by Boone Brux
Her eyes lit up. “Like—a new laptop—merry?”
I shrugged. “Maybe, if you pull your grades up, plus help around the house.”
She slid the second dish onto the shelf, continuing to stare at me. I waited. My daughter is sharp and calculating. Either she was devising a counter attack to keep her freedom or she was surmising the situation. Another few seconds passed. Then, to my surprise, she nodded. “Okay.”
She turned and walked toward the door. “Where are you going?”
“To do my homework.”
With that she left. The sound of her backpack unzipping whispered through the kitchen door. I couldn’t help but smile. It was a small victory, but one I would happily take. Having Bronte with me, not working against me, would make my life a heck of a lot easier.
The sound of a car door thumping closed was followed by clomping footsteps and then our front door opening. “Hello, hello.”
“I’m in the kitchen, Vella.” I continued to unload the dishwasher.
Such a good friend. She entered bearing a six pack and a bag of groceries. “You haven’t started dinner yet, have you?”
She knew me so well. “Not yet.”
“Bud is out of town this week and I got a little carried away with my grocery shopping.” She set the plastic bag on the table. “So I thought why not dine with my favorite people. We could fix the kids dinner, set them in front of the TV, and have us a few icy ones.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And you can tell me about your day.”
When Vella had that look, I knew I was in for eighty questions. “The kids should love that.”
“I figure that will keep them occupied while we chat.” She dug in the bag and pulled out a roasted chicken, a tub of mashed potatoes, gravy, and a tin of biscuits. “Pop these in the oven.” She handed me the tube. “They only take eight minutes.”
“Do some shopping today?” I asked, peeling the wrapper from the biscuit container.
“I worked a little this morning, but when my two o’clock color canceled, I decided that retail therapy was a better use of my time.” She arranged the containers on the table. “I’d planned on buying a new pair of boots, but then I remembered I didn’t have any food in the house.”
Vella not having any food in the house meant she was out of wine. “No splurging on footwear then?”
“Girl, Bud’s been riding my butt about staying on budget. He’s as tight as my Aunt Edith’s girdle when it comes to money.” She pulled out the chair and sat. “But I like my comforts and he knew that before he married me.”
“That’s right. Having a trophy wife comes at a price,” I said over my shoulder.
Bud was a decade plus older than Vella. I don’t think he knew just how high maintenance a southern trophy wife could be. But to be fair, Vella loved Bud and treated him like gold. “It’s nice that you’re trying to stay within budget. That should make him happy.”
“I know, right? Tight old miser.” She waved a manicured hand in the air. “I never let him grocery shop anymore. The last time he bought the cheapest toilet paper in the store. I think he actually dug around in their storeroom to find the last existing package.”
“And that was a bad thing?”
“You have no idea. I couldn’t tell if it was toilet paper or sand paper. I’m delicate down there.”
A snicker slipped out. “Ouch.”
Vella jabbed a finger at me. “I kid you not. I could have rubbed myself with tree bark and gotten the same results.”
I grimaced at the thought.
“Anyway,” she continued, “today I bought me some of that really expensive toilet paper. The kind with three layers that looks like my grandma quilted it.” She gave a little sigh. “It’s like wiping my ass with a baby angel.”
The vivid image Vella wove made me burst out laughing
“Seriously!” Her eyes were wide and her expression serious. “I’ll give you some and you be the judge.”
I smacked the tube of biscuits on the edge of the counter. Thick white dough oozed between the cardboard. Why was it I loved everything devoid of nutrition? After laying the fat circles on a cookie sheet, I popped it into the oven. “I’ve obviously lived a deprived life.”
“You joke, but it’s true.” Vella glanced over her shoulder and then back at me, lowering her voice. “So?”
“Sooo what?”
She gave me her frowny face. “You know what. GRS.”
I held up a finger and walked to the kitchen door. No kids in sight. I hoped they were actually doing their homework, but figured I could follow up on that later. Baby steps. “We are definitely going to need alcohol for this.” I pulled out a bottle opener and popped the caps off two beers. “Where do I begin?”
