Early the next morning I walked into the bank and was slapped by a blast of cold air. It bounced off the bare walls and the polished tile floor, searching out a soft, receptive surface to absorb its chill. I had told Laura-Lea I had an appointment at the bank, and while that wasn’t strictly true, it was a good idea. If I was going to take control over my life, I needed to begin immediately. Kevin’s safe-deposit box was a good place to start.
I took a few steps and then hesitated, uncertain where to go. I eyed the line of silent customers waiting for the next available teller, and then the massive desk behind which a woman sporting a tight bun looked firmly down at whatever task was before her. The sign hanging directly above her head like the sword of Damocles, read Reception. Beyond her desk were rows of other desks, occupied by slow-moving, silent bankers. There was no sign reading Safe-Deposit Boxes.
A woman breezed past me and joined the long line for a teller. I decided on the receptionist.
I walked over and peered down at her scalp, visible due to her severe part. The bun-headed woman didn’t look up. I cleared my throat, surprised at how loud it was as it ricocheted off the bare walls. Bunhead, still looking down, held up a finger, indicating she would be with me in “one.” One what, I couldn’t say. Finally she looked up. I expected her to speak. To say hello or “Can I help you?” She only raised her eyebrows, making a What is it? face.
I leaned toward her. “Good morning. I’m here for a safe-deposit box.”
Bunhead looked at me with eyes half closed. “What size?” She pulled out a form and placed it in front of me.
“Sorry, I don’t know. I’ve never seen it before.”
She glared up at me for a moment, and then sighed. “Are you here to acquire a box, or to visit your box?”
I nodded like an eager child. “To visit. I’m Kate Davis. Kevin Davis’s wife.”
Bunhead stood at attention. She held her palms up in a don’t-go-anywhere gesture as she began to walk. “I’ll be right back.”
Moments later I saw her walking toward me, Donna Walsh right behind her.
Donna’s face was a sea of glass, calm and unreadable, but she walked at a quick pace, brushing past Bunhead. I was surprised she wasn’t winded by the time she reached me. She did look tired, though. Dark circles framed her gray-green eyes (contacts?). She appeared to be wearing too much makeup. Her skin looked sallow under the sheen of her blusher. She looked both regal and haggard, a queen with insomnia. She stopped directly in front of me and bent her head until we were nearly touching foreheads, like she was going to suggest a handoff and call “Hut!” She put a light hand on my shoulder. “Linda tells me you’re here about Kevin’s safe-deposit box.” She jerked a thumb toward Bunhead.
Donna’s perfume was oddly familiar. I wondered if it was the one my mom had recently switched to. I held up Kevin’s gold-colored key.
“Come this way,” she said. She turned sharply on her heel and walked back the way she had come. Bunhead resumed her position at her desk, reunited with her absorbing task, and I scurried after Donna.
We walked past the rows of desks and then turned left into a corridor. Donna opened the second door to the right, switching on the lights as she entered.
She turned to face me. “There are a few things to sign. I wish we could skip it, but the bank has to have all its i’s dotted and its t’s crossed.” She rolled her eyes at me in a conspiratorial way. I found myself nodding and rolling my eyes too. “No problem,” I said. We were like sorority sisters sharing a mutual dislike for the college dean.
“I’ll bring the forms in to you. You need to read and sign them before we can open the box.”
“Sounds good. Thank you,” I said. She turned to leave.
She took a step out of the room and then spun around to face me. “By the way, do you have the forms we require?” I pulled out Kevin’s death certificate and a copy of his will from my purse and handed them to her. She took them without looking at them and then left me alone in the room.
The room was stark white. Fluorescent lighting glared down from above. Two large, framed watercolors, painted in forgettable pastels, hung on two of the walls. A desk and chair sat against the far wall. A small photocopier stood in the corner, a wastebasket beside it.
I sat in a chair and waited.
I heard a soft knock, and Donna entered holding a file folder. “Take your time going through these, and sign at the bottom of page four.” She handed me the folder. “Normally we require all kinds of additional ID, but we’ll just make a copy of your driver’s license. I’ll vouch for the rest. When you’re done looking over the papers and have signed, dial 232 on the phone. That’s my extension.”
