After his big night on the town, Granddad was looking a little washed out. His hands trembled slightly as he fiddled with his bow tie, and his eyes had dark circles beneath them.
“Are you sure you’re up to this?” I asked as he folded himself into the front seat of the Buick.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he snapped.
“I got the impression you might have been, uh, overserved last night.”
“I’m fine as frog hair,” Granddad insisted. “You worry about your job. I’ll worry about mine. Have you got the check?”
“Got it,” I said, patting the envelope on the front seat.
“Just let me do the talking,” Granddad said. “I’ve been in business and banking a lot longer than you, young lady.”
“Yes, sir,” I said meekly.
When the Bank of America branch across the street from Bahia Mar marina opened its doors at nine o’clock on Friday, Granddad and I were the first customers in the door.
I needn’t have worried. He marched up to the customer-service desk in the bank’s lobby and held Randall’s check out to the woman seated there.
“Young lady, I need to know which local branch this check is drawn on.”
She took a sip of her coffee, looked at me, and then back at him. But she took the check, started tapping on the keys of her computer, and soon had an answer.
“This account was opened at our Broward Plaza branch,” she said. “It’s about two miles from here. Do you know the shopping center?”
“I do,” I volunteered.
“Anything else I can do for you?” she asked.
“Not a thing,” Granddad said, with an abbreviated tip of his straw cap.
We drove on to Broward Plaza. Once inside, Granddad again approached the customer-service desk, which was manned by a Hispanic woman in a bright orange jacket. Her nameplate said she was “Veronica Gallegos.”
“Hello, Miss Gallegos,” Granddad said, sweeping off his hat.
“Hello,” she said, looking up and dimpling at the sight of such gallantry. “Can I help you?”
He produced Randall’s check. “My name is Spencer Loudermilk. I’d like to open an account at your bank this morning, and deposit this check.”
She took the check, nodded, and started rummaging in her desk for the proper forms. “Won’t you sit down?”
“Thank you,” Granddad said, seating himself and gesturing to me. “This is my granddaughter and business partner, BeBe Loudermilk. We’ll want to make her cosigner on the account.”
“Fine. Will this be a business or personal account?” she asked.
“Business,” he said. “S and L Yacht Sales.”
“And will you require checking and savings?”
“Just savings,” Granddad said.
She nodded and pushed some papers across the counter for him to fill out. He wrinkled his forehead and gave me a nod. “Granddad’s having some vision problems this morning,” I told her.
Ms. Gallegos waited until I’d filled out the forms, then sat and tapped the information into her computer. Ten minutes later, she was handing us a bank book.
I filled out the savings-deposit slip and handed it to her. “Just one other thing,” I said.
“We’ll be depositing a very large check this afternoon, probably drawn on the same account as that check we just gave you. There won’t be any problem with the funds clearing, will there?”
She frowned. “It’s a cashier’s check. Funds are guaranteed, and the check you’ve given me is for an account opened right here at this branch. But I can check and see if there are sufficient funds, if you like.”
Ms. Gallegos tapped some more keys, and then stared at the computer screen. “I should think there are sufficient funds in this account for a very substantial withdrawal.”
Granddad stood up and tipped his hat again. “Pleasure doing business with you.”
“See you soon,” I said.
Granddad was humming softly as we drove back to the Mango Tree.
“What’s that song?” I asked.
He frowned. “You don’t recognize it?”
“No,” I said. “But it’s nice. What’s it called?”
“‘To Each His Own,’” Granddad said, humming another bar. “That’s our song, Lorena’s and mine. It was a big hit in our day. We’d get all dressed up and go dancing just about every Saturday night. There was the Bamboo Ranch in Garden City. We used to listen to Buddy Livingston’s band. Had four sisters who could really sing—Irene, Darlene, Marlene, and Earlene. And then there was Remler’s Club Royale on Victory Drive. That’s where we heard ‘To Each His Own’ for the first time.”
“Funny,” I mused. “I was married to two different men, and I don’t think we ever had an ‘our song.’ Come to think of it, we didn’t do too much dancing, either. Maybe at an occasional wedding or something. Or at the Telfair Ball.”
Granddad snorted and shook his head.
“What?”
“Sandy was an all right person. Nice family and all. But he wasn’t the right man for you. Never was. And as for Richard!”
“Don’t start,” I warned. “I’ve admitted he was a huge mistake. I think I should get a…what’s that word they use in golf? When you take a bad stroke and it doesn’t count?”
“A mulligan.”
“Yeah. Richard was my mulligan.”
“You know what a Silverstein is?” he asked, getting a glint in his eye.
“The people who owned that jewelry store on Broughton Street where the Starbucks is now?”
“No. In golf, if you hit an absolutely unbelievable shot, the other guy can yell ‘Silverstein’ and then you have to take that shot over. It’s like a joke on the golfer.”
“I don’t get it.”
“You wouldn’t,” Granddad said. “Me and Lorena, we’d be a Silverstein. And I’d do it all over again. Every minute of it.”
At the next red light, I leaned over and kissed him. “Old softie.”
He cleared his throat. “I have something to say. I wasn’t going to bring this up at all, but since you mentioned the subject, I feel it’s my duty to tell you something.”
“Uh-oh.”
“It’s about Harry.”
I felt my face color. “Look, Granddad—”
“He’s a fine man, BeBe. An honorable man. He’s decent and hardworking. Not afraid to get his hands dirty. And he appears quite taken with you. So, I just want to say that if the two of you—”
“Can we just skip this?” I pleaded. “No offense, but I’m really not comfortable talking about my love life with you.”
“I’m just saying.”
I started humming to drown him out. “I’m not listening.”
“Don’t screw it up,” Granddad said. “No more mulligans.”