"
"It's all so mixed up. There's the baby, and the project and
everything going on today. I'm not sure now is the right time.
Everything is so up in the air."
"But if she were back in your life, Peter, wouldn't these things
seem a little more tolerable?"
He looked at his baby. "Yes," he said. "You're right. I'll do it.
I'll call her."
* * *
Greta walked into the bank and faced the long line of customers.
"Ugh," she sneered, settling her sunglasses in her hair.
Resigned, she labored to the end of the line, a dozen or so
people between her and the front. She fished through her purse,
looking for a stray form left over from a past visit. She found
none, and besides, she wasn't sure which form she needed anyway.
There has to be a better way, she thought, glancing anxiously at
the multitude of forms stacked on the podium beside the line.
Just then, the branch manager appeared from a small room behind
the main counter, carrying a handful of papers in his hands. Ah!
There it was, a better way. She managed to catch his eye.
"Bruce! How are you?" Greta said affectionately, catching him
lightly by the arm.
"Well hello, Mrs. Locke. How are you?" he said, patting her hand.
She leaned close to his ear. "I was fine, until I walked into
this. It's becoming so difficult to bank."
Taking advantage of her impairment, which, before falling in love
with Jean-Pierre, she would have never considered, she fluttered
her four-fingered hand in the air.
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