Saturday Morning Serial is the weekend section of Library Binding. It’s a personal corner where I publish short stories, book reviews, and literary musings. I’m Michelle Watson, and I’m so glad you stopped by.
Jeff was standing in line at the grocery store's customer service desk, trying to decide whether to ask for a scratch card or a job application. Only two people in front of him now, making the slow march forward.
The job would bring him a pathetic paycheck, but a steady one. A lucky Scratch & Win could wipe out his problem in a stroke. He shifted his lean body sideways to eye the colorful tickets on display.
His phone purred against his hand in his jacket pocket. Another text from Wayne. "Money due 9 tonight at casino same table as last time bring cash no excuses."
Jeff shoved his phone back in his pocket without responding. Where was he going to come up with that kind of money by nine tonight? Wayne had already slashed the tires on Jeff's motorcycle because he had been "so hard to get a hold of" lately.
Another text from Wayne. "Hey I friended you on Facebook but you ignored me saw this." A picture of his ex-wife and their son, Theo. It was old. Theo was only four, big cheesy grin, eyes squeezed shut against the sun.
Jeff's scalp prickled. He took one step forward in line and felt pressure build behind his left eye. It would start twitching soon. How many Match 3s could he afford? No, he told himself. No. That's what got you here in the first place. The job—that's what you're here for.
Wayne wasn't going to hurt Theo. But he might slash the tires on his ex-wife's SUV, and that wouldn't be easy to explain—or pay back.
The sliding glass doors buzzed open and an attractive, middle-aged woman rushed inside and made a beeline for the Coinstar machine. The woman's body looked like someone had wrenched each joint as tight as it would go.
"I just got here," she muttered into her phone. She didn't strike Jeff as the type of person who used automated coin kiosks.
Even though she wore blue jeans and a white T-shirt, Jeff could tell she hadn't found them on rollback at Wal-Mart, which is where he'd been shopping for years. Diamond stud earrings winked at him through her honey-blonde hair as she whipped her head from side to side, checking. For what?
She wasn't crying, but her eyes managed to look wet and on fire at the same time. One hand gripped the phone, while she plunged the other inside a creamy leather handbag and retrieved a thick white envelope emblazoned with a bank logo.
"What do I do?" the woman tried whispering, but her sharp tone cut through the beeping of registers, the crashing of plastic bags, and the squeaking of cart wheels.
"Okay," the woman spat, as she began tapping the Coinstar screen. The person on the other end of the call must be giving her instructions. Before he realized what he was doing, Jeff took a step out of line toward the woman, then another.
She tapped a digital keypad, and he saw the words "Insert Cash" appear on the screen. Then a dull, repetitive chime and the soft ruffle of paper as the woman pulled a thick wad from the envelope. Three more steps, and Jeff stood near enough to touch her.
"Excuse me, ma'am."
The woman yelped and whipped around, as greenbacks fluttered to ground. "No!" she wailed, as Jeff stammered a couple of sorrys. They both bent and stretched to snatch up the fallen one-hundred dollar bills, like kids under a pinata.
Jeff looked at his fists, ten or twelve crisp hundreds, and his mouth hung open. It wouldn't cover what he owed, but it would get Wayne off his back long enough to figure something out. Jeff straightened up and tidied the bills in his hand. The woman pressed her lips together. "Hang on," she hissed into her phone, "I'm still here. Dropped the cash on the ground. Give me a sec."
She extended her free hand, and Jeff made to give her the money but stopped.
"I don't mean to, you know...but is everything alright?" Jeff asked.
"I can't talk about it," the woman said and snatched the bills from his hand. Jeff narrowed his eyes. What was a spaniel like this doing at a Coinstar kiosk at three-thirty on a Thursday afternoon with a few thousand dollars in cash and a swarm of bees up her butt?
"Hey," he whispered, and she glared at him. He pointed at her phone, put a finger to his lips, and mouthed the word, "Mute." He smiled a little, reassuringly he hoped.
Without taking her eyes off Jeff, the woman muted her phone and said, "I'm paying a fine that I owe."
"Folks don't pay bills at a Coinstar, ma'am," Jeff said.
The woman's mouth wobbled.
"I'm on the phone with the Sherriff's Office," she said, then paused, considering Jeff, from his scuffed work boots to the curls escaping from his ballcap. She continued in a rush, "They have a warrant for my arrest, and I need to pay this fine or go to jail. The deputy told me I need to register my payment here, and this machine will print out a voucher. I'm supposed to take it to the station, where they'll clear me of the charges."
Jeff couldn't help himself. He laughed, a short bark at first, but then he let it roll. He pressed his thumbs against the bridge of his nose, trying to catch his breath. The woman raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms.
"Lady, that's a scam."
"What?"
"You're getting scammed, I say. The police don't work that way."
