“Better make it fifty,” Ariana replied, touching the tissue to the corners of her eyes. “I think that’s what Grandma Covington said.”
“Okay,” he replied with a nod. “Fifty it is.” He tapped away at the keyboard, then opened a drawer to remove two separate deposit slips. “You’ll just need to fill these out and sign them, and we’ll be all set to open those accounts and issue you an ATM card.”
“Great,” Ariana replied.
“If you don’t mind, Miss Walsh, I’d like to call my manager over and introduce her to you. She likes to meet all of our new and … esteemed account holders personally.”
And by esteemed you mean filthy rich, Ariana thought.
“No, I’d rather not,” Ariana said, knowing that the fewer people who remembered her here after today, the better off she’d be. “I’m not really up to it … right now …” She forced herself to dissolve into tears and covered her whole face with the tissue.
“No, no. Of course not. That’s quite all right,” Mr. Lawrence said, reaching over to pat her arm. “Please don’t cry. You can meet her the next time you come in. Would that be preferable?”
Ariana sniffled hugely. “Next time. Perfect.”
Of course, there wouldn’t be a next time. If she did have to leave the country, she’d never set foot in this branch again. And if she didn’t have to leave, she intended to keep this account open and full as an emergency fund for as long as she felt she needed it.
“Thank you so much for your help, Mr. Lawrence,” Ariana said as she signed the deposit slips with a flourish.
“Of course, my dear. Of course.” He slid the check and the deposit slips into his hand and arose from his chair. “I just need to take these over to a teller to make the deposits. I’ll be right back.”
“Thank you.”
As Mr. Lawrence scurried off, headed for the long cashiers’ desk at the back of the bank, Ariana took a deep breath and looked around. The bank’s motto was emblazoned across practically everything in sight, from the desk blotter to the letterhead to the front window.
International Trust. For your peace of mind.
Ariana smiled. For her peace of mind indeed.
THERAPIST PAST
Ariana walked to dinner that night between Tahira and Maria, her face hidden under huge Donna Karan sunglasses, a wool hat pulled low over her ears, the collar of her black coat turned up over her cheeks. All she could think about was getting into the dining hall and off the open quad. Dr. Meloni had never once eaten the cafeteria food at the Brenda T., preferring to order in his meals from overly expensive gourmet restaurants and eat them in the privacy of his office. She could only hope his snobbish culinary tendencies would continue during his tenure at Atherton-Pryce.
“Okay, what’s up with the sunglasses at night?” Tahira asked Ariana, her brow creased with what could only be serious fashion concern.
Luckily, Ariana had long since prepared for the question. “I’ve had a splitting headache all day. I can hardly even look at a light,” she explained. “These seem to help.”
“Well, just don’t let it become a thing,” Tahira said, holding the collar of her fur jacket closed over her throat.
“She’s right,” Maria chimed in. “People will start to think your success has turned you eccentric, and eccentricity is frowned upon around here.”
“Point taken,” Ariana replied.
She looked up at the dining hall door, wishing she could just make a run for it. But, she supposed, that would also be rather eccentric behavior. She had to try to keep that kind of thing to a minimum, especially now that Palmer was apparently bent on making her out to be a loon to all their friends. For a moment, she considered asking Maria and Tahira if he’d said anything to them today, or if they’d heard anything via the APH gossip mill, but she decided against it. Asking about a rumor only gave it credence.
“So have either of you guys heard from Soomie?” Tahira asked, her breath making steam clouds in the cold air.
Ariana shook her head. “Not a word.”
“Let’s all call her right now,” Maria suggested, pausing to take her phone out of her bag.
Ariana stopped two steps ahead. “I’ve already called her twice today. Can’t we just get inside?”
“If it goes to voice mail like it always does, it’ll only take two seconds,” Maria told her, hitting a speed-dial button and lifting the phone to her ear. “I just don’t want her thinking anyone’s forgotten about her.”
Ariana clucked her tongue impatiently, which her friends didn’t seem to notice, and hugged her own arms as she waited.
“Voice mail,” Maria said, rolling her eyes. “Hey, Soomie. It’s Maria,” she said into the phone. “I’m here with Ana and Tahira and we’re just … we just want to talk to you. We want to know you’re okay. And we also wanted to tell you … hang in there. It’s going to get better. I promise. If there’s anything we can do, please, just … call us back.”