“First of all, did you go this morning?” Vella pulled two glasses from the cabinet. “Was he there?”
By he, I assumed she meant Nate. “Oh yes, he was there.” While pouring the first glass, I took a deep breath. “And so were about fifty GRS workers.” I tossed the bottle into the trash and handed her the glass. “The grim kind, if you know what I mean.”
Her mouth dropped open and her eyes widened. “Get out of here.”
I nodded. “Yep, seems he was telling the truth and I am—” My voice dropped to a whisper. “A grim reaper.”
Vella picked up a glass and took a long drink. After which, she wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her shirt. Though it wasn’t uncommon for her white trash roots to come out, it was always funny to witness. She opened her mouth to say something, stopped, and then took another drink. I waited. I knew how she felt. Finding out her best friend was an angel of death was a lot to take in.
She swallowed hard and set the glass on the counter. “Well, if that isn’t the shit.”
“If you mean messed up, then yeah, that’s the shit.” After snagging the full glass, I sat at the table. “But it’s a paying job and there’re benefits.”
“That’s good—right?”
Obviously she was struggling for the right thing to say. Vella joined me at the table. On impulse, she reached across the table to pat my arm but stopped. We both stared at her hovering hand.
“It’s all right,” I said, “you can touch me.”
Tension eased from her shoulders and she lowered her hand and tapped my arm as if she thought it would explode.
I smirked. “Any bright lights you feel drawn to?”
“No.” She pulled back her hand. “But you can never be too careful. I don’t know what a reaper does and doesn’t do.” Vella ran her finger around the rim of the glass. “And you’re sure about this? He wasn’t just putting you on?”
“It would have been an elaborate jest.”
I lowered my voice so the kids wouldn’t overhear, and recounted my day. Vella sat riveted in her chair. Even though the story sounded outlandish, something I would conjure after huffing airplane glue, I’d finally accepted it was true.
When I finished, Vella sat for a few seconds, staring at me. Then she smiled. The action was forced and a little tight, devoid of her genuine southern cheer. “You seem okay with all this.”
I shrugged. “What choice do I have? I need a job. The pay and benefits are better than anything I could get anywhere else.”
“I guess.”
“What’s wrong?” I knew my friend and usually there were five or six interactive conversations happening in her head at once. “You sound…wary.”
“It’s not that. I’m just so angry at Jeff. Why didn’t he ever tell you about this?”
I tried to smile but it felt more like a grimace. “They said we’re not supposed to reveal ourselves to anybody. Not even family members.”
“But you just told me.” A panicked note elevated Vella’s voice an octave.
“Yeah, but you already knew about the Holiday station and Nate.” My explanation wasn’t quelling her alarm. “Don’t worry. Nothing is going to happen to you. I’m sure of it.”
“If it does I’m coming back to haunt you.” She took a big gul
p of beer. “And I’ll be damned if I’m going to the light easily.”
“Thanks for the warning.” I hadn’t thought what it would be like to reap somebody I knew. Knowing my pool of friends and family, it would happen one day. “But I’m sure it’s going to be fine.” She glared at me. “Really, I promise.”
“I’m going to hold you to that.” Vella took a deep breath and exhaled. “How dangerous is this reaper job anyway?”
“I don’t know. The people are already dead. How dangerous can it be?” I paused. Something about Jeff’s death lingered inside me. “But…”
“But what?”
“I can’t help but wonder if Jeff’s car accident wasn’t an accident.”
“Why do you say that?” Leaning in, Vella rested her elbows on the table. “Did somebody say something today?”
I tried to ignore the shiver of foreboding that rippled through me. “Not in so many words but I kept getting the feeling there was more to it than a simple car crash.” I shrugged. “I’m probably imagining it. Trying to reconcile him being a reaper and not telling me is probably making me suspicious.”
“I know you guys had your problems, every couple does, but Jeff was a good guy.”
