The Exile

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by Gregory Erich Phillips


  She imagined that she was singing it to her own child. Deep in her heart, the destiny of motherhood tugged at her. She sometimes dreamed of her child—a daughter, usually—with such vividness that she felt it was reality. Her love for this imagined child was so strong that it made her afraid. Pain could cut deepest across the strongest love.

  Most of the time, this future seemed distant, but music brought it closer. Making the dream a reality would require risks. Would she ever be brave enough?

  She put the guitar back in its case and prepared for bed. She opened her bedroom window—the night breeze in springtime was so nice. This evening, it felt warm enough to leave the window open for the night. She took her earplugs out of the bathroom drawer so the city noises wouldn’t keep her awake.

  Leila had chosen this simple life. She worked her tail off to earn it. It gave her what she needed and kept her from getting hurt.

  But what about now? She had done the work. She had “made it.” Was it time to believe life could mean more?

  9

  “I’M SO GLAD you’re coming with me to this.”

  “Me too,” Jen said. “It’ll be fun. I get to meet these characters you keep talking about.”

  “Watch out for Cox.”

  “I know. You’ve told me.”

  Leila brought her friend into her small kitchen. “I’m almost ready.”

  Jen hopped up onto the countertop, dangling her legs as one of her sandals fell off her foot onto the floor. She looked at the sundress Leila wore.

  “You better have a bikini on under that.” The bright-blue halter strap of Jen’s own suit showed under her tank top.

  “I’m more comfortable in this. It’s a pool party, but I doubt I’ll want to swim.”

  Jen scowled at her. “It’s not about swimming. I know you have a bikini. I was with you when you bought it, remember?”

  “I need to work out some before wearing it. My stomach isn’t fit for public exposure right now. Maybe by summer.”

  “Come on. You look fantastic. Rock your curves, girl!”

  “Fine, I’ll bring it.” She only agreed to shut the skinny bitch up. “Not promising I’ll put it on.”

  They drove in Leila’s car to North Scottsdale. Here she went—to a work party on a Saturday. Samantha told her she should work more Saturdays. What else was this? At least she had a friend with her this time.

  “So, it’s two people’s birthday party?”

  “Yeah. Cox and Dennis share a cubicle and a birthday, so every April there’s a big party. This year, it’s Dennis’s fiftieth. The two of them couldn’t be more different, so it will inevitably be weird.”

  “Can’t wait.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up. Promise me you’ll come salsa dancing with me tonight. I’m going to need to blow off some steam after this party.”

  “Deal.”

  Leila glanced over as she ascended the hill. Jen’s eyes grew large at the million-dollar homes lining the road.

  “Your boss lives up here? Wow.”

  “I told you.” She turned up the driveway.

  Samantha’s house was of the vaguely Spanish design so common in Phoenix, with light stucco and orange-tiled roof, but it stood taller and grander than most. Leila thought it reflected Samantha’s personality to perfection. The sturdy pines that lined the driveway were too tall to have grown up with the house. They must have been brought in and planted as mature trees. All this greenery must have demanded an astronomical irrigation budget.

  Leila parked and walked with Jen around to the back. The large pool was surrounded by a spacious gray-stone patio, perched above the Phoenix valley. Potted bougainvillea and geraniums splashed the deck with spring color, while azalea vines climbed the fence, bursting with lush purple flowers. There was a bar to one side with a hired bartender. Music blared.

  Jen gaped at it all. Leila grabbed her hand.

  “Come on. I’ll introduce you to all these characters.”

  Cox bounded up to them. His skinny, hairless torso was heavily doused in sunscreen. “Is this my birthday present? You shouldn’t have.”

  “This is my friend, Jen.”

  “Really? What kind of friend?”

  “Huh?”

  “You hold hands. What else do you do?”

  Leila sighed, dropping Jen’s hand, which she had inadvertently hung on to.

  Cox slapped his forehead. “Now I get it. You’re into girls.”

