Local Hero

afford to be a coward. It would be so easy to go back home, pull the covers over her head and hide out until Radley came home from school. No one who saw her would suspect that her stomach was in knots or that her palms were sweaty despite the frigid wind that whipped down the stairs as she emerged from the subway with a crowd of Manhattan’s workforce.
    If anyone had bothered to look, they would have seen a composed, slightly preoccupied woman in a long red wool coat and white scarf. Fortunately for Hester, the wind tunnel created by the skyscrapers whipped color into cheeks that would have been deadly pale. She had to concentrate on not chewing off her lipstick as she walked the half block to National Trust. And to her first day on the job.
    It would only take her ten minutes to get back home, lock herself in and phone the office with some excuse. She was sick, there’d been a death in the family—preferably hers. She’d been robbed.
    Hester clutched her briefcase tighter and kept walking. Big talk, she berated herself. She’d walked Radley to school that morning spouting off cheerful nonsense about how exciting new beginnings were, how much fun it was to start something new. Baloney, she thought, and hoped the little guy wasn’t half as scared as she was.
    She’d earned the position, Hester reminded herself. She was qualified and competent, with twelve years of experience under her belt. And she was scared right out of her shoes. Taking a deep breath, she walked into National Trust.
    Laurence Rosen, the bank manager, checked his watch, gave a nod of approval and strode over to greet her. His dark blue suit was trim and conservative. A woman could have powdered her nose in the reflection from his shiny black shoes. “Right on time, Mrs. Wallace, an excellent beginning. I pride myself on having a staff that makes optimum use of time.” He gestured toward the back of the bank, and her office.
    “I’m looking forward to getting started, Mr. Rosen,” she said, and felt a wave of relief that it was true. She’d always liked the feel of a bank before the doors opened to the public. The cathedral-like quiet, the pregame anticipation.
    “Good, good, we’ll do our best to keep you busy.” He noted with a slight frown that two secretaries were not yet at their desks. In a habitual gesture, he passed a hand over his hair. “Your assistant will be in momentarily. Once you’re settled, Mrs. Wallace, I’ll expect you to keep close tabs on her comings and goings. Your efficiency depends largely on hers.”
    “Of course.”
    Her office was small and dull. She tried not to wish for something airier—or to notice that Rosen was as stuffy as they came. The increase this job would bring to her income would make things better for Radley. That, as always, was the bottom line. She’d make it work, Hester told herself as she took off her coat. She’d make it work well.
    Rosen obviously approved of her trim black suit and understated jewelry. There was no room for flashy clothes or behavior in banking. “I trust you looked over the files I gave you.”
    “I familiarized myself with them over the weekend.” She moved behind the desk, knowing it would establish her position. “I believe I understand National Trust’s policy and procedure.”
    “Excellent, excellent. I’ll leave you to get organized then. Your first appointment’s at”—he turned pages over on her desk calendar—“9:15. If you have any problems, contact me. I’m always around somewhere.”
    She would have bet on it. “I’m sure everything will be fine, Mr. Rosen. Thank you.”
    With a final nod, Rosen strode out. The door closed behind him with a quiet click. Alone, Hester let herself slide bonelessly into her chair. She’d gotten past the first hurdle, she told herself. Rosen thought she was competent and suitable. Now all she had to do was be those things. She would be, because too much was riding on it. Not the least of those things was her pride. She hated making a fool of herself. She’d certainly done a good job of that the night before with the new neighbor.
    Even hours later, remembering it, her cheeks warmed. She hadn’t meant to insult the man’s—even now she couldn’t bring herself to call it a profession—his work, then, Hester decided. She certainly hadn’t meant to make any personal observations. The problem had been that she hadn’t been as much on her guard as usual. The man had thrown her off by inviting himself