Night Swimming Read Free Page B

died.
    Charlotte was shocked. Hamsters died. Ants died when you stepped on them. But children didn’t die. She wept for weeks. There was nothing sadder than this, not even Jasper’s passing. And from that moment on, her perspective regarding life took on a different view forever.
    And now Charlotte would find out for herself what it was like to die. She would finally meet up with Jasper—that was if animals didn’t have their own separate heaven. A special heaven. However, she would certainly see her mother and Timmy LeBlanc again... and maybe even some people she preferred not to bump into. What could she do? If the Catholics were right, this was inevitable.
    Charlotte puzzled over Heaven, hell, and holy ghosts for a minute before falling into a complete stupor on the sofa.
    It was dark when she woke, and she felt around for the light. Her head pounded like a toy drum as she lay anchored to her seat, amazed. Somewhere between sobriety and sleep, a plan had formed. Had she dreamed it? She believed in destiny, and this seemed so serendipitous, like a vision a saint might have. However, there was nothing saintly about her plan. On the contrary, it bordered on blasphemy.
    She had one year to live and two thousand dollars in savings. She certainly couldn’t make up for all the time she’d lost on two thousand dollars. How could she seize the day and throw caution to the wind on funds so meager they could be stuffed into a cookie jar? No, she needed more money, but how? The plan came to her as simply as bending down and finding cash at a carnival, fallen from the pocket of some unlucky fair-goer. She would rob the bank.

CHAPTER 3
    T HE F IRST S AVINGS AND L OAN of New Hampshire was located in the center of Gorham. Low brown brick buildings that once signified industry now meant depression. Gorham was a town of hardworking middle- and lower-middle-class people.
Middle
—there it was again.
    Charlotte spent her last morning there going through her file cabinets and desk drawers, much the way one would rifle through the crevices of a couch searching for loose change. Reaching back into the deep cubbyhole she discovered discarded candy wrappers and Gummi Bears covered in lint, a buffalo head nickel, rubber bands, paper clips, nail polish that had hardened to a solid mass, and a stick of gum, so old now it could be snapped in two like a tongue depressor. Going through her things felt no less than an archaeological dig of a life utterly disposable, of no importance at all, a life that had been buried in the back of a cabinet for fifteen years.
    A hastily arranged going-away party was planned for Charlotte and would occupy much of her lunch break. Finally, a party that would signify closure and put a period at the end of this unmercifully long sentence.
    “So why are you leaving, Charlotte?” Happy Turner inquired. Happy worked at the bank with Charlotte and lived on Middle Street as well.
    “I’ve been doing this for so long, I just need a break,” Charlotte lied, nervous in her own story.
    “Maybe this is a wonderful opportunity, Charlotte,” Sara Cabot added. “After all, one never knows what’s around the corner.”
    “And Gorham isn’t getting any bigger,” Dottie Spencer concluded, suddenly embarrassed by the implications of the word “bigger.” She moved away as quickly as her clumsy legs could take her. It didn’t matter. Charlotte could hear the hushed buzzing coming from a hive of coworkers in the corner:
    “Oh, Charlotte, if she only lost that weight. She has such a pretty face.”
    “You know, if you can see past all that chubbiness, she’s actually very attractive.”
    And “Charlotte? I knew her when she was thin, and she was beautiful.”
    Charlotte was tired, tired of overhearing the judgments passed upon her, and she wanted out. She wanted to be some other person in some other place. She could not hear, taste, touch, feel, or see anything anymore. She was removed from the world, removed from the