Before he could ask for clarification or respond in any way, the line went dead, Florine’s uncharacteristically excitable voice succeeded by a dial tone. He replaced the handset in its cradle and turned on his computer. He actually didn’t have any pending loans. It had been a slow week, and that was one of many reasons he and the other bank employees had been worried. He was still worried—an alliance with another bank might be good in theory, but there was no guarantee it would lead to increased business—and he forced himself to push aside all thoughts of Shanley’s irrational exuberance and Florine’s crazy phone call, and start the workday the way he always did, sending out cold emails to potential clients in a fishing expedition, hoping someone would bite.

****

The day turned out to be not half bad. Patty Neth from Gold Star Realty referred an aspiring homeowner to him, and after jumping through all the hoops, it looked like the guy and his wife were good loan candidates. Cal had been anticipating a foreclosure on another couple after three missed payments, but something happened and the couple came through with the cash, plus the late fees and interest, saving the bank from having to inherit the debt.

Maybe Shanley was right. Maybe things really were turning around.

He drove home feeling good.

He stopped feeling good when he saw Florine’s car in his driveway.

Dread spread outward from the knot in his stomach. He did not want to see her, and all he could think about was the explicit photo on Pickering’s desk.

That’s my wife. Some beaver, eh?

Was she really his wife? She almost had to be; how else would he have gotten that picture? But Coy had known Florine for years, even before they’d started dating, and she’d never seemed anything other than single, never given any indication that concurrent involvement with another man was even a remote possibility.

More than anything else, more than anything at work, anything having to do with the banks, it was Florine that had been keeping him off balance. From her unprovoked attack at First People’s to her deranged appearance with excrement-encrusted papers at his house—

I want you to move to another state or die.

—to the graphic photo of her in Pickering’s office to her bizarrely exuberant phone call—

He was sucking on a bag of dicks.

—her behavior and the events swirling around her had left him feeling hurt and angry, confused and frightened. Now she was here again, and he had no idea what she wanted or why she had come over.

Or where she was.