"Are you saying that the cop I'm talking to, this Deputy Badger, is a con man?"
"What did he tell you?"
"Apparently, I never showed up for a federal grand jury summons. An issue with the post office..." Creases bloomed across her forehead.
Jeff got his own phone and searched the number for the County Sheriff's Office. He pressed the green call circle and then the speaker button.
"Navajo County Sherriff's Office," said a scratchy woman's voice.
"Hey there," said Jeff, "my friend here got a call from Deputy Badger saying she has a warrant because she didn't show up for jury duty. He told her she needs to pay a fine at a Coinstar machine. Is this legit?"
"We never ask for money," said the receptionist, "That sounds like a scam."
The woman lunged for Jeff's phone, and he let her snatch it.
"Hello, this is Molly Wells, and I'm the friend." She fired question after question, and the receptionist assured her that she was not going to jail and she didn't owe any fines.
The woman, Molly, thanked her, ended the call, and handed Jeff his phone. Then, Molly fixed her gaze on her own muted phone, the call still active, the supposed deputy barking tinny demands. She took a deep breath and unmuted the line.
"Deputy Badger," she cut in, "you should be ashamed of yourself." Her thumb connected with the red circle, and her face crumpled like a wet flower.
Tears rolled down her beautiful cheekbones and clung to her chin. She hugged herself and staggered toward a small table and chairs that the grocery store provided for people who bought fancy drinks from the Starbucks counter. Jeff pulled out one of the rickety chairs, and Molly collapsed into it and covered her face with both hands.
"I am such an idiot," she groaned through her fingers. "I can't believe I fell for it. That was so obviously a scam!"
Jeff saw the corner of the white envelope sticking out of her bag. Molly was in such a state, she wouldn't notice it was missing until she got home, and even then, she'd probably blame herself for dropping it. But he forced himself to look away.
He pulled out his own wallet instead, and two minutes later, he handed Molly a tall plastic Starbucks cup filled with icy pink liquid. She was breathing evenly, the sick haze of fear had mostly burned off.
"Thank you," she said, pulling hard on the straw with her pretty lips. Jeff saw a wedding ring, a big one, on the hand that cradled the cup. She wasn't fat, but her body was soft, like she cared more about making good meals than punishing herself at the gym. Jeff offered her a couple of brown paper napkins. She dabbed her face.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Jeff."
"Jeff," Molly exhaled his name, "You just saved my skin." She looked him in the eye. "How can I ever thank you?"
That envelope there, Jeff thought. But he said, "I could tell you were scared."
"I was terrified."
"I knew it wasn't right."
"My husband would've killed me if that guy scammed me out of six grand."
"Six thousand dollars?" Jeff chuckled nervously.
"Yep," Molly laughed. Relief poured out of her, and she pulled the white envelope from her purse and waved it in the air. "I was about to put six thousand freaking dollars into that machine, never to be seen again! Jeff, can you believe I am such a fool?"
"Those guys, they know what to say to scare you."
"You're right! He led me down the primrose path, one question at a time, and made me believe an outlandish lie. It was right there in front of my face, and I didn't see it. I am horrified by myself."
Jeff smiled and tried not to look at the envelope, which Molly had placed on the table in plain sight. He could grab it and race out the door in three seconds flat.
"And then you came along and saved the day," Molly raised her plastic cup to toast him, "and even bought me a refreshing pink lemonade to restore my wits and revive my spirits."
"Well, it ain't right to scam people like that. They shouldn't be allowed to get away with it." Jeff hated the envelope, the money peeking at him. A fraction of those bills would satisfy Wayne and give Jeff a little room to breathe.
"You are a hero, Jeff."
"Nope."
"Well, you're my hero."
Molly Wells. Jeff knew the name, but he couldn't say where. She tapped her polished fingernails against the cup for a few moments, and then she seemed to snap out of her giddy adrenaline rush. "Are you from around here?" she asked.
"I'm from over Concho way, but I've been here for a while."
"You look young. What do you do?"
"I was working over at the casino, but they had layoffs a while back, so I've been taking a lot of day jobs lately." Jeff cringed at his own words. Here he was, thirty-six years old, no real job and a pile of gambling debt. He was seriously considering the noble prospect of working the third shift in the grocery stockroom to dig himself out of his own mess.
"Yes, I heard about those layoffs," Molly said, "Can you do office work? Like phones and typing?"
"No, ma'am," Jeff let a smile creep, "I'm more brawn than brains."
Molly's face broke into a grin. "Well, you have common sense, and that's more than I can say for myself today. My husband is always looking for office help, which is why I ask. He's an orthopedic, the only one on the mountain, always busy, and he's constantly hiring. But so many of the people he hires don't have common sense. Not an ounce. It's wild."
