“Please don’t.” Gretchen walked out of the office feeling heavier than she had before. She had let a lawyer, a stranger, talk her into the most hurtful action she had ever done, even if she was driven by a sick form of retaliation. But at least she learned some of the truth, and she had more of an explanation for Jax. If Jax ever spoke to her again. She checked her phone and wasn’t at all surprised to see only one message from Amanda, checking in. She called an Uber and hoped the bank would be able to give her some good news.

* * *

“Gretchen!” Virginia, the head bank teller, came out from behind the counter to greet her. “I’m so happy to see you. We all heard about what had happened. How are you feeling?” She urged Gretchen to take a seat.

“Fine. A little off from time to time, but I’m getting there.” Gretchen soaked up the comfort of recognizing every one of the staff members. Small-town banks were a blessing. “Is Joanne here today? I was hoping to talk about some of my accounts.”

“She ran across the street for a coffee. Do you want anything? I can shoot her a quick text.”

She waved Virginia off. “No, thank you. I’ll just wait here.” She took off her knit hat and held it on her lap with her purse. Her wool coat was cumbersome as she sat, but the outside temperatures were so low, she still felt a chill.

Joanne’s grin was broad and open as she approached Gretchen. She put down her coffee and opened her arms. “I’m so happy to see you.”

Gretchen hugged her back and knew this type of closeness was odd between bank personnel and customers, but she had been using this very bank since they had moved to the area. “It’s good to see you, too.” She sat again and waited for Joanne to get settled before asking her questions. “I’m curious about my accounts. I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but I had an accident and lost some of my memory.”

“Oh, dear. I heard about the accident, but I had no idea.”

“I’m doing much better and I’m working on getting my life back together. Which is why I’m here. I’d like to see all of my account balances and, if possible, statements from the last six months.”

As Joanne typed away, Gretchen looked around and marveled at the bank’s unchanged interior. The only difference was the winter decorations. She distinctly remembered summer decorations the last time she was in. Joanne’s loud printer tore her from the memory of American flags and sand pails.

“Here’s for one account,” Joanne said, placing a small stack in front of Gretchen on the desk.

She looked through each page. “This is only two months.”

“You closed that account.”