The Air We Breathe Read Online Free Page B

Henry stood at the end of it. Hanna fell into a red vinyl chair next to a table with pens and deposit slips stored in the appropriate cubbies. She picked up a stack and flipped the edge with her thumb, like shuffling a deck of cards. Fffft. She did it again, and again, until her father cast a sideways glance at her and she stuffed the papers back into their proper spot.
    By the time her father arrived at the teller window, there was only one woman waiting for service, and two men with ball caps and sunglasses sitting in chairs outside one of the banker cubicles. Their glasses were wire-rimmed with brownish-gold lenses, like pilots wore—at least in a couple of movies she’d seen. Her mother would have approved.
    Hanna ducked under the red velvet rope and stood next to Henry.
    “Hey, Hanna Banana,” the teller said. It was Marie, the nice one with the birthmark on her chin and neck. The odd pink skin caught the corner of her lip, too, causing it to swell so it looked as if half her mouth pouted all on its own, even when she smiled. Marie wore a thick, etched wedding band—it covered nearly to her knuckle—and above that another ring of tiny clustered stones Hanna guessed were diamonds, even though they were more gray than clear. She wondered if there was something wrong with Marie’s husband, too. Did he have a similar stain across his face? A limp? Three fingers on his left hand? She couldn’t imagine some normalperson marrying Marie, no matter how nice. Hanna’s mother wouldn’t have married her father if he’d been imperfect. At least, she didn’t think Susan would have.
    The gray-haired security guard put his key in the inside lock just as another sunglassed man yanked open the door and, panting, squeezed his obese body through.
    “Just made it,” the guard said with a laugh and turned the key. “Don’t worry, I’ll let you out.”
    The guy wiped his face on his ribbed shirt cuff, his hair covered in a navy blue bandana. “Thanks.”
    Henry chatted with Marie as Hanna watched the last woman customer leave—apparently so had the two guys in the aviator glasses, so it was only her and her father and the fat, sweaty man in the bandana who stood next to the Please Wait Here for the Next Available Teller sign. He shifted around on his big black Nikes, kept snuffling and clearing his throat. Finally, he said, “Excuse me, sir. I’m in a hurry.”
    “Oh, sorry, sorry,” Henry said, tucking his deposit slip into his back pocket. “I’m here going on and you’re waiting. Marie, lovely as ever. See you next week. Sir, she’s all yours.”
    With his hand in that place between her shoulder blades, Henry moved Hanna toward the door, and she watched as Bandana Man stepped up to the teller. His hands shook. He slid an envelope under the glass window. As she opened it, Marie’s smile trembled, melted. Her eyes flicked toward the old security guard, who was chatting with Henry about his gout. Hanna didn’t know what gout was, but she knew something was wrong.
    “Dad, let’s go.”
    “Just a minute, hon.”
    “Mom’s waiting.”
    “Hanna.”
    “No, no, don’t let me keep you,” the guard said. “I’m old. I can blather about my ailments until Christmas, there’s so many of them.” He fumbled with the key ring at his side, heavy with at least a dozen metal keys, and unhooked it from the clip on his belt. “You folks have a good day now.”
    “You too,” Henry said.
    The guard, about to stick one of the fat gold keys in the lock, suddenly looked up and noticed Marie. His hand slowly, silently, tucked the ring into his pocket and floated over to rest on the handle of his gun. “Marie, you all right there?”
    At that moment the two sunglassed men burst from the restroom, each holding a pistol. The fat one at the teller also pulled out his gun from the waistband of his gray running pants.
    “Okay, listen now,” one of the men said. He was tall, bone thin, wore a Boston Red Sox baseball hat, brim