“Yeah, he was.” I nodded. “Maybe I’m feeling guilty about thinking he cheated on me.” The oven timer beeped, pulling me away from my remorseful thoughts.
After silencing the piercing buzzer, I slipped on and oven mitt and removed the golden brown biscuits and set them on the stove. “Once I get a little more familiar with GRS I think I might ask around. Surely somebody will be able to reassure me.”
Vella began loading up plates for the kids. “What about Nate?”
“He’s as closed mouth as a mafia hit man.” I plopped a biscuit onto each plate. “But there’s a woman named Willow in payroll. Maybe she knows something.”
“It’s worth a try.”
Despite Vella’s encouraging words, she didn’t seem optimistic. Maybe she was worried I’d learn something I didn’t want to know. What’s that saying? Don’t ask the question if you don’t want the answer. “Kids, time to eat.”
The thunder of at least four feet pounded through the house. Bryce and Breck slid into their chairs at the table like they were stealing second base. I always waited to set their drinks down until they’d settled. Too much spilled milk over the years. Bronte wandered in still connected to iPod support. I pointed to my ears. Getting my message, she yanked on the cord and shoved the headphones into her pocket. I assumed her music continued to play but didn’t point that out to her. I take my wins where I can.
Yummy noises emanated from the table. It wasn’t the healthiest meal in the world but all three ate. Score. Vella and I dished up plates for ourselves, making sure to take all we wanted in the first helping. When the food was good we usually didn’t get a chance for seconds. Like a swarm of locusts, the kids polished off everything but the chicken bones.
I looked at Vella and smiled. “That has to be a new record.”
She laughed. “Maybe I should have bought more.”
The boys scooted from their chairs and started out the door.
“Bus your dishes.” They stopped, appearing confused. It was the first time I’d asked them to do anything in the last year. Obviously, further instructions were needed. “Pick up your plate, scrape it in the garbage, and put it in the dishwasher.”
Simple and to the point. That’s what worked best with eight-year-old boys. Besides Bryce needing to do a double scrap to get the mashed potato residue off, the boys did a great job. Not having to be told, Bronte followed suit. Kids fed in eight point three minutes.
After closing the dishwasher, she leaned in and gave me a kiss on the cheek, and then walked out. I glanced at Vella. She was as surprised as I was at my elusive daughter’s display of affection and dare I hope—approval.
“What was that all about?”
The faintest tingle burned behind my eyes. I inhaled, not wanting to have a gushy mom moment. “I told her I got a job and made her do her homework.”
Vella nodded. “Boundaries. Kids think they don’t want them, but they do.”
“Come on, let’s sit.” I brushed the biscuit crumbs to the center of the table before claiming Breck’s vacated chair. “Thanks for dinner.” I held up my glass. “And the beer.”
“You don’t have to thank me. I need girl time just as much as you do.” She sat in the spot Bronte had vacated. “So what’s going on tomorrow?”
I groaned. “Psychological testing.”
Vella cocked her head to the side. “What, to see if you’re nuts?”
“Ironic, isn’t it?”
“I’d say. Who wouldn’t be a little off kilter after everything you’ve been through?” Her eyebrow arched. “What kind of testing do they do?”
“An oral exam, I think.”
“Normally, I’d look forward to something like that, but I don’t think it’s going to be as good as it sounds.”
It had been a long time since I’d had anything oral given to me. Unfortunately I had to agree with Vella. “Me either, but I’ll give you details if it is.”
“Girl, I want details even if it’s not.”
I shoved a forkful of mashed potatoes in my mouth and swallowed. “Not afraid of being smited for knowing too much?”
“Nah.” She downed the last of her beer. “Like Mark Twain said, ‘You go to Heaven for the climate, but you go to Hell for the company.’ I figure I’ll be so busy visiting my relatives and friends I won’t have time to wallow in eternal damnation.”
I laughed. “Good point.”
