Chapter 3: The App Would Not Reload
Teresa had taken the belt into the kitchen. I heard the clink of it against the countertop, like she was setting it down but not putting it away. Diego was in the hallway with his phone to his ear, his voice low. He kept saying yeah, yeah, I got it, like someone was giving him instructions.
I was still on the rug beside the open suitcase. The cake was drying out on the purple base. The frosting had started to crust where it had been smashed. Sophia sat next to me with her legs tucked under her dress, her doll pressed flat against her chest. My son stood at the arm of the sofa, watching the hallway.
I looked down at my phone. The Memo Savings screen was still open. The balance said $0.00. I had not imagined it.
I pulled down on the screen to refresh. The little circle spun. It spun for a long time and then the same screen loaded. Zero. No history before August.
I was Veronica. That morning I had been the mom who blew up balloons.
I carried Sophia first. She was getting heavy but she still wanted to be carried when she was scared. I stood and lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around my waist and hid her face in my shoulder. The doll was wedged between us. My son followed without me asking, his hand finding the hem of my black top.
The small bedroom off the hallway was cool and dim. The blinds were closed. I had made the beds that morning before people came over. I laid Sophia down on the lower bunk and pulled the blanket up to her waist. Her left arm was still pink where the mark was. She did not let go of the doll.
"Nap time for a little bit, okay?" I said.
She nodded. Her breathing was still shaky.
My son climbed up onto the same bed beside her. They always did that when they were nervous, curled together like they were one person. I sat on the edge of the mattress and smoothed his hair. He smelled like frosting.
In the hallway Diego's voice got louder for a second and then stopped. A door clicked. I heard him walk back toward the living room but he did not come into the bedroom.
I waited until Sophia's eyes started to close. My son's thumb found his mouth. I kept my phone face-down in my lap so the light would not bother them.
When their breathing evened out, I stood and stepped into the hallway and pulled the door partway closed. I could see Teresa at the kitchen sink, her back to me, her pearl bracelet catching the light. She was rinsing something. Diego was by the front window, typing with both thumbs, his suit jacket pulling at his shoulders.
I leaned against the hallway wall and opened the phone again.
I refreshed Memo Savings. The circle spun again. This time an error flashed at the top - Unable to load transactions. Try again. I tapped try again. It loaded the same empty screen. The current balance was still zero, but now the transaction list showed three dots like it was trying to fill.
I hit the screenshot buttons on the side. The phone made the little click sound. I did it again after it reloaded. I wanted to have it saved somewhere he could not swipe away.
I tapped the filter icon at the top. It said Last 90 days. I changed it to Last 12 months. The app hesitated. Then rows started to appear, faint gray lines filling in.
They were all the same. Every month, on the 14th, a transfer out. $1,200 on July 14. $1,200 on June 14. $1,200 on May 14. Same amount, same day. The destination just said Transfer to external account *4821. No name. No memo. I scrolled back. April 14, March 14, February. It went back the whole year.
It was not a glitch. A glitch would be random. This was scheduled.
My hands were shaking enough that I had to steady the phone with both hands to take another screenshot. I took three in a row, making sure the dates were visible. I checked my photos to make sure they had saved. They were there, the white screen with the gray lines, time stamped.
"What's wrong with it now?"
Diego was standing right in front of me. I had not heard him move away from the window.
He was holding his hand out, palm up.
"It's not loading," I said. It was the closest thing to a lie I could manage. "It says zero."
He took the phone out of my hand before I could lock it. His thumb moved fast. He stared at the screen and his jaw tightened.
"It's a bank glitch," he said. "This app does this. Memo does this all the time when the server is down."
He tapped something quickly, then turned the phone so I could not see the screen. I heard the soft clicks of him typing a passcode.
"I'm going to reset it," he said. He did not look at me. "You keep checking it and you're going to lock us out."
He hit one more button and handed it back. The screen now showed the lock screen asking for a passcode. I tried my usual code, the year Sophia was born. It buzzed red. Incorrect.
"What did you change it to?" I asked.
"Just let me handle it, Veronica," he said. His voice was quiet because the kids were behind the door. "I'll call the bank in the morning. Don't keep refreshing it."
May you like
He walked back toward the living room, already looking at his own phone. Teresa was still at the sink, watching us through the reflection in the window.
I stood in the hallway holding a phone I could not open. In my photos, if I could get back in, were three screenshots I had taken before he changed the code. I pressed the side button and the screen went black and I saw my own face looking back at me.