  “That’s the only way you can reconcile that I won’t sleep with you?”

  “It all makes sense now that I know you’re a lesbo.”

  Jen snickered.

  “Please don’t embarrass yourself. I told you, Jen and I are just friends.”

  Jen’s snicker had turned into full-on laughing.

  “I bet you at least, you know . . .” Cox began making lewd hand gestures.

  “Oh God,” Leila muttered. She marched away from Jen and Cox, angry at them both. She was upset with Jen for encouraging him with her laughter. But Jen followed her.

  Dennis greeted them next, already reveling in his birthday party while his wife followed him disinterestedly. DeShawn sat by the pool. Rosemary was splashing around in it. Tommy Wong lounged in the shade in dark sunglasses, jeans, and a designer shirt, looking completely out of place and clearly not caring a bit.

  Samantha walked out of the house in a white bikini and gold sarong. To Leila’s surprise, Ashford walked next to her. They each placed a tray of food on the long table. Leila left Jen and walked over to them. She intended to greet Ashford by name to make it clear they had met before. She didn’t want to hide anything from Samantha.

  “Hi, dear.” Samantha beamed and hugged Leila. “Meet my son. Ashford, this is Leila.”

  Leila and Ashford looked into each other’s eyes.

  They each said hi and shook each other’s hand. Leila remembered that he had asked for a rain check on the handshake in Sedona. There was still a moment to make it clear they had met before.

  “Come,” Samantha cut back in. “I want to meet the friend you brought.”

  The moment passed, and an inadvertent secret was born.

  Before they got back to Jen, who had started up a conversation with DeShawn, Vicky Tran arrived, followed shortly by Mona and her partner. Samantha walked over to greet them. Leila stepped back toward Ashford. A line of tall mesquite trees rose from the slope below the patio and cast their broken shade over the area where they stood.

  “Look at you, coming to a mortgage party in broad daylight,” said Leila.

  “Maybe I hoped to see you again.”

  “Bold of you to admit that.”

  “It’s true.”

  She hadn’t needed to hear him say it. She saw it in his eyes the moment he came out of the house. She was curious about him, but cautious.

  “So, Ashford Frye, did you manage to get all your specimens home from Sedona?”

  “Well, first off, my name’s Ashford Cohen.”

  “That makes sense. Samantha and your father have been divorced for quite a few years, haven’t they?”

  “Yes. And all I’ll say about the specimens is that you should have seen my mom’s face when I opened the trunk at home.”

  Leila laughed. “I can only imagine. But what do you do with them all?”

  “Sometimes, I sell teas to a local shop or at the farmers’ market.”

  A loud splash erupted as Cox cannonballed into the pool. After a quick glance that way, she looked back at Ashford.

  “I’m imagining some kind of mad scientist laboratory set up in your bedroom.”

  “You’re not far off.”

  “Yet you’re studying nursing, not medicine. Why?”

  “They go hand in hand . . . with a little imagination.”

  “I’m not sure the hospitals will like you brewing exotic teas at your patients’ bedsides.”

  “I’ll wait awhile before I bust out the teas. I’m trying to follow the rules while I take my grad-school lumps.
” He adjusted the folded-up sleeve of his striped dress shirt, untucked above blue shorts.

  “So, is the nursing itself more of a means to an end for you?”

  “I want my work to mean something. Nursing will allow me to have an impact.”

  “Interesting. Most people go into nursing for the human element—to help people.”

  “It’s the same thing.”

  “Not exactly. Being impactful is about you, not them.”

  Ashford’s forehead crinkled. Leila couldn’t tell if he was upset or simply wrapping his head around what she had said. Probably some of both. She wished she had held her tongue.

  “There, I’ve offended you again. Twice now in the two times we’ve talked. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  She turned away and looked out toward the sun-drenched valley.

  Sometimes, Leila thought she subconsciously sabotaged her conversations with boys because she didn’t want to risk her emotions. Here was a handsome and compelling young man who was clearly attracted to her, and she had called him out for having selfish career motivations, as if she would have any idea—or any room to talk. She would not have blamed him if he just walked away.

