Everything in Hans’s stomach, admittedly not a lot, wanted to come up. His father had said he’d have a small stipend he received from some tutoring he could contribute to the payment. Without it, they were short. Again.
Hans swallowed down bile, forced himself to meet Pender’s accusing stare and said, “We’re just a little short, but I have three lessons tomorrow, so I’ll have it for you before close of business.”
Pender gathered up the money slowly and spoke low and tired. “We can’t keep doing this, Hans. I know you’re all trying, uh, you and Greta are trying hard, but soon it’ll be out of my hands. The bank will be forced to assume your collateral.”
The ice up his spine froze the words on Hans’s lips.
Greta leaped in. “We understand, Mr. Pender. We’ll have the balance of the payment to you tomorrow, with interest, okay?”
Pender sighed. “It’s not just this. You know that, Greta. You’re seriously in arrears. A little at a time, the shortfalls have been building up. I’ve tried to hide them and gloss them over, but I won’t be able to do it for much longer. We have an upcoming change of management at the bank.” He shook his head. “Things are going to get tougher.”
She nodded and pulled back on their father’s arm.
As Greta and their dad exited out the door, Pender held up a hand to Hans. “Hans, wait a minute.” He watched Greta disappear and then said, “I’m sorry to say this, but I can’t give you more than another ten days.”
If someone hit him with a rock, Hans couldn’t be more stunned. Ten days. “But—”
“It’s my fault. I’ve been too easy about the debt and let you believe we’d carry it indefinitely. Sadly, with the new management, that won’t happen. I’m already getting pressure.” He sighed loudly. “I didn’t want to say it in front of Greta and your father. We don’t want a scene.”
Scene? Shit. He’d gladly dissolve into tears right there.
There was nothing he could say, so he turned and stumbled out of the office and then out the front door of the bank.
On the sidewalk in front, Greta had managed to get their father onto a bench near the bus stop.
Hans wanted to run to her and cry on her shoulder, but that wasn’t fucking fair. Besides, trying to explain in front of their father was just going to confuse him more, which in turn confused Hans. Their father might have been a bit air-headed, but not really out-of-it until lately. Taking a deep breath, Hans walked to the bench and sat beside Greta.
A muscle was jumping in Greta’s jaw and she stared at their father. Uh-oh. Greta’s voice grated. “What happened to the money you were going to have for the payment?”
His father frowned abstractedly. “Arachne invited me to lunch, but then I found I must be a gentleman and pay.”
“Who the hell is Arachne?” Greta’s temper was closer to the surface than Hans’s.
Hans murmured, “She teaches with Father.”
“And she got the money that was supposed to pay our bill? Oh God.” She covered her face with her hands.
Father said, “But I had to.”
Hans patted his back, but he had no words.
Greta stood behind Hans and gripped his shoulders. She knew. She knew as well as he did that the collateral on the loan was their house. And inside the house, was Hans’s piano. But what she didn’t know was that ten days from then, they’d be homeless.
Fifteen minutes later, they got off the bus a block from their house. When their mom was alive, it had been cute, with fresh paint and lots of flowers, partly because their mother loved those things and partly because she’d worked in a boutique to provide a separate income. They’d gotten by fine. Now, the neglect showed, despite Hans trying to keep the grass mowed and a few pansies going in the beds.
As they dragged up the walk, their father stopped at the mailbox. Hans and Greta went on into the house. Man, it sure wasn’t what it had been.
An old second—no make that third- or fourthhand—sofa sat in the living room, along with some half-decent chairs and the piano. Hans’s baby. His pride. It was a Steinway B model, smaller and less costly than their concert grands but still an important instrument. His mother had inherited it from an uncle who’d favored her and knew she played. When she got it, they’d had to clear half the living room to