The Banker stood at Eloise Gramine’s door, suitcase in hand, a doleful look spread across his face like rancid butter.
“Raven kicked me out. Can I stay until my next paycheck?”
Eloise stood aside; allowed The Banker to enter. She studied her slippers, noted the small tear along the right toe.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?”
Dust moats slanted past the faded red curtains and shattered on the hardwood floor. “It’s good to see you.”
The Banker shouldered past Eloise. “I need a shower.”
Eloise heard the guest bathroom door slam; heard the shower sputter, the water murmuring to itself. She padded to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. A cardinal lit on the crabapple tree outside her window, its tiny claws gripping the thin branch.
“Mother!” The Banker entered the kitchen, a faded towel wrapped around his waist, a shampoo bottle in his hand.”You have hundreds of dollars in here.”
“Thousands.” Neatly rolled up and tucked inside. Another couple of hundred in the conditioner, not that he needed to know.
The Banker pulled out a chair and sat. “You normally bring your own shampoo.” Some fancy-pants crap supposed to attract women, but smelling, Eloise thought, of motor oil.
“You need to see a doctor.” The Banker stood and headed for his bedroom.
Eloise followed him. “Whatever for?” She averted her eyes as he dropped the towel and stepped into his boxers.
“You have a problem.”
She laughed. “Seems like you’re the one with problems, both women and money.”
“One does not keep money in an empty shampoo bottle.”
“There’s been a string of robberies in town. Who’d think to look in the shower?”
“That’s quaint, Mother.” The banker buttoned his cuffs, shook the bills from the bottle. “I’ll put it in the bank. Get you some decent interest.”
The Banker grabbed his suitcase. “I’ve got to go, Mother.”
Eloise stood at the door, fingers grasping the frame, watching her son walk down the sidewalk to his car.
This was written for this week’s Trifecta Writing Challenge. The word was quaint.by