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“You’d have to ask the bank about that. I don’t have access to that information,” she says.
“What happens in the meantime?”
“I’ll make a note that you’re reaching out to the bank to get this fixed, but if tuition isn’t received in the next ten days your enrollment will be revoked.”
I stay rooted in place, taking several deep breaths before feeling strong enough to step away from the counter without my knees buckling. Still, I collapse on the first bench I see outside as I reach for my phone to call the bank.
Fingers shaking so hard I can barely pull up the number, I hold my breath as I wait for the call to connect, gritting through an endless number of automated recordings until I can get to a live person.
“Arizona Federal,” a man finally answers.
“Hi. I need to check on a payment that was recently declined. A tuition payment to Front Range University in Colorado.”
“Name please.”
“William Harrington.” I lick my lips.
The rapid-fire click of fingers on a keyboard echoes over the line. “Well, sir. It looks like you alerted us to the fraud.”
Son of a bitch.
“That’s a mistake. Can you reverse that?”
After more clicking he responds, “I’m sorry. It looks like this account has been frozen pending a review of several charges. It looks like you put the hold on it yourself, do you not remember doing that?”
Fuck. Usually having the same name as my father works in my favor, but if I keep pressing they’ll either realize I’m not him or they’ll think he has dementia. Neither bode well for me.
“Of course, I remember. I just didn’t think it would take this long to resolve. When will I have access again?”
“It could be another seven to ten days.”
Shit!
“Okay, thank you.” I disconnect, mentally bracing for what I need to do next. Call my father.
The last time I spoke to him was six months ago, at least. Although, I suspect it’s closer to eight. He did come to my high school graduation—long enough to see me collect my diploma but he didn’t stay after for pictures. I’m not even sure there are any of me in my cap and gown.
He left for a business trip that night and was gone for weeks. I knew when he came back because I’d sometimes hear him coming up the stairs as I watched TV in my room before bed, but he never knocked or made any attempt to talk to me. I remember thinking I’d have better luck getting his attention if I was a spreadsheet. Turns out, balance sheet was the more appropriate comparison.
I take a few deep breaths, searching for a calm I know deep down I won’t be able to find, and push the call button.
It rings so long I start mentally cataloging my other options for tracking him down, but at the last second, I hear a confused, “William?”
“Liam,” I correct.
I feel him grimace over the line—but screw him. Family names lose their meaning when you don’t act like family.
“Why are you calling?”
No, hello. No, it’s good to hear your voice. Just down to business. Fine.
“You claimed my tuition payment was fraud.”
“Obviously. You go to Cornell, not Colorado, and your scholarship covers half your tuition, so the bill should be significantly less than what was charged.”
My snort is loud and obnoxious. “Figures. Of course it’d take a confusing charge for you to remember I exist. And Cruz thinks I don’t people well. At least I’m capable of calling you instead of just the bank.”
“What is a people well? And who is Cruz?”