Four pages of legalese. Who would read through four pages just to open a safe-deposit box? “Wait,” I said. I took the file and turned to page four. I signed my name and handed the file back to Donna. “Done.”
Donna took the file, frowning at it like she was no longer sure what it contained. “All right. Follow me.”
She led the way into a vault containing row upon row of tiny numbered doors that covered three full walls from floor to ceiling. It appeared the boxes came in at least three sizes. The smallest doors were rectangles, three or four inches high and eight or so inches long. Others were large squares, the size of an award plaque. The largest ones were the size of a desk drawer.
Donna pointed at number 123. It was one of the midsized ones, which surprised me. I was expecting a small box where he would have kept a copy of the mortgage, insurance, a few investment papers, and not much more.
Donna pointed to the keyhole. “It’s a two-key system. I insert and turn my master key first. Then you use your key to open the door. I’ll remove the box for you and take you back to the room we were in before. Your key will also open the box.” She inserted her key, turned, and then withdrew it. Then I stepped up, inserted my key and turned, and opened the door. The box itself was set into the wall like a drawer. Donna grabbed the handle and pulled it out of the wall. “Follow me,” she said again as she marched out of the vault.
Back in the room Donna set the safe-deposit box down on the desk. “Take as long as you like.” She indicated the phone. “And remember, when you are done, call extension 232.”
I waited several beats after Donna left before I lifted my key to the lock. The hinge was on top of the box, so it opened like a chest. I flipped the lid open and peered inside. The box wasn’t even half full. Various papers, envelopes, and official-looking documents were spread around at the bottom of the box in no apparent order. Why did Kevin have such a big box? I reached in and lifted out an envelope with the name of the bank on it. Inside were the mortgage papers with details of the insurance. I put the documents in my purse. The mortgage was paid in full now, through Kevin’s insurance policy, but it brought me no joy to know this.
I sat on the chair and reached into the box again, grabbing the next document on the pile. I moved slowly, methodically. I examined each item in its turn. I didn’t bother looking into the box as I reached in for the next paper, then the next. Which is why I didn’t see it until I had gone through over half of the contents.
Something sparkled from the far corner of the box. Something metal, stainless steel maybe. I reached in and pulled out a skinny digital camera.
I wouldn’t have been more surprised if I had pulled out a hissing cobra. The front of the camera told me it was 8.1 megapixels and came equipped with optical zoom. I turned it over. Most of the back was made up of a viewing screen. There were two small buttons above the screen, one with a green arrow, the other a red picture the shape of a camera. There were other dials and buttons on the camera, with markings that meant nothing to me. I found the On/Off button on the top of the camera and pushed it. I was treated to a view of my feet on the viewer screen. I pushed another button and took a picture of my feet. I turned one of the dials. Nothing special happened. I pushed on the button with the green arrow and a picture appeared on the screen. This one didn’t look like the one I had taken of my feet. It was framed by what looked like a reel of film, giving it the appearance of a scene from a movie. Maybe it was a movie. The picture inside the film reel was of a room I didn’t recognize. A chair, in front of beige curtains. I pushed another button and the screen went blank.
I pushed several more buttons, none of which brought the video back. Then I hit the green arrow button and not only did the picture come back, but it came to life.
When Kevin’s voice leapt from the camera, I nearly dropped it. “Room 1842. Check it out. Ugliest hotel room I’ve ever seen.” The image panned around the room, zooming in on the mini fridge, the coffeemaker, the closet. The bed came into view, rumpled covers, pillows tossed here and there. I heard Kevin’s voice. “Ah, now the bed. Here, in glorious contrast to this ugly room, we find the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” A long, bare leg came into view. I heard giggles. The camera followed the bare leg up until it disappeared under the covers. The camera continued its slow ascent, up toward the head. A hand with long, painted fingernails; an arm; a bare shoulder. A voice, “Hey, lover.” A face.
My vision blurred with tears so that I could barely make out Donna’s face as she smiled into the camera.