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“No sweetheart,” she smiled at me, “there’s no other way.”
I knew she was right too, but I had to try. She held my hand while we stood in line and waited for the teller to call us to her station.
“May I help you?” Asked the short, blonde teller.
“Yes,” said Jules, knowing I wouldn’t be able to speak. “We’d like to make a withdrawal from our joint savings.”
I sighed heavily and Jules rubbed my back in sympathy.
“May I see your I.D.? And do you know your account number?” She asked with a smile.
“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.
