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her to have a better life than I had.”
    “Oh?” My
newly acquired listening skills kicked in as she forged ahead.
    Nikki
sighed. “I was so messed up as a teen. Hung out with the wrong crowd. Got into
so much trouble. And I want so much more than that for Amber.”
    Trouble?
What kind of trouble?
    She
continued on, her brow knotting a bit as she spoke. “For a while there, I
really didn’t think I’d make anything out of my life. I was, well—let’s
just say I was ‘away’ for a while. My mom could tell you all about it.”
    Away? As
in, reform school? Jail?
    I glanced
across the room, but found Warren still engaged in conversation with a client.
Nikki didn’t seem to notice my discomfort. She kept on talking, and I kept on
listening.
    And
listening.
    Turned
out, today’s Bible verse had arrived just in time, as evidenced by my recurring
temptation to react to Nikki’s woeful tale. Plenty of times along the way I
longed to open my mouth, to interject a motherly thought or two. But I bit my
tongue and just let her talk.
    She went
on quite awhile, covering details about her life as a single mom. The story
ended on an upbeat note as she talked about being hired on at the security
company Guards on Call.
    “My uncle
got me the job.” She chuckled. “Not that I’m really security guard material,
but he pulled a few strings.”
    I looked
at the gun strapped to her side and swallowed hard. Yep. Something about all of
this just sounded suspicious. Gun-toting security guards didn’t just “get” jobs.
They trained, prepared, and underwent certification. I gave her another
once-over as she kept talking. Sure, I heard what she said with her mouth, but
now wondered if I should be reading between the lines. Mental note: Check out
Guards on Call on the Internet.
    Just
then, Warren joined us. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting, Annie,” he whispered
into my ear.
    As he
slipped his arm around my waist I cradled against him. “It’s fine. Nikki and I
were having a nice chat.” Actually, she chatted; I listened.
    Warren
and I left the building moments later and I noticed a silver sports car in the
parking lot. I’d seen a commercial advertising the expensive dream car some
time ago, and had drooled as I watched it. “Wow. That’s beautiful.”
    “Sure
is.” Warren gave it a closer look. “Looks like it’s a couple of years old, but
it’s top of the line, for sure. Look at that stereo system.” He pointed in the
window and I peered a bit closer to absorb the luxury of it all.
    “Man.” I
let out a little whistle of appreciation, and then my gaze shifted to the door
of the bank. “Who do you think it belongs to?” I didn’t recall seeing any
unfamiliar customers inside.
    Warren
shrugged. “I don’t have a clue. I know Richard was talking about getting a new
car a few months ago, but I can’t imagine it, with all he’s going
through—”
    I shook
my head in disbelief. “No way.”
    “Still,
he has been worried about that old clunker of his making it back and forth to
Philly every day.” Warren rubbed at his chin, deep in thought. “But knowing how
frugal he is, I can’t imagine it.”
    “Me
either.”
    We gave
the car another admiring once-over, then, practicality setting in, Warren broke the silence with a question. “Where would
you like to eat?”
    I didn’t
have to think very long before responding. I’d seen the sign in the front of
the Clarksborough Diner on Main. Their special of the
day happened to be my favorite: Grilled Chicken Caesar Salad. Yummy.
    “The
diner? Are you sure?” He chuckled. “I thought for sure you’d want something a
little nicer than that.”
    “Nah. I’m
a diner kind of girl.”
    With
clear skies overhead, we made our way on foot to the familiar eatery. Once
inside, we settled into the booth and the waitress, an unfamiliar young woman
with a pierced lip and eyebrow handed us our menus.
    “I don’t
need this, honey,” I slid it back across the table.