amount owed on the loan each month and you tell me how many months you’d like to pay.”
“Deal,” said Jules.
Her eyes lit up like fireworks in July. The teller wrote down a figure on a small post-it. Jules and I borrowed her little hand calculator and did some figuring.
“We’d like to pay for four months,” she’d said.
“And for the next two,” I chimed in.
Jules looked at me with surprise.
“Might as well do some real good. I mean London’s out anyway,” I said.
Jules kissed me on the cheek.
“And the next two months as well,” she repeated.
We ended up withdrawing most of the money and decided to leave the rest for a rainy day. The teller made the payments in cash so they’d never know who made them and we asked the teller to have her manager ring the Chambers’ home and let them know to disregard those letters.
She agreed and waved at us as we walked away from our painful good deed. The pain seemed to dissipate as we got closer and closer to home and also as we came to terms with missing out on London. We promised ourselves that we would do it someday and that someday should be soon.
When we arrived at my house we had almost forgotten about it and were bickering in good fun back and forth about who was more annoying, pop singers or those people who pretend you can’t see into their cars when picking their nose.
