Chapter 28
morgan
Yellowstone Valley Credit Union was the only bank in town, and it wasn’t very big. When Jack parked the truck, the newly plowed parking lot held almost a dozen cars. Which meant that there were a dozen people in line ahead of them as they went into the small, tidy lobby.
The people weren’t there, Morgan suspected, because the online banking system was down.
No, they were there because the sun was shining.
For some, it wasn’t enough to chat with the barista at the coffee shop or spend a few extra minutes picking over apples at the market.
No. They had to visit every business possible while they could.
The credit union was busy because this was the first day in a long while that people could get out of their houses and greet each other, and smile.
As he and Jack stepped inside, the low-key hustle and bustle and genial chatter seemed like a dose of good medicine. It lifted his own spirits, making him smile in spite of himself.
“They’re here because they want to be here,” he said to Jack for no good reason.
While Jack seemed to understand, he looked away and shifted his weight in his ratty boots. Willing to wait in line with Morgan but not to talk.
Each cashier—there were only two—seemed to be taking their time with every customer. By the time he and Jack made it to the front, where the line split off depending on which cashier was free, Morgan was more than ready to sit down and drink a lot of coffee. But he had to deal with this first.
“Hello,” he said to the cashier, a young woman whose name tag read Mavis. “I have these quarters to deposit, and there’s a safe-deposit box I need to get into.” He pulled out the ownership paperwork and the little blue envelope with Box handwritten in fading pencil.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I can help you with the quarters, but for the vault, you should have gone to customer service and asked for the branch manager. He’s the only one authorized to take you back there.”
Morgan whipped his head around to look, wondering how he’d missed customer service. There it was: a small cubicle with two fake wood walls guarding it from the rest of the bank.
He could have barked his frustration with a remark about needing to be saved from the inability of small towns to be efficient, but he stopped himself. And was rewarded with Mavis’s sweet smile.
“I think he’s finishing up with someone right now, so let’s take care of those quarters, shall we?
” she suggested. After examining his documentation, she put the quarters through the counting machine without delay and handed him a receipt with another smile.
“If you’ll stand over here,” she said, pointing to the side, “I’ll get him for you in two seconds.
You won’t have to wait long, I promise.”
Morgan handed the can to her to discard, stepped to one side, did not thump his cane, looked over Jack’s shoulder, and took a deep breath.
He could smell the soap Jack had used when he washed at the sink, some old bar of Ivory, and see the tangles in his hair.
The smudge of waffle batter on the corner of his jaw not hidden by the fake fur on his hood.
What was Morgan supposed to do with all the feelings flooding him? Or with the decisions he’d yet to act upon?
His musings were interrupted by a series of sharp yips and Mabel’s cry of “Mister Rocket, no!”
Mister Rocket, in a flash of brown and white, his excited dark eyes wide, raced across the small lobby from where Mabel stood at the end of the line.
She’d brought the dog with her to the bank rather than leave him at home, obviously.
Through the bank’s front windows Morgan could see a yellow taxi, its engine sending a plume of exhaust into the clear blue air.
He had no idea of the bank’s policy on dogs, and, in any case, there was no time to say anything about it before Mister Rocket had reached them. Balancing on his hind legs, the terrier laid his front paws on Jack’s knees and yipped again.
Jack, without hesitation, bent to sweep the small dog up in his arms. Mister Rocket wiggled happily and, with a few licks to Jack’s chin—probably cleaning off that waffle batter in addition to saying hello—settled inside the circle of Jack’s arms.
Jack’s smile as he nuzzled the dog was a stunning blow to Morgan’s gut. Jack’s bare hands moved rhythmically over Mister Rocket’s smooth fur, and his evident pleasure made a picture of him. Sparkling green eyes. Dark hair trailing across his temples.
Mabel followed close on Mister Rocket’s heels, and Morgan had never been more grateful to be saved from himself. She was talking, of course, always talking, but this time the words helped to cut through the large swathes of feelings shifting all around him.
“There you are, Mister Rocket,” she said.
“Such a naughty boy.” She reached for the dog, not looking at Morgan at all.
“Thank you for catching him, Jack.” She favored him with a sweet smile that transformed her face.
