When Miranda stepped into the bank, a sudden chill brushed down her body. She rubbed at her arms as gooseflesh tickled along her skin. After flicking on the light and re-locking the front door, her stomach lurched. The counter and her office, where most early morning preparations took place, taunted her with memories of Tyler. They had done so for three weeks. Faintly, she wondered when her mind would stop the torment.
The thoughts of Tyler prompted her obsession. Where was he? Was he all right? Was he with someone? Her skin itched as her imagination provided answers to every question – some dirty stretch of road in the desert with his buddy, both with strange women in their back seats. The very thought made Miranda's stomach sour. She began the motions of opening the bank, trying to shove her thoughts into a dark crevice of her brain.
The chunk of the front door's lock sounded. Miranda's gaze darted to the door, her heart fluttering with insane hopes and curiosity. Her gaze flicked to the clock. Barely twenty minutes had passed from when she arrived. It wasn't opening time, yet, and no one was scheduled to come in for another forty minutes.
Miranda eased as Naomi step in. Her relief was short-lived as soon as her eyes focused on her face. Dark bags hung under Naomi's stark blue eyes, almost like dark shiners from a brawl. Her blonde hair was hastily pulled back into a ponytail. Her outfit, usually accessory-ridden and painstakingly crafted, was a typical dark skirt and white blouse number. Naomi flashed Miranda a weary smile, her strong tone softened, “Hey.”
“Naomi, you're early,” Miranda managed to force a smile to her lips, but concern swept through her head. She couldn't imagine what had Naomi so wearied. A suspicion itched at the back of her head. Was Naomi affected by Jack's departure? Sure, she hadn't spoken much about the man, but the few snippets were laved with wistful sighs and pinked cheeks.
“I couldn't sleep,” groaned Naomi. She teetered on her heels as she closed in on the office, where Miranda was checking through some online security notices. Her body wobbled, as if the blonde were made of solid wood. She slumped against the doorframe, dropping her purse unceremoniously on the carpet. “I feel like shit.”
“I'm sorry. You don't look that sick, just tired.”
“I ache all over and I couldn't keep anything down this morning,” Naomi bemoaned, leaning more heavily against the doorjamb.
“Sounds like the flu. You should go to the doctor.”
“But I don't feel icky. Just my body is mutinying against me.” Naomi jutted her lip out, setting her jaw in a stubborn grimace.
Miranda knew there was no arguing with her. “Well, how about you sit down and relax until the bank opens?”
Naomi's shoulders slumped, but she nodded in a grateful fashion. She shoved off the doorjamb and toddled to the lobby area to slump into one of the cushioned chairs.
A twinge of sympathy echoed in Miranda's heart. Naomi wasn't the best, attendance-wise, but she knew her limits. If she felt well enough to work, she could handle it. That didn't keep the little worry at the back of Miranda's brain silent, though.
She tried to shove her concerns down as the minutes ticked by. Instead, her head became split along three avenues: Tyler, Naomi, and work. Miranda barely finished the morning routine before the first, impatient knock sounded on the bank's door. She ducked her head over the counter, hiding her wince of displeasure.
Old woman Curtis stood on the other side of the glass. Her face, wrinkled like a dried apple, puckered around her scowl as she rapped her knuckles along the glass. Miranda sighed and went to the door. Mrs. Curtis was a well-respected, long-time patron of the bank and her family insisted on treating her a margin better than others. As she unlocked the door and swung it open, she plastered a smile across her lips, “Mrs. Curtis, come in.”
“About time you opened,” complained the elderly woman as she scuttled past Miranda. She clutched her purse in her hands, like a rat holding onto a piece of cheese. Miranda sighed and followed after Mrs. Curtis, sucking down the urge to roll her eyes. Mrs. Curtis's eyes landed on Naomi, who slumped in her chair with her arm over her eyes. The old woman inhaled sharply, before squawking, “What are you doing sitting around? Come now, come now, get behind the counter!”
Naomi jolted from her seat. She blinked a couple times, her large blue eyes taking a second longer to focus. When recognition passed over Naomi's face, Miranda could spot the slight wrinkle of her nose. However, the blonde skittered around the counter, taking her usual position. “Mrs. Curtis, I can assist you here.”
With the knowledge that Naomi could handle Mrs. Curtis, Miranda made her way to the office. She glanced over the day's work schedule, which she had printed off earlier. Within the hour, two more tellers would arrive. Miriam had the day off, but the woman would certainly come in, if called – not that Tuesdays were extremely busy bank days. Yet, it paid to be prepared.
Mrs. Curtis's shrill demand cut through Miranda's thoughts, “Are you even paying attention!”
Miranda's head snapped up. Naomi wasn't feeling well. Warning bells ricocheted through her head as the atmosphere shifted. Her arms broke out in gooseflesh as she raced to the open doorway. As Miranda ducked into the lobby, she caught the sight of Naomi.
The color slowly drained from her face as she braced herself on the counter. Her eyes lashes fluttered, as if she were trying clear an obstruction in her vision. Naomi's body crumpled. Her head bounced off the wooden counter then she slid off the surface. Her body thumped to the floor.
Mrs. Curtis let out a shriek and scuttled backward as Miranda rushed forward. She knelt beside Naomi, cellphone out and 911 ringing.
Miranda was sputtering directions just as Naomi's eyes fluttered open. Her eyes rolled back and forth, shiny in her pale face. She grasped Miranda's wrist, gaining her attention. Managing a weak smile, she said, “I'm fine.”
Miranda's expression hardened as she stared down at Naomi. A stream of blood oozed from the gash on Naomi's forehead. Averting her gaze, she finished her instructions, “Yes, the Legacy bank. Yes. Thank you.”
Naomi weakly dissented throughout, her grip on Miranda tightening. Miranda ignored her protests. The longer she talked, the weaker her voice became until she could barely whisper, “I swear, I'm all right.”
Miranda snapped her phone shut and pocketed the phone. When her gaze flicked back to Naomi, the heat of determination flared. “I'm taking you to the hospital. No arguments.”