After another hour of sitting with the album on her lap, she finally got up and made her way upstairs to put it away. She removed the small stool from under the bed and brought it to her closet. After stepping upon it, she opened the overhead compartment and pushed the book to the back. Just as she closed the door, the stool wobbled, and before she could react, she went flying to the side.
“Ouch!” She cried out when her body hit the floor with a loud thud. Pain radiated from her thigh, her pelvis, and her hip. Heaving, she tried to get up, but it made the pain even worse. She tried to drag herself across the floor in an attempt to reach the bedside table and her phone. Sweat beaded her brows, and her breath came out ragged at the excruciating pain in her lower extremities. She felt nausea, and her head felt light. She finally made it to her phone and dialed 911.
“911, what's your emergency?” a woman came on the line.
“Help me,” Bev moaned. “I fell down, and I-I can't get up.”
“All right, ma'am. Can you tell me where you are?” the woman calmly asked.
“227 Gloucester Street,” she replied.
“Ma'am, a unit is on its way to your location. I’ll need you to stay on the line with me until they get there, okay? Can you do that for me?”
Bev tried to respond, but no words came.
“Ma'am? Ma'am, are you still with me?”
That was the last thing she heard before everything went black.
ChapterEighteen
Diane
Diane nervously tapped the folder she held in her hand as she sat in the bank’s main waiting area. Someone would be coming at any minute to escort her to her meeting with the manager about her loan proposal. She’d never had to do this before, and she was out of her mind with worry that she didn’t know what she was doing. Maybe it was a mistake to come here. Her business was doing well. Did she really need to expand at this time?
“Miss Luis?”
She looked up to see a woman in a black pantsuit, a black-and-white striped blouse completing her ensemble, and practical black pumps. Her brown hair was in a bun, and round wire-framed glasses rested on her face. Her smile was friendly as she looked at Diane.
“Yes, that’s me,” she confirmed.
“Mr. Castello will see you now,” the woman informed her. She turned on her heels and walked toward the rear of the building. Diane followed closely. She led her up a flight of stairs and down the hall, past offices occupying the space. She stopped at the door at the end of the hallway with the lettering, Don Castello, Manager.
“He’s waiting for you,” the woman informed her with an encouraging smile.
Diane returned it and watched the woman walk away before turning her attention back to the door. After drawing in a deep breath and slowly releasing it, she knocked.
“Come in.”
She pushed open the door and entered the office to see a man who looked to be in his late forties to early fifties sitting around a wide oak desk stacked with file trays overflowing with folders.
“Good morning, Mr. Castello. I’m Diane Luis,” she introduced, gripping the handbag on her shoulder tightly.
“Ah, yes. It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Luis,” the man returned, rising from his seat and coming around his desk to extend his hand to her.
Diane was caught off guard by his disarming smile. She found herself relaxing as she took his hand.
“Please, have a seat,” he offered and rounded the desk to retake his seat.
“So what can I do for you today?” he asked, clasping his hands on the table and leaning forward.
Diane’s brow furrowed with confusion.
“Let me rephrase. Why do you need this loan?” Mr. Castello asked.
“Well, I own a bistro; it’s more of a café right now back on Pioneer Way. It has been doing very well, and I want to officially expand it to a bistro,” she explained. “Also, my profit margin thus far is fifty percent,” she responded, wringing her hands below the table.
“Okay, and your cash flow?”