Dr. Wells, that's it. Jeff remembered the billboard over by the highway. Molly married a good-looking guy. And a doctor. No wonder she had six K on hand. Molly crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair, completely at ease now, and said, "I consider myself rather brainy, but all it took was a little pressure and a few lies to make me lose every shred of common sense. You saw me back there at the Coinstar, snapping at you like a dog."
Jeff didn't answer right away. He swiped off his cap and shook his shaggy curls. Felt the weight of his phone in his pocket. Cleared his throat. "It's easier to have common sense about stuff that don't concern me. When it comes to my stuff, it's..."
"Much harder to see clearly," Molly finished for him.
"Yep."
"On the other hand, I can't see you falling for a scam like that. My husband never would've..." she raised her eyebrows mischievously, "I think."
"You going to tell him about today?" Jeff asked.
"Of course! I'll confess the whole hairy story." She pointed to the envelope, which was still lounging on the table, "Hey, no real harm done," and she dropped it into her bag. Jeff stiffened. Molly Wells didn't need six thousand dollars, but him? It could save him. The Facebook photo of Theo flashed behind his eyes. Molly had called him a hero. Maybe, now, he had to be a hero for his kid.
Over Molly's shoulder, Jeff saw a teenage girl, dressed in black, a curtain of black hair covering most of her face. The girl took a few timid steps in their direction and then tapped Molly on the shoulder.
"Mrs. Wells?" the girl said, smiling but covering her teeth with one hand the way so many girls did.
"Jacqui! Hi!" Molly stood, plopped her purse on the table, and wrapped the girl in a squeeze. Molly let go, turned to Jeff and said, "Jacqui was one of my students. I teach at the high school." Out of the corner of her mouth, she added, "I can handle a room full of thirty teenagers, but I get one scam call and go to pieces." She turned her attention back to Jacqui, and said, "You having a good summer?" and the two slid easily into small talk.
She was a teacher. Probably didn't need to work but did it anyway out of the goodness of her big, bleeding heart. She remembered kids' names and treated them like gold in the grocery store. Jeff didn't know why this bothered him. His eyes locked on Molly's leather bag, the strap dangling in his direction. His phone vibrated again in his jacket pocket, and he didn't need to check it. Wayne would text him every hour on the hour till nine tonight. His knee jiggled.
Losing the money wouldn't devastate Molly. Barely make a dent in the long run. After all, she would've flushed it down the toilet if it weren't for him, so it's not like she'd be worse off. Maybe he could track her down at the school and pay her back after he got his legs under him. It would be like a temporary loan, to fix things. How many times had he prayed for Lady Luck to send him a piece of good fortune? Here, she finally shows up at the last second with six thousand bucks, and he's going to pass that up?
Jeff was a gambler, but this was beyond risky. Molly knew his name and face. Still, he was out of options. The thing was, Jeff thought, Molly would probably help him if he asked her. He'd done some messed-up things, but he didn't think he could bring himself to beg. He'd rather stand under a stoplight with a piece of cardboard than ask Molly to her face.
Suddenly, Jeff realized that Jacqui had walked away and Molly was staring at him. He imagined what he must look like to her. Arms crossed, slouched, and staring at her purse like it was a ticking time bomb. Molly had a strange expression on her face. She sat down and slid the bag onto her shoulder.
"You feeling better, Mrs. Wells?" Jeff asked.
"Much better, Jeff." Molly swirled the straw in her pink lemonade and put the cup on the table between them. A few seconds later, she added the white envelope. She opened it and took out one of the hundred-dollar bills.
"Jeff, you need to take this from me as a small token of thanks."
"I can't take that, ma'am," Jeff said.
"Well, I won't take no for an answer."
Jeff smiled and considered the bill in her manicured hand. He considered the envelope. He looked into Molly's chocolate brown eyes.
Molly extended the hand with the money, and Jeff extended his, so it was hard to tell who knocked over the pink lemonade, but it crashed to the floor, ice cubes skidding into the self-checkout area. Annoyed shouts. A few gasps.
Molly ran to the Starbucks counter for more napkins, and Jeff crouched to collect the dirty ice, plunking it into the now-empty cup. By the time an employee arrived with a mop, and Molly had uttered every apology in the book, Jeff had reached the exit. Molly called after him, and he turned, threw her a smile and waved. Then, he hurried away.
This story is inspired by an actual phone call that I got from Deputy Badger (a common last name in my town). Thankfully, I never made it to the bank, but I thought to myself, What if I had? I wanted to write about how easy it is to let go of common sense under pressure.
Tell me: Have you ever been scammed?
Before you go—a song, a scripture, and a survey.
🎶 Oh where does that kind of love come from? / They say that it runs in his blood.
Commune with your own heart upon your bed, and be still. –Psalm 4:4
I’ll leave you with one irresistible indulgence—I’m sure I can find a spare window for this beauty.
Your devoted,
Michelle