  Instead, they stood side by side in silence. She wasn’t going to walk away first, and he was probably just as stubborn. Ashford grabbed several corn chips off the table behind him. The crunch of his bites sounded artificially loud against their silence. He brushed his hands together to get rid of the salt.

  “How did you end up with all these people?” he finally asked. “It doesn’t seem like you fit in any better than I do.”

  “They must have thought I would.” She looked back toward him, glad for the invitation to talk again. “I fell in with them a lot like everyone your mom recruits. I was waiting tables at an upscale steakhouse not too far from here. One night your mother, Cox, and a few others came in. They spent over a thousand dollars that night. It was astonishing. Cox, naturally, was hitting on me mercilessly, and by the end of the night, he offered me a job. Samantha laughed and said, ‘Why not?’ The next morning, I showed up. And after I sold a couple of loans, I quit my waitressing job.”

  Ashford laughed. “A stroke of good luck.”

  “Maybe.”

  But luck had nothing to do with it. She had strategically climbed to better restaurants and better shifts so she could meet successful people. Even when she was hired, nothing was guaranteed. Over these two-plus years, she could no longer count the number of people to whom Samantha had given a phone and a lead list who flamed out after a few weeks. She didn’t pay anyone a base salary except for the processors.

  “Obviously you’ve done well with it.”

  How could she respond to that? Guys often made that kind of comment to her. Yeah, she had done well, but what did that really mean? Doing well at her job didn’t define who she was.

  Or did it? What else could define her right now?

  She looked at the people clustered around the pool. Dennis was still attempting fake joviality. Fifty was, after all, a depressing age for a man to turn when his career and marriage were stagnant.

  Rosemary was talking to Cox, who was disinterested. She craved attention from the playboy, but she was past the age and physique where she could interest him. It was sad to watch. Jen was down to her blue bikini, sitting on the edge of the pool with her feet dangling in, flirting with DeShawn as he floated nearby.

  As Leila looked across the scene, her eyes met Samantha’s. Although she was all the way across the patio and they both wore sunglasses, Leila could tell that Samantha’s eyes were on her, and there could be no doubting that their eyes had met. A tingle of apprehension danced up her spine.

  Leila couldn’t put her finger on exactly why, but from the start she had sensed Samantha wouldn’t like seeing her getting to know Ashford. It wasn’t her place. This look from across the patio confirmed it.

  “I’ll talk to you later.” She left Ashford, walked to the bar for a Coke, then went to sit in a pool chair next to Mona.

  She chided herself. Surely, Samantha noticed her son’s rare appearance at one of her parties as well as his and Leila’s awkward greeting. She didn’t miss much. Now, she would be suspicious of Leila. Leila wished she had been quicker to reveal their acquaintance when she had the chance twenty minutes ago.

  Why even bother talking to the guy? If her ego needed stroking by a man’s interest, she could get that from any sleaze like Cox. Ashford’s interest in her was probably no better. He just had more class. No sense risking her job for a man who would surely let her down.

  10

  LOOKING BACK, IT was clear how it had all started. Good intentions had led many into the same trap. Leila always made her business be about the people, not the money, thinking that would keep her from wrong. But in the final reckoning, how could she honestly claim she had been different?

  The office was abuzz from early on that day. Interest rates had taken a dip, and the loan officers were calling on every old lead they could find. Dennis was the first one to lock a loan. He made sure everyone saw when he went up to ring the gong and write his loan on the board. But the lower rates meant previously locked loans were at risk of being poached by other lenders.

  It was Monday, April thirtieth.

  “Your Collins loan is funding today, right?” DeShawn asked Leila. “What does that make for you this month, six? Gonna be a nice check in a couple of weeks.”

  “Yes. I’m so relieved. I had to babysit that one all the way through. But we got it done. How many for you?”

  “Only two.”