“He was so sleepy, I thought he wouldn’t be any bother, but now I’ll have to apologize to Joseph. ”
Morgan didn’t have any idea who Joseph was, but then a middle-aged man in a nice suit came out of the cubicle, all smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling behind his sensible, dark-framed glasses.
“Mr. Malone?” he asked, holding out his hand. “I’m Joseph Warden, the branch manager. Please come this way.”
“Mabel,” Mavis said. “I can help you here.”
Off Mabel went, cutting in line past almost a dozen people—only nobody seemed to mind. They went on chatting as if the conviviality of the moment was enough for them.
“Should I wait?” Jack asked, looking as though he was torn between going with Morgan and staying with Mabel so he could keep holding Mister Rocket.
Morgan went still at the question that, though innocent, seemed to say so much more than the words it contained.
Wait or go with you? As if there were only those two options for Jack: going with Morgan or waiting forever for him.
Ridiculous. Morgan shook his head. “I won’t be long,” he said. “You can keep Mabel company.”
He forced himself to turn away from the tableau of Mabel being waited on by Mavis; Jack, Mister Rocket in his arms, talking with them both and laughing. Smile wide, eyes sparkling. A bit of a glance in Morgan’s direction, then his focus returned to Mabel.
Leaving Morgan with nothing to do but follow the manager into his poor excuse for an office.
Morgan made himself not say anything critical as he sat, at Joseph’s direction, in the metal folding chair with its ratty cushion. He presented the key and the paperwork, signed more paperwork, and then followed Joseph down a very short corridor into a locked room, where Joseph left him.
Curious beyond belief, he used the small key to open the safe-deposit box and placed it on the table in the middle of the small room. There was only one thing in the box: a long, brown, single-entry ledger.
Flipping through it, Morgan saw that each spread of pages was dedicated to a single person: Isaac McGinlay. Bevan Lipinski. Leroy Svenson. Felix Steinberg. Herbert Winfield. And so on.
Each name had two ledger pages, with amounts written down and brief, cryptic notations. Some of the dates went back many years. The most recent entries indicated balances due. The amount owed totaled $25,000, maybe more.
As he flipped the pages, he finally saw a name he recognized. Gus Odell owed less than $1,000 for the purchase of one hundred pallets that were currently in the yard, covered with canvas and piles of snow.
Gus would know what the ledger was for. Morgan had his number, so he made a mental note to call him and returned the safe-deposit box, now empty, to its slot.
He’d close the account and give the key back. In the back of his mind, he knew that the boxes never used the same key twice and the lock would need to be retooled anyway, so the return was merely a courtesy.
Tucking the ledger under his arm, he went out into the lobby. Mabel and Mister Rocket were gone. The line was now only six people long, each and every one of them looking content to wait as long as it took.
By the front window, sitting on a low wooden bench, was Jack. When he saw Morgan, he stood up, wiping his palms on his thighs. Stray white hairs dusted the fabric, but Jack didn’t seem to notice. His expression was blank.
“Coffee shop?” Morgan asked brightly.
“Sure,” Jack said. “What’s that?” he asked, indicating the book Morgan was carrying.
“It’s a ledger, but beyond that, I’m not certain.”
Jack opened the door for him, and Morgan stepped outside, letting himself be helped without comment because at least three more people were waiting to get into the bank. The coffee shop was bound to be a zoo, an unappealing prospect, but Jack loved coffee, and Morgan had said they’d go.
“I recognized one of the names in the ledger, so I’m going to give Gus a call and see if he can shed any light on the subject.”
Jack jumped into the truck and gently cranked the engine.
He had the heater at full bore by the time Morgan managed to stumble around to the passenger side.
Yes, he still needed the cane, but mentally he felt more sturdy, more capable.
He nodded at Jack as he buckled his seatbelt.
The ledger slid to the floor, and Jack bent to recover it without a word.
“Thanks,” Morgan said, though that was inadequate in the face of everything Jack had done for him.
Seemed willing to keep on doing. And Morgan would have let him, but that was no life for Jack, a young man still searching for his own future.
It would be cruel to continue on as they were without a definite departure date.
They needed to talk. Morgan knew this. But first, they needed to go to the coffee shop.