Chapter Two
Jo
I slumped in my chair at the employment agency. I’d never been let go from a job before. The worst part was that I had nowhere to live. As a home health-care worker, I usually lived on site with my clients. No job meant no roof over my head.
“So, the old witch finally fired you, huh?” Carla, the recruiter, poured me a cup of coffee. The corner of her mouth twitched. She was trying hard not to giggle.
“You sent me out on that job, knowing I’d get fired?” I dumped three creams in my coffee and shook my head. “That was not nice.”
Carla finally let go and laughed. “Elsie fires everyone. You lasted longer than most.” She handed me two folders from her desk. “Okay, next on the list is an eighty-two-year-old woman with mild kidney failure on dialysis, or a seventy-six-year-old amputee. Lost his leg in ’Nam. The last girl who went out there said he really liked bath time. So, you’ll get twenty percent extra for him.”
The last thing I wanted was a patient making a pass at me. The old men liked to do that. Every once in a while, a girl new to being a home health-care aide would think the elderly gentleman was loaded and try to marry him or something. I shuddered. Money was tight, but not that tight.
“Let’s go with the old lady on dialysis.” I opened the file marked Anne Remmick. “My car works well enough. All that running back and forth to the center should be fine.”
“All right, they interview tomorrow, 11:00 a.m.” Carla made a note in her planner. “They’re seeing two other girls, so you’ll have to bring your A game. You need a place to stay the night?”
I nodded. I’d never been out in the cold like this as an adult. When you live with your patient, it can sometimes be tricky moving jobs, but never once had I faced a night in a motel because of lack of planning.
“I would be really grateful.” I made a mental note to pick up Carla a bottle of wine or something. I really didn’t have the cash to stay in a motel if I didn’t need to. “I can sleep on the couch.”
“Nonsense.” She smiled. “I’ve got a guest bedroom and a clean shower. We’ll have you spiffed and in a new job by end of day tomorrow. Have Cheryl print you a couple of resumes before you leave. See you tonight.”
* * *
I stood in Carla’s shower and wondered exactly how large her water heater was. She’d gone to work already and my interview wasn’t for three more hours. I could empty the tank completely and she’d never notice. I closed my eyes and dunked my head under the hot water one last time and turned off the tap. I was a guest. Using up all of her hot water wasn’t very nice.
I missed having my own shower. The last time I had a place of my own was with Tony. He’d worked nights as a paramedic and I’d worked days at a nursing home. We never saw each other. One day, I got off early and went home to surprise him—but I was the one surprised. All of our furniture was gone and our bills were unpaid.
The hot water had felt so nice. It almost made me want to start dating again. Move in with some guy. With two incomes we could afford to get an apartment. I shook my head as I dried my hair. Having a shower of my own wasn’t a good enough reason to suffer through the heartache of a relationship again.
After wrapping up in a clean towel, I opened my suitcase on the bed and surveyed my wardrobe. I had one red dress for going out that I’d bought at Goodwill last year. It was a great dress, strapless, and it fit like a glove. Most people only wear special-occasion dresses once, so thrift stores were my secret dress boutiques. But it was hardly appropriate for a job interview. Normally I wore my beige slacks and blue button-down top, but I’d spilled spaghetti last time I wore the outfit and hadn’t been able to get the stain out. I didn’t think I’d need a new interview outfit so soon, so I hadn’t yet bothered to replace them. Damn.
In the end, I put on my best blue scrubs. Carla had shown me where she kept the iron, so I went over them and made sure they were wrinkle free. A bit of makeup and I pulled my hair back into a French braid.
My dad was black and my mom was white. Instead of getting hair from one or the other, I got both. It was big, curly and always full of knots. I’d long ago learned that the easiest way to tame it was a braid and some gel.
From far away, I could pass for white, but up close you could see the truth of my heritage in my skin color. My ex-boyfriend told me I looked like a big glass of milk with not enough chocolate syrup. Romantic. Most of the time, people just assumed I was black and left it at that. But the reality was that I couldn’t live in either world.
For a few months, my mom got tired of living out of our car and uprooted the whole family—my parents and sister and me—and we went back to Cleveland to live with my father’s aunt. No one would talk to my sister and me at school. We’d never really been to school, so we didn’t know all of the social cues. Lining up before class, who got the swings next, interacting with our classmates was all new to us. With our lack of social skills coupled with our skin color, the kids in our aunt’s neighborhood treated us as freaks. Mama tried bringing us to her church once, hoping we’d make friends there. But it was the same thing. The white kids looked at our skin and our hair, and then their parents all stared at Mama, judging her. Judging our whole family. When Daddy suggested loading up the car and leaving Cleveland, Mama didn’t argue.
Every job interview was like those first few days in Cleveland. I was going to be judged. Here in the Pacific Northwest, most people didn’t seem to be racist—or were really good at hiding it. The worst interviews were when they liked the fact that I was black. It gave them some sense to satisfaction to have a person of color working for them. I shuddered.
