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Emma
It didn’t take the cab twenty minutes to arrive. It took them fifty-five.
At the half-hour mark, Emma had sprinted back into the house to fetch a kitchen chair, which she now offered to put back.
“We’ll get it later. I don’t want this prompt, professional cabbie to drive off without you, and I don’t think anyone is going to steal my old kitchen chair.”
They climbed into the minivan’s middle seat. Now Mrs. Patterson looked uncomfortable.
The driver apologized for being late, and Emma reminded her where they needed to go.
“I know. I remember.”
“Oh, wait, actually we need to go to the credit union first.”
“That will cost you extra.”
Obviously.
“What credit union?”
Emma looked at Mrs. Patterson expectantly, but her face was pale and pinched. “Mrs. Patterson?”
“What? Oh. Any credit union will do.”
The van started moving, and Emma found tremendous satisfaction in riding by her house, knowing her parents had no idea that she was in a cab on the way to the jail. Her knee bounced up and down nervously, and Mrs. Patterson reached over and put a hand on it. “You’re shaking the whole van, and it might fall apart without your help.”
Emma tried to control her leg.
“Do you want the ATM, drive-through, or lobby?”
This question appeared to perplex Mrs. Patterson for a few seconds. Then, “I need to go inside.”
The driver sighed and pulled the van into a handicapped parking spot.
Mrs. Patterson didn’t move.
“Do you want me to go in with you?” Emma asked.
“No,” she snapped. “I can do it.” But she still didn’t move.
“The clock’s a tickin’,” the driver said unhelpfully.
“Come on,” Emma said gently, “I’ll go with you.” She got out of the van and walked around to slide Mrs. Patterson’s door open. Then she reached for her hand, but Mrs. Patterson yanked it away.
“I’m fine.” She climbed out of the van on her own accord and headed for the door.
A friendly teller welcomed them, and in a soft, timid voice, Mrs. Patterson asked for a withdrawal. She slid her membership card across the shiny counter.
“Thank you.” The teller picked it up with impossibly long, shiny, royal blue fingernails. “Do you have a photo ID?”
Mrs. Patterson fiddled with her wallet and produced a driver’s license, which the teller studied.
“Um ... this expired a long time ago.”
Mrs. Patterson raised her eyebrows. “Well, it’s all I’ve got.”
The teller appeared to be stymied.
“I can vouch for her,” Emma tried. “I know she’s who she says she is.”
Apparently, this vouching did not comfort the teller.
“Um ... let me find a manager.” She scurried away.
Mrs. Patterson leaned on the counter and put her head down on her arms. “This is taking longer than forever.”
“I really appreciate it,” Emma said, but she had a feeling that her appreciation didn’t mean much to Mrs. Patterson right now.
Several minutes went by, and Emma feared Mrs. Patterson was going to give up and bolt for home, but then a man in a long-sleeved shirt and tie appeared in front of them. He gave them a patronizing smile. “Hello. We require valid photo IDs for shared branching transactions.”
As he spoke, Mrs. Patterson slowly inched back from him.
Emma hated it, but she knew they had lost. “Let’s go. Maybe we’ll have better luck at your credit union.”
“No!” Mrs. Patterson pulled her arm away from Emma’s grasp. Her eyes were swimming with tears. “I’ve tried. It didn’t work. I want to go home.”
They reached the minivan, and Emma forced eye contact. “I know I’m asking a lot of you. But I really need your help. Jason really needs your help. If we go to your credit union, can’t we just go through the ATM? Then you won’t have to talk to anyone.”
Her face grew redder, and she climbed into the minivan.
Emma stood rooted to her spot, and Mrs. Patterson slammed the door shut. Through the driver’s open window, she heard Mrs. Patterson say, “Take me home,” and Emma ran around the van, not wanting to be left behind.
“Wait,” she said, out of breath.
The driver waited.
“Do you have a debit card?”
“Of course I have a debit card.”
“Then why can’t we use it at the ATM?”
She didn’t answer.
Emma couldn’t imagine what the problem was. Was she afraid of ATM germs? “I’ll do it for you!”
“Fine. Sagadahoc Lincoln Federal Credit Union,” she said to the driver.
The driver didn’t say anything, but she started driving, and Emma tried to study Mrs. Patterson without getting caught studying her. What was the deal with this woman? She had seemed so normal when she’d been inside her house. Now her face was pale and her eyes red with tears.
They pulled up beside the ATM, and Mrs. Patterson sheepishly handed her debit card over.
“Great. Thanks. What’s the PIN?”
Mrs. Patterson gave her the saddest look then, and Emma’s heart ached for her. Either she didn’t know the PIN or she didn’t know what a PIN was.
“Never mind,” Emma said to the driver, desperate to prevent further embarrassment for her friend. “We need to go into the lobby after all.”
The driver rolled her eyes. “You gals are racking up quite a bill. I don’t want to hear any complaints when it comes due.”
“I always pay my bills,” Mrs. Patterson said weakly.
She was quicker about getting out of the van this time, but when Emma opened the front door for her, she said, “What makes you think they’re going to take my ID when the other credit union wouldn’t?”
“Just a feeling,” Emma said, though she had no such feeling. She just didn’t know what else to do.
This teller, who was considerably less smiley and whose fingernails had been chewed down to the nub, didn’t even ask for an ID. After two conversationless minutes, Mrs. Patterson had an envelope full of money. Emma was shocked at how much she’d taken out. Surely bail couldn’t be that much?
