2

You know how they say, “If life gives you lemons make lemonade?”

I’ve tried that.

I’ve also figuratively tried lemon squares, lemon bars, lemon sherbert, lemon cake ... even lemon muffins. Know what I’ve decided? I hate lemons.

Why the lemon analogy? Because every day I’m forced to bite into another one. I mean, you already know about my horrible morning. Take that and multiply it by oh . . . half my life, and you have a whopping 5,000 days where something has gone wrong.

“Good morning, Ms. Hoyd.”

Tom Delacroix walks behind me through the back door of New York Savings and Loan. He’s the bank’s head teller and my equal in age, but certainly not in appearance. I get the feeling if he could’ve been born in 1905 he would have. Every day I see him in a three-piece Armani suit, cuff links, silk tie, and shoes polished so fine he can probably use them as mirrors.

“Hi, Tom.”

And no matter how many times I tell him, “just call me Deni,” I’m greeted “Ms. Hoyd.”

I’ve given up trying to correct the man.

“Looks like it’s going to rain,” I say.

Not only would Tom hop on the first time machine back to 1905, but if he had his way he’d probably become a meteorologist, too. Weather is always a safe subject with him.

Tom eyes me over the top of his gold wire-rim glasses. “Did you know about that stain on your shirt?”