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withdrawal.”
    “In the amount of …?”
    June balked. She was testing her. The withdrawal amount was none of her business; she was just trying to fluster June. And by the way her colorless lips curled into a nasty smile, she thought it was working.
    “In the amount of $138.84.” June barely kept the grin off her face, but she turned away from Edith and finished Mr. Erikson’s transaction.
    The line went quicker after he left, but Edith didn’t stop glaring. June stood tall at her register and tried to stay alert. She carefully lifted one foot out of her navy sling-back heels and rubbed the ball of her stockinged foot against her calf. She’d scraped her bare leg against thorns the night before, and the scratch itched almost worse than her eyes. Down the way, Edith eyed June’s movement and scowled. June hitched a sunshine smile onto her face and slipped her foot back into her shoe.
    She’d paired the navy shoes with a smart navy dress in a slim silhouette that hit at her knee and a crisp matching jacket with a three-quarter sleeve. Narrow cuffs at her forearms closed with little gold buttons. June had chosen this outfit from her closet on purpose—she wore it whenever she needed some extra confidence. 
    Usually it worked. Now though …. The confusion and exhaustion of last night were catching up to her and she couldn’t help but do some more mental math. This outfit had been dear, something ordered especially from a shop in Denver. How much more useful could that money have been spent elsewhere? Helping her father pay bills or adding to her own meager savings? 
    June was still lost in tired thought when Edith walked over, each step as clipped and tight as her expression.
    “Don’t think that little display earlier means you’re ready to take on my duties, Ms. Powell.” She’d kept her tone quiet, almost light, but there was danger beneath those words. And even a little fear. 
    June frowned. “I’m not …,” she looked at Edith—really looked at her. She was an older woman than June, but severity made her appear more aged than she was. How many opportunities were there for a professional woman in Edith’s position? June couldn’t think of many. Maybe she’d been like June once—a woman craving her independence with only so many ways to achieve it. That thought softened the crease between June’s eyebrows. “Edith, I’m not trying to take anything from you.”
    “I’m not one of your friends, Ms. Powell. You will call me Ms. Applebaum.”
    So much for being friendly. June stood up straight, and her shoulders ached with the movement.
    “June?”
    Both women turned to see Clayton coming closer. 
    Edith pulled her chin high. “I was just helping Ms. Powell here with her customer service. The wait earlier was unacceptable.”
    Clayton blinked at Edith. “Yes, thank you, Ms. Applebaum, but I believe it’s my job to speak with employees whenever there’s an issue.” He turned away from Edith, whose face had gone incredibly pinched, to smile at June. “And there’s not. Except …,” Clayton looked up at the wall clock. “Every time I’ve left my office today, you’re still behind the counter. Have you taken a break yet?”
    June shook her head. She hadn’t wanted to bug Edith more than she already did simply with her presence. But now, with Clayton excusing her, June slid the small door in front of her teller station closed and grabbed her lunch pail. She slipped out the door with Edith still glaring at her. She didn’t know what she’d ever done to draw Edith’s ire. She always smiled, she was careful counting down her drawer and had never had a customer complaint. Well, except for ancient Ms. Stewart, but that old bag complained about everything. She’d complain her ice cream was too cold if anyone would listen to her.
    But the fresh air and sweet breeze blew thoughts of Edith away. June skirted the weekend market hubbub and found a quiet bench under one of the square’s old