Melissa had expected the bank manager to be old. Fatherly. Someone
who might be won over by the thought of homeless children. She
didn’t want Seth O’Reilly to be close to her own age
and good-looking.
After Stephen, she no longer trusted handsome men.
With shaking hands she settled Alice on the floor, near a rack
of glossy brochures advertising the bank’s services, and
perched at the edge of a gray upholstered visitor’s chair.
After icily showing them into the office Stella had marched off
leaving Melissa and Alice alone, and Melissa realized she needed
a minute or two to calm herself. She’d never felt such anger—and
never in her memory had she acted so brazen.
Now she had the attention of the man at the top, all she had
to figure out was how to make the most of it. She took deep calming
breaths while she tried to collect her thoughts. How would she
get through to the bank president that he had to let her keep
her house?
A quick glance around the office revealed little in the way of
inspiration. It was an executive office like a million others.
Neat, professional, impersonal—except for the bag of crisply
laundered shirts hanging from the door handle with the drycleaner’s
tag still attached.
The dozen or so shirts themselves had about as much personality
as the bag, spanning an entire rainbow from white to pale blue.
Dull, corporate and respectable. She bet all his suits were navy
or charcoal and all his ties had burgundy in them. He was probably
a guy who always followed the rules; but somehow she had to make
him bend them in her case.
Apart from the bag of shirts, the only signs of the man’s
personal life were a squash racquet propped against one wall and
a single picture on the rosewood desk in front of her. Leaning
forward she turned the frame around and peered at two identical
faces grinning back at her. The twin girls looked about ten years
old, and, if a picture could tell a thousand words, this one told
of pranks and mischief.
It wasn’t the Raggedy Ann hair and freckles, it was the
eyes—they were too round and innocent to be believed—and
Melissa didn’t fall for the ‘oh, what a sweet pair
of angels’ expression for a moment.
In her earlier career as a pediatric nurse—before being
Mrs. Stephen Theisen had taken up all of her time—she’d
treated all kinds of children. A lot of her patients had orchestrated
their own hospital visits, falling out of trees or lighting themselves
on fire—any number of disasters that poorly supervised brats
could fall into.
The twins looked like high-spirited mischief makers through and
through. And vaguely familiar.
“Their names are Laura and Jessica.”
With a start, Melissa replaced the frame and stood to face Seth
O’Reilly. “Thanks for seeing me. I thought I was going
to be thrown out on the street like a bank robber.”
He winced like a man in pain. He must take his job at the bank
pretty seriously. “I’m sorry about that.” He
seemed like he wanted to say more, but obviously thought better
of it. He squatted down to Alice’s level and asked, “Would
you like some juice?”
Alice was absorbed in assessing the various merits of a glossy
new mortgage, a financial plan that made sense in today’s
volatile economy, and a retirement package that promised she’d
spend her golden years golfing and fishing. She glanced up from
the fan of glossy brochures on the floor and, after observing
the man for several unsmiling seconds, handed him a brochure with
a crumpled corner.
He glanced at it. “You’d rather have an on-demand
line of credit? Very sensible, especially if you’re taking
your mom toy shopping.” He smiled at the little girl and,
obviously deciding she’d found a friend, she smiled back.
