The Fugitive Grandma Lives

Chapter 6 - Second Chances

The same afternoon across town Frank Valentine, father of Johnny and son of Stella, waited in line at the bank while a teller checked over his paper work and counted a thick envelope of twenty dollar bills. The teller's lovely auburn hair dangled at her shoulders, brushing against neatly-pressed silk blouse that appeared as if it might have come from one of the brand name outlets on El Paseo Drive. The crimson color of her wireframe glasses matched her glistening lipstick, exuding a reflective glow from the light panels overhead.

Frank had always had a thing for tellers, ever since his first trip to the bank as a kid exchanging rolls of coins for crisp dollar bills. As a bag boy in the grocery where his mother worked the cash register, Frank would earn pennies and nickels, then stack them into paper rolls that he would walk to the local bank. He became smitten with the young ladies behind the shatter-proof service windows who carried themselves with such poise and grace. 

He'd watch their full, moist lips and white, straight teeth as they rattled on about annual percentage rates and checking fees. As a boy he'd always wished his mother Stella could work in a bank instead of bagging groceries at the neighborhood supermarket. He knew tellers weren't paid much better than his mom, in fact some were paid less. But appearances made such a difference.

When Frank became a young man, he'd still avoid the ATM and make deposits in person, just for the chance to chat with a pretty young teller. That was how he met his wife, Johnny's mom. They married young and spent their first years together trying to figure out what they wanted in life. They realized they didn't want each other. The birth of a child brings some troubled couples closer together. In this case it drove them further apart. Frank's wife left him for a wealthy man who moved her to the other side of the country, with Johnny remaining in his custody to stay close to Grandma Stella.

"Paul Chase," the teller said, reading Frank's forged driver's license. "You're new to Palm Valley?" She introduced herself as Shari.

"That's right. I need to set up a bank account."

"All right. I'll need to ask you a few questions first. When did you come here to Palm Valley?"

"About a year ago."

"And you're just setting up a bank account now?"

"What can I say? I'm a procrastinator."

The truth was Frank had been scared to set up a bank account. Fugitives pay everything in cash or money order. That's what he'd thought, at least. The reality wasn't that simple. After a couple months, their Palm Valley landlord seemed to be growing suspicious of a tenant who insisted on paying via large envelopes stuffed with twenty dollar bills. The utilities companies weren't used to seeing it either. Nobody in good standing paid cash for anything anymore and that meant more people he had to meet directly just to go about his business, more people who took a notice. He had to make himself seem normal. And that meant figuring out a way to go back to checking accounts and credit cards.

Sooner or later he feared someone was going to recognize Frank's wanted face hidden behind dyed brown hair and a well groomed beard, even if the Valentine caper didn't play on the TV news or the FBI Most Wanted.

Shari finished counting the money in the envelope. "You were keeping this under the mattress?" she asked with a flirty smile. She was pretty. Frank guessed she was around the same age as him, a little old to be stuck in a front-line teller job. Maybe she was starting over like so many people who moved to Palm Valley.

"I needed a little time off the grid," Frank explained.

"Are you a fugitive or something?" She smirked. She was trying to make him laugh.

  Frank didn't flinch.

"I split with my wife before the move."

"I'm so sorry," Shari said. She wasn't sorry.

"I figured it was better to play dead until I was ready to live again." His voice cracked at just the right moment adding that touch of vulnerability. Frank knew she wouldn't ask any more questions after that.

"I think you'll like it out here in Palm Valley," Shari said. "The good thing about California is everyone gets a second chance."

"Is that right?"

She finished processing the account and called her manager over for the co-sign before issuing him an ATM card.

"We also have a promotional offer on a credit card. Are you interested? We'd just need to run your credit check."

Frank paused. "Not right now. Maybe next time."

"OK. Then you're all set, Mr. Chase. Please call me any time you have a question," she said, slipping her business card into his hand. He could feel the chemistry between them. He wished he could hold her hand but he knew his touch was toxic.

Frank went to the parking lot and sat in his parked car for a long time hold his head in his hands, running his fingers through hair dyed to conceal his appearance. He was thirty nine years old, stuck in a cycle of hiding and retreat, unable to see a future for himself or his family.

Shari, the lovely bank teller, told him that this was the land of second chances. Frank had failed many times in his life as a businessman, as a husband, as a father and a son. Defeat and disappointment were longtime, faithful friends who seemed to join him no matter where he went.

Up until the day his family went into hiding, Frank could always think about starting over no matter how many times he failed. Now the only thing he had left to hold on to was his love for his son and his mother. But they were trapped just like him. How long before the trap crushed their hopes and smothered the love between them?

The bank teller wore no ring on her slender fingers. He guessed she knew the pain of heartbreak as well as him, though maybe she hadn't given up on love. Deep down he knew he craved another chance at romance, the opportunity to share his life with someone, to care, caress and grow old together. But how could he share his real world with any woman? How could tell anyone that he was really Frank Valentine, not Paul Chase, without creating an accessory to his crimes?

There was only woman who could possibly understand what the Valentines had been through and that was Rebecca Little, the Santa Ramona police detective who tracked his family down at the scene of their final robbery and ultimately helped them escape. That was the last woman who would ever get a glimpse of the real Frank Valentine.

Sitting in driver's seat, he was so deep in thought that he completely lost track of time. The sun had set over the mountains in the west and the bank was closed. He heard someone knock on the driver's side window of his car and he turned to see Shari standing outside. He rolled down the window.

"You have nowhere to go?" She asked, still teasing but also concerned. She was brave to be so forward with him.

"Sometimes it's easier to stay where you are," he replied.

"You can't stay here forever."

"No I guess not."

"You seem like a good man," she said. Her voice wavered like she was getting up the nerve to ask him something. "Maybe I could show you around some time. Palm Valley has some nice restaurants."

A long silence passed.

"I'm sorry," she said. "You probably think I'm too forward."

"It's not that," he said. "I think you're great."

"I just felt kind of close when you told me how you came here. I went through something similar. Most people out here are a little shallow. It's like they're pretending to be someone else. But Something about you feels genuine."

He shook his head, firmly rejecting the idea.

"You can't trust me," he said. "I'm sorry, Shari but I have to get dinner for my son and my mother."

"What's the matter, Mr. Chase? Are you one of those ones who is afraid?"

"Yeah. That's exactly who I am."