The interview was going to be held at the agency offices. I pulled into the parking lot early and pulled out one of my textbooks, Microbiology for Nurses. Hardly entertaining reading, but I had a quiz coming up. I was in my third and last year of the nursing program at Pacific Community College and I’d come a long way since those awkward days back in Cleveland.
Ten minutes before the appointed interview time, I closed my book and went into the office. Six years of employment meant the receptionist knew me, so she waved me back to the interview area.
“Miss Smith?” Carla called. She winked at me. It was her way of wishing me good luck.
Inside the small conference room was a man and a little old lady seated on one side of the rectangular table. I scoped out the lady first—she was the one I would have to win over. Salon permanent, steady hand with her makeup, white embroidered cardigan. Her hands and eyesight were still doing well and she had enough cash and friends to go to the beauty parlor every once in a while. She’d be a great client. I sat down and smiled.
“Good morning, ma’am.” I accentuated what little bit of a southern accent I had left. Then I turned to the man sitting next to her. “Good morning, sir.”
The word sir caught in my mouth. I doubt he got called that very often. He was wearing a black leather vest with a patch that said Demon Horde. Underneath was a long-sleeved T-shirt, pulled up to show a skeleton hand tattoo poking out just above his wrist. His hands were clean, but stained darker from whatever his job was. Running drugs? Committing murder? Working for some neo-Nazi paramilitary organization?
I took a deep breath. I tried to calm down and not jump to conclusions. He wasn’t wearing any swastikas, so I was probably okay. I needed to focus on the patient. If I wanted this job, I had to win her over. But the question was, did I want this job? Who was this guy and how did he fit in?
“Nice to meet you, my dear.” The old lady smiled. “I’m Anne Remmick and I need a home health aide.”
Nodding, I shook her hand.
The man cleared his throat. “Clint Remmick, her grandson.” He held out his hand. “I won’t bite. I promise.”
Shit. I had hesitated in shaking his hand and not even realized it.
“Oh, of course.” I shook his hand. “I’m Jordan Smith, but please call me Jo.”
I turned my focus to Ms. Remmick, my client. There were the usual “tell me about yourself” questions and then questions about my job history.
“Your last position was just three weeks?” Clint asked, looking at my resume. “Why so short?”
Before I could answer, Carla jumped in. “Sometimes we get temporary positions and I sent her out on one of those. The client moved to Arizona. He needed the warmth.”
I looked at her and smiled. I was grateful for her lie. Once she’d realized I was reliable, she always kept me employed, even if it meant a white lie or two.
The interview was pretty unremarkable. I usually try to stand out somehow, but the big guy in leather was throwing me off my game.
“So, let’s talk about scheduling,” Clint said. “I work and Nana can’t be home alone on her own.”
“Well, I am in school.” I gulped. Often this killed my application. Families didn’t want a home health worker with other obligations in her life. I tried to soften the blow. “I have night classes that we’ll need to schedule around. I do need to study sometimes, but I promise it won’t interfere with my job.”
I stared down at my hands. Maybe bath time with the veteran wouldn’t be so bad if I used extra towels. Definitely a lot of extra towels.
“Oh, that’s lovely, dear.” The old lady smiled. “What are you studying?”
“Nursing, ma’am.” I took a deep breath. “I like to use what I learn with my patients.”
“And how long until you finish?” She carefully picked up her pencil and wrote something on my resume.
I cleared my throat. Oh yeah. This job was toast.
“Actually, only one more semester. So, I’ll be done at the end May.” It was mid-January. If they wanted someone long-term, that wouldn’t be me. I was planning to get a real nursing job just as soon as I had my RN.
“So this would be just a temporary position for you?” Clint asked, frowning. “You plan on getting another job after you graduate?”
“Yes, sir.” My lungs deflated. At least I would get paid twenty percent more for the creepy guy.
“That’s nice to hear.” Anne winked at her grandson. “When you get tired of your old nana living with you, Jo can just start her new job. I like this idea.” She turned to me and nodded. “And I like that you’re in school. I think it shows moxie. A woman should always be able to support herself. I did bookkeeping when my girls were little. Took a few classes myself.”
“Wow, thanks.” I wasn’t sure what else to say and twisted my hands in my lap. I wasn’t sure who called the shots, Anne or her grandson.
Clint looked at me and then back to Anne. “Whatever you want, Nana.” He bowed his head. “I just want you to be happy.”
“Thank you.” She smiled at me. “I like you. You’ve got the job. Can you start in one week?”
The world stopped and I replayed the words in my head. No one had ever offered me a job right at the interview.
“Yes.” I looked at Carla. Had she ever had this happen before? “I can start whenever you’d like.”
Clint slid a piece of paper across the table to me. “Here’s the address. You can move in as early as Thursday.”
“Great.” I nodded and peeked at Clint. He was writing something on a notepad. His skeleton tattoo looked like it would jump right out from his sleeve and grab me. I shivered. I would also be living with the scary biker. “I’ll see you Thursday.”