My day started out with a lot of unknowns and ended with even more. But a few things were certain. My best friend wouldn’t abandon me no matter how nuts things got, and I’d do just about anything to provide for my kids. Even if that meant reaping stupid people.
Jeff’s death still bothered me, but those questions could wait. It wasn’t like knowing exactly what happened to him would change my life more than it already had. I doubted there was some huge conspiracy or nefarious plot that landed him on the pointy end of the reapers scythe. Right?
CHAPTER NINE
Twenty minutes. The tick-tock from the cuckoo-clock marked the passage of time. Time, by my calculations, that had morphed into an endless stretch of boredom. I shifted on the chaise lounge, trying to get comfortable. Though tempted, I refused to lie down. This was the psychologist’s office and everything in me fought being analyzed. Reclining felt too much like giving into the process.
I glanced at the irritating clock again. Twenty-one minutes. The doctor, or whoever was supposed to administer this test, was late. Either he or she was being completely rude or this was part of the test. My gaze scanned the office for obvious hidden cameras. I didn’t see anything, thus the hidden part. So I waited and refrained from fidgeting.
After another minute the door opened and a man entered. “Mrs. Carron?”
I stood and smiled like I hadn’t been contemplating smashing his cuckoo-clock against the floor. “Yes.”
“James T. Crock. I’m so sorry I’m late.” I bit the inside of my cheek, trying not to laugh at his name. He dumped a stack of files onto his desk and stuck out his hand. “Had an unscheduled meeting.”
His fingers were cold and clammy when I shook his hand. The urge to wipe my palm against the fabric of my jeans was only overridden by my thoughts of conspiracy. Was my every move being scrutinized? “No problem. I was just sitting here admiring your clock.”
A wide smile stretched across his mouth. “It’s German. Got it when I visited the Black Forest.” He glanced at the clock and then back at me. “I find it very soothing. Don’t you?”
Not so much. But I smiled and nodded, wanting to get on Dr. Crock’s good side.
“Well then, shall we get started?” He pointed at two overstuffed chairs near the window. “The test is rather lengthy so we might as well get comfortable.”
He gathered a leather portfolio and clai
med one of the chairs. I sat in the other and crossed my legs, trying to appear at ease. Inside my stomach flip-flopped like a spawning salmon. I attempted small talk. “James T. Crock, like James T. Kirk, huh?”
“No.” He looked up from the stack of papers he’d been thumbing through. “I was named after James T. Cook, the great explorer.”
“Ah.” Okay, not a Star Trek fan. “Great man.”
“If by great you mean an actual historical figure, who was instrumental in developing ways to measure longitudinal bearings, then yes, he was quite exceptional.”
“Uh yep, that’s exactly what I meant.” Obviously small talk was not his forte so I decided to let Dr. Crock take the lead.
He leveled a stare at me and I found myself sitting a little straighter. “I will administer the test orally.” I suppressed the urge to giggle. Didn’t matter who said it, orally always sounded dirty. “Your reply will be either yes or no. There’s no need to expound on why you’ve answered one way or another. Just a simple yes or no.”
As far as I was concerned the sooner I finished, the sooner I could have lunch. I nodded again. “Fast and to the point, got it.”
He gave me a placating smile, but I don’t think he actually believed I could follow directions. I’d show him.
“Are you ready?” His pen hovered over the question sheet in his portfolio.
“Fire away.”
“Question one, I like mechanics magazines.”
“Excuse me?” I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly.
“I like mechanics magazines. Yes or no.”
“No.” It was the first answer that popped into my head, mainly because I’d never read a mechanics magazine. Still, I guess if I’d had any interest in that area I would have picked up one up from the store. I answered again. Very firm in my conviction that I indeed did not like mechanic magazines. “No.”
He made a little checkmark on the sheet. “Question two. My sleep is fitful and disturbed.”
Well that was a given considering everything I’d been through the last year. But until Jeff’s accident I’d slept like a baby. “Do you mean before my husband’s death or after?”