  “Two is better than none.”

  “Keeps me in the business another month.”

  He laughed wryly, and she understood. Such were the fine lines of the mortgage business. One or two closings, and you could keep your head above water. Three or four, and you were making a decent living. Five or six, and you were earning six figures.

  The phone rang. She answered. It was Christy from escrow.

  “Leila, I have some bad news. Collins can’t close today.”

  “What do you mean it can’t close? It has to.” Her blood started heating up. “If his old loan doesn’t pay off today, the bank will start foreclosure proceedings tomorrow.”

  “I’m sorry.” Christy’s voice shook. “There’s nothing I can do. The right of rescission wasn’t signed till Thursday.”

  “No. He signed Wednesday.”

  “But his wife didn’t sign her papers till the next morning. The notary saw that the rate lock wasn’t expiring for another week and thought it would be fine. Now, it has to roll to tomorrow, the first.”

  “That’s unacceptable! I trusted you to get this right. Of all the files, this is the one you couldn’t screw up.”

  “I’m . . . I’m sorry.”

  “There’s got to be some way.”

  “Please, Leila, you know the rules. Three full days. You can’t cheat your three days like Jesus did.”

  “Dammit, Christy. This is no time for jokes.”

  Hanging up, Leila’s whole body shook. She was furious. It was all she could do not to pick something up off her desk and throw it.

  She hated how after she did the hard work of a sale, a loan file passed totally out of her control. She had to rely on underwriters, the appraiser, and processors. At the end, she had to rely on escrow. They all made mistakes, and sometimes, there was nothing she could do about it. Yet she was always the one who had to break bad news to the clients, even when it wasn’t her fault. That was how it worked. That was why she made the big bucks.

  Leila knew the regulation. A cash-out refinance couldn’t close until three days after the right of rescission notice was signed—no exceptions.

  Christy said they’d close it tomorrow, but she wasn’t looking at the whole picture. Leila wasn’t so sure the loan could close tomorrow. This family was in trouble, and it was about to get far worse than they realized. Once foreclosure had started, the end investor wouldn’t
buy the loan from them. Samantha wouldn’t agree to fund a loan without an investor lined up to buy it immediately afterward. Otherwise, their firm would be stuck with over $200,000 on their warehouse line of credit with no way to move it off.

  She tried to concentrate, to focus. The other loan officers’ voices pounded against her ears. Usually, she could make them all fade into a background buzz, but today she heard every word. The voices were grating, infuriating. She leaped out of her seat and walked into Samantha’s office. Her boss listened, patient and unmoved, while Leila told her the whole story.

  “Calm yourself, hon. Stop panicking.”

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Yes, you do. Don’t pretend you don’t know how these things get handled. Do you have the co-borrower’s signature?”

  “Well, yes. She signed the opening paperwork.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “But—”

  “Solve it!” Samantha glared at her. “I’m tired of you acting like you’re too good to do what needs to be done. You like to say you’re in this business for the people, as if you’re different. Well, prove it. These people need your help right now. Get it done!”

  Samantha turned back to her computer screen, signaling to Leila that they were finished.

  She walked back to her desk. Yes, she did know how to solve it. Did the fact that she had looked the other way so often when Cox and others fudged customer documents make her any less guilty just because she had not done it herself? Cox would blatantly revise income figures on loan applications to make it appear people qualified for higher mortgages than they really did. Then he would brag about it. Leila would never do something like that. But this was totally different. She was trying to get her clients out of a bad situation, not put them into one.

  She already knew what she was going to do, but she still needed a few minutes to come to terms with it. It was for their own good—to save their home. Isn’t that what Mr. and Mrs. Collins were trusting her to do for them? She wasn’t going to commit fraud—lying about a borrower’s income or assets or fudging an appraised value. Other loan officers did those things regularly. Yes, it would technically be forgery, but it would reflect the customers’ true intentions. If she did nothing, they might lose their home. In this one case, surely the ends justified the means.

 

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