you, Dr. Steele? Coming back from a war.”
Wilson stepped back. In the span of a second, his heart lurched and sped up, and he could feel a bead of sweat at the back of his neck.
“Maybe,” he finally said. His voice was less than a whisper. “Maybe.”
Dr. Killeen offered a weary smile in return, as if he had heard such equivocations before, as if he knew the certain futility of pressing the issue, then he looked at Thurman. “Thurman, look at me.”
Thurman did as he was asked, staring at the old man with a focused intensity that only dogs could exhibit.
“You tell him, Thurman. It has been too long. It’s time.”
Thurman appeared to nod, looked back at Wilson with a look of great compassion, then back to the old man.
He growled.
Wilson knew he said, I will .
But Wilson knew that only he and Thurman heard it.
Hazel walked down the street to her car, feeling lighter and more unfettered than she had ever felt in her adult life.
Maybe it was like this when I was a little girl. Maybe .
She got her car keys out of her pocket.
But I don’t remember it. Not really. Not this way .
She paid the parking fee with a twenty-dollar bill and drove toward town. The safe-deposit key was in her right pocket. She could feel the ridges. It was a most comfortable feeling.
She retrieved her stock certificates and asked to see Mr. Hild.
I guess I have a personal banker now .
Mr. Hild was all smiles when he escorted her to his desk.
“I didn’t expect to see you so soon,” he said.
Hazel wanted to shrug but thought that shrugging was not a proper way to deal with financial matters.
Instead, she laid the envelope on his desk.
“I want to sell it.”
Mr. Hild raised an eyebrow.
“The stock, you mean.”
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
Hazel had been sure, almost since finding out that she was now middle-class wealthy. It had not been a difficult choice. In truth, she had discovered that making a million-dollar decision was easier than making a choice of breakfast at Denny’s.
“Yes.”
Mr. Hild waited a moment, as if the waiting was a personal banker sort of behavior to ensure that clients were telling the truth.
“If I hold on to some of it, then I’ll worry about it. I’ll keep asking myself if it’s time to sell or not. And that’s not a problem I want to have. I wasn’t worried before I knew that I had it, and I don’t want to be worried now.”
Mr. Hild nodded gravely, if one could nod with a grave attitude.
“I understand.”
“I want you to sell it for me. You said no fee, right?”
“That is correct. However, it would be our hope that you may keep some of that money here at our bank. But there would be no restrictions to our offer.”
Hazel found herself smiling.
“I will keep most of it here,” she said.
“Thank you,” he replied, his relief most evident in his thanks.
“But I would like to put some of it into a checking account. Like maybe fifty thousand dollars?”
Mr. Hild appeared to breathe a great sigh of relief, without wanting to, without wanting to express his true emotions, which were obviously delight and relief.
“I want to buy a new car. And I want to sell my condo.”
“Well, fifty thousand dollars would buy a very nice car, Ms. Jamison.”
Hazel began to grow more comfortable with the whole stock-rich-personal banker sort of feeling.
“Actually, I just want to get an older delivery van. Reliable. But used.”
Mr. Hild nodded and probably would have asked why, but that also might be a question that personal bankers don’t ask their newly wealthy clients.
“I’m not going to make deliveries, of course. But I want to put a bed in back, and maybe get a little stove where I could make coffee.”
“So you’ll do some camping, then?”
“Heavens no,” Hazel replied. “I just want a place to rest. If I get tired driving. I plan on doing some traveling. My mother always said she wanted to travel and never did, not really.”
Mr. Hild looked a little
Wilson stepped back. In the span of a second, his heart lurched and sped up, and he could feel a bead of sweat at the back of his neck.
“Maybe,” he finally said. His voice was less than a whisper. “Maybe.”
Dr. Killeen offered a weary smile in return, as if he had heard such equivocations before, as if he knew the certain futility of pressing the issue, then he looked at Thurman. “Thurman, look at me.”
Thurman did as he was asked, staring at the old man with a focused intensity that only dogs could exhibit.
“You tell him, Thurman. It has been too long. It’s time.”
Thurman appeared to nod, looked back at Wilson with a look of great compassion, then back to the old man.
He growled.
Wilson knew he said, I will .
But Wilson knew that only he and Thurman heard it.
Hazel walked down the street to her car, feeling lighter and more unfettered than she had ever felt in her adult life.
Maybe it was like this when I was a little girl. Maybe .
She got her car keys out of her pocket.
But I don’t remember it. Not really. Not this way .
She paid the parking fee with a twenty-dollar bill and drove toward town. The safe-deposit key was in her right pocket. She could feel the ridges. It was a most comfortable feeling.
She retrieved her stock certificates and asked to see Mr. Hild.
I guess I have a personal banker now .
Mr. Hild was all smiles when he escorted her to his desk.
“I didn’t expect to see you so soon,” he said.
Hazel wanted to shrug but thought that shrugging was not a proper way to deal with financial matters.
Instead, she laid the envelope on his desk.
“I want to sell it.”
Mr. Hild raised an eyebrow.
“The stock, you mean.”
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
Hazel had been sure, almost since finding out that she was now middle-class wealthy. It had not been a difficult choice. In truth, she had discovered that making a million-dollar decision was easier than making a choice of breakfast at Denny’s.
“Yes.”
Mr. Hild waited a moment, as if the waiting was a personal banker sort of behavior to ensure that clients were telling the truth.
“If I hold on to some of it, then I’ll worry about it. I’ll keep asking myself if it’s time to sell or not. And that’s not a problem I want to have. I wasn’t worried before I knew that I had it, and I don’t want to be worried now.”
Mr. Hild nodded gravely, if one could nod with a grave attitude.
“I understand.”
“I want you to sell it for me. You said no fee, right?”
“That is correct. However, it would be our hope that you may keep some of that money here at our bank. But there would be no restrictions to our offer.”
Hazel found herself smiling.
“I will keep most of it here,” she said.
“Thank you,” he replied, his relief most evident in his thanks.
“But I would like to put some of it into a checking account. Like maybe fifty thousand dollars?”
Mr. Hild appeared to breathe a great sigh of relief, without wanting to, without wanting to express his true emotions, which were obviously delight and relief.
“I want to buy a new car. And I want to sell my condo.”
“Well, fifty thousand dollars would buy a very nice car, Ms. Jamison.”
Hazel began to grow more comfortable with the whole stock-rich-personal banker sort of feeling.
“Actually, I just want to get an older delivery van. Reliable. But used.”
Mr. Hild nodded and probably would have asked why, but that also might be a question that personal bankers don’t ask their newly wealthy clients.
“I’m not going to make deliveries, of course. But I want to put a bed in back, and maybe get a little stove where I could make coffee.”
“So you’ll do some camping, then?”
“Heavens no,” Hazel replied. “I just want a place to rest. If I get tired driving. I plan on doing some traveling. My mother always said she wanted to travel and never did, not really.”
Mr. Hild looked a little
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