At the downtown branch, the teller counted the hundred-dollar bills into neat stacks of ten.

It was eleven in the morning.

The marble counter was cold under my wrists.

Margaret stood next to me.

She had on a bright yellow scarf that made the bare bank lobby feel a little less stiff.

She drummed her fingernails on the wooden edge of the deposit slip holder while the young man counted.

The teller seemed nervous handling that much cash.

He counted the stacks a second time.