When Darkness Loves Us

He dropped her off in front of the bank. “I’ll pick you up right here.” He smiled.

“Okay.” She took a quick look in the side mirror, adjusted her dress, and walked away. Leon wanted to go with her, but he suppressed his protective instincts and instead gunned his engine and headed for the dump, determined to be back as soon as possible.

The bank was cool and expansive, with a slight sickening odor she remembered. She went to the first person she saw, a redhead at the teller window.

“I want to talk about my money.” The girl’s eyes widened in recognition and disbelief. She came forward to look closely.

“Martha?”

“Yes.” Martha smiled.

The girl cleared her throat, recovering from her surprise, “Just a moment. I’ll bring over Mr. Hillis.”

Martha folded her hands in front of her and waited quietly.

Soon a little man in a suit came hurrying over, talking quickly and quietly to the redhead. As he approached, an uneasy smile spread across his face. He held out his hand.

“Miss Mannes. How good to see you.”

Martha looked at his hand and held out her left one. The man squeezed it gently, then led her back to his desk, in the corner of the big room. “Please. Have a seat. Some coffee?”

“No. I want to talk about my money.”

“Fine. What can I tell you?”

She looked blank. “Everything.”

His smile faded. “Everything. One moment.” He pushed a button on a little box on his desk and spoke into it. “Julia, please bring in the Martha Mannes file.” He sat back and studied Martha. “You look well.”

“Thank you. I feel good.”

In a moment, a tall, thin girl placed a thick folder on the desk. Mr. Hillis put on a pair of half glasses and began to sift through papers.

“I assume you know nothing of your financial status?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay. Let’s start from the beginning. There is a trust in your name, a gift from Mrs. Addie Smith. The original amount was for just over twenty-five hundred dollars, but it’s grown now to . . . let’s see . . . almost nine thousand.” He took off his glasses and smiled at her. “We invest our clients’ money wisely.” She just looked at him, trying to understand. “Ahem. Then there was your parents’ estate. They left everything to you, of course, and your mother, uh, Fern Mannes, left the bank here as trustee.” He took down his glasses again, and looked at her. “That means, Miss Mannes, that we would take care of you, give you the money that you need, and when you . . . uh, died, the rest was to be given to the various charitable organizations that your mother worked with while she was alive.”

“How much?”

“All together?”

“Yes.”

“Well, just a moment.” He fingered a calculator, riffling pages as he went. “Not including the farm, let’s see. Not including the farm, I see a net worth here of one hundred thirty seven thousand dollars.”

“Would you write that number down for me, please?”

“Certainly.” He tore off the calculator tape, circled the last number and handed it to her.

“And to get money, I just come in and ask for it?”

“Yes. But please, don’t spend it all.”

She smiled at him for the first time. This was very tiring. “I just want some new furniture.”

He grinned, broadly. “You just tell the store to send the bill to me. Within reason.” He handed her his card.

“Ran-dolp Hiles.”

“Randolph Hillis.”

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” He walked her to the door, but before he opened it, he leaned closer, and whispered conspiratorially. “Miss Mannes . . .”

“Yes?” She smiled.

“Um, we’ve seen you in here a lot these past years, since, uh, since your parents died. And, I must say, I’ve never seen . . . um . . . well, you’re looking very good.”

“You mean—what happened?”

“Um, well, yes, I guess that’s my question.” He began to wring his hands.

“I don’t know, Mr. Hillis. Good-bye.” She walked out the door into the warm air, and looked up and down the street.

Hillis turned to face the wide interior; every eye was on him, questioning. He shrugged his shoulders and went back to his desk. He canceled his appointments and went to church.

Martha walked across the street and entered the McRae store. Dave was putting a new tape in the cash register. He looked clean and fresh in his white shirt, his bald head nicely tanned, the gray fringe around his head combed neatly down. He looked up briefly as she entered, then went back to his work.

“Hello, Martha,” he said. “Long time no see.”

“Yes,” she said. “It’s been a while.”

Slowly his head came up to look at her smiling face. Jesus Christ! His face reddened; he cleared his throat. Such shocks were not good for the heart, he thought. He smiled. “Bring me any eggs?”

“No. I want to talk to you about my mother.”

Dave came around the counter and took both her hands in his own. “You look pretty as a picture, Martha. I’d never have believed you’d look this nice. What’s happened in your life?” God, her eyes are absolutely beautiful, he thought. Like sparkling snowflakes inside.

“I don’t know. Something.”