“You’re such a sweet talker.” She waved a hand at him, her laughter filling the office. “Lisa, don’t let this silver-tongued devil talk you into anything dangerous.”
The mention of danger popped my bubble of joy. The way she had said you, made me wonder just how many people Nate had coerced into hazardous situations. Had Jeff been one of them? “I sure won’t, Rosie.”
“Come on.” He indicated the door. “On to payroll.”
Money, now that was a subject I could sink my teeth into. It was the only reason I’d taken this job—well, that, and the niggle of universal obligation. I trailed Nate. “So what kind of pay are we talking about—you know, just a ballpark figure?”
“I’ll let Willow fill you in on all the details.” He stopped at the next door. “She’ll be able to answer any questions you have.”
Willow was a typical Alaskan name. We also had a lot of Ravens, Denalis, and Auroras in the state. More than likely Willow was young with the kind of natural beauty that looked like she’d been skiing over the weekend. I walked into the office and realized I was partially right.
She glanced up from her desk and gave us a super model smile. Green, almond-shaped eyes were accentuated by her long red hair, which was pinned up in a messy up-do. If I tried to pull off that hairstyle, it would look like I’d been wrestling a chimpanzee all night.
“Good morning.” She stood and held out her hand. “You must be Lisa Carron.”
It appeared everybody at GRS knew about me. I accepted her greeting. “Yes, and you must be Willow.”
She released my hand. “That’s me, or Money Bags as everybody calls me behind my back.”
Nate sat in one of the chairs in front of her desk. “That’s not what I call you behind your back.” He smiled and folded his hands across his stomach. “Or to your face.”
She lifted a brow at him. “Always a charmer, Nate.”
Though Rosie had basically said the same thing, Willow’s tone was not complementary. Obviously these two didn’t get along. I sat, wondering about the couple’s history.
“I think I can correctly assume that you’ve taken the position here at GRS?” She opened a file lying on her desk but her gaze never left me.
I exhaled. “Against my better judgment, yes, but I need a job.”
Her smile was sweet and understanding. Despite Nate’s problems with Willow, I liked her. “I understand your hesitance, but I’m sure you’ll do fine.” She paused. “I’m sorry about your husband. All this must have come as quite a shock.”
“Thank you. Yes, I’m still reeling a bit, but I’m glad I found out.”
I really wasn’t. But, many times during my life I hadn’t gotten the memo from the big guy upstairs. In order to cope with all the changes, I needed to believe there was a higher purpose in me becoming a reaper.
“All right, let’s dive in.” She placed her hands on top of the file. “GRS is set up on a pay scale that takes into account time in service and rank.”
“Rank?” I asked.
“Yes, you will start out as a Deputy or a GR1.” She slid the top sheet of paper toward me and pointed to a graph. “This is the pay to start with. After your six-month training period, you’ll move up to a Deputy GR2. This will increase your income $112 per pay period.”
It was difficult to disguise my disappointment over my base pay. The amount would barely be enough to cover our expenses. I nodded and studied the graph, not trusting that my frustration wouldn’t leak out. Instead I looked at Nate. “What are you?”
“Lieutenant GR6.”
I scanned down the table. His pay was impressive, about three thousand dollars more a month than I would be making. “What rank was Jeff?”
He was quiet for a few seconds. “Sargent GR6.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from asking more questions. There was no way my husband had made as much as the chart said. Or if he had, he didn’t spend it on the family. That led to the question, where the hell had all the money gone?
“I know it doesn’t seem like much, especially since you were used to Jeff’s salary.”
“No, actually it’s fine.” Because I was never used to his frickin’ salary.
Not commenting further about Jeff’s pay, she pointed to the next chart down. “But we also give you a stipend each month for working in a remote location.”
My spirits lifted slightly at the extra four hundred dollars, but I had to push away the idea there was more money Jeff hadn’t brought home. I refocused on my present situation. “Anchorage is considered remote?”
Her brow furrowed and she looked at Nate. “I’d assumed Nate had briefed you on all the specifics of the job and your duties before having you accept the position.”
Now I looked—well glared—at him. “No, he didn’t.”
She sighed. “Anchorage is not considered remote, but the outlying villages are. You will be required to travel for GRS, and reap souls whenever needed.”
“That presents a tiny problem considering I’m a single mother of three. I can’t just drop everything and fly out to Barrow or Dillingham. What am I supposed to do with my kids?”
“That’s precisely why I expected this to be explained prior to your signing.” She scowled at Nate again, but he seemed unrepentant. We were definitely going to have a few words after my orientation. “Fortunately, GRS has in-home care for those who need it or we will supplement your sitting costs if you have someone you trust.”
I nodded. “I’ll have to think about this. I can’t leave my kids with just anybody.” Specifically my mother.
Mom would take them in a heartbeat, but I’d be indebted to her forever. Still, I needed a job, and making that sacrifice would be worth it. On the flip side of the coin, if none of my kids became reapers, which I dearly hoped, then I wouldn’t be able to throw my martyrdom back in their faces when they blamed me for their horrible lives. I was looking at the big picture here.
“Let me know if you need any help setting things up. I can introduce you to our caregivers. They are ready at a moment’s notice and might be good to keep as a backup.”
“Thank you, Willow, I really appreciate that.” I liked her more and more. She and Rosie were the first people at GRS who actually seemed human. “Do you have kids?”
“No.” She picked up her pen and tapped it on the desk. “But I raised my sister—until she died a few years ago.”
Instantly tears burned at the back of my eyes. I swallowed hard, reaching across the desk to cover her hand with mine. “I’m so sorry.”
From experience, I knew nothing more needed to be said. After Jeff died people tried to console me by relating a story about someone they’d lost. Although they attempted to find a common ground and connect with me, I got so tired of trying to make them feel better. I ceased being the griever and became the comforter. It was very draining.
“Thank you,” she said.
I pulled my hand back and fumbled for a way to get back on topic. “I think meeting GRS’s caregivers is a good idea.”
“Great, I will set that up for us in a few weeks, after you get settled.” Her smile returned. “Now, onto bonuses.”
“I like the sound of that.” I glanced at Nate. For whatever reason, he didn’t seem happy. Maybe he and Willow had dated, and she’d dumped his grumpy butt. I added that to my list of questions for him.
“After every twenty reaps you will receive a thousand dollar bonus. On your hundredth reap you will receive an incentive bonus of five thousand dollars.” She slid another sheet to me. “This is the breakdown beyond that.”
“Wow.” I glanced at the figures. “Twenty five thousand for a thousand reaps?”
“We’ve only had one person in Alaska receive that bonus.” Her eyes cut to Nate and back to me. “But all the reaps were not harvested in Alaska.”
He crossed his arms and continued to glare at Willow. I refrained from asking him how he reaped a thousand souls. Mainly because I didn’t want to know, figuri
ng it was a horrific natural disaster, or something even more gruesome. At this point ignorance was bliss.
“All righty then,” I said, trying to talk past the uncomfortable tension zinging between them. “How often do we get paid?”
Willow relaxed against her chair. “Every two weeks. We do direct deposit. We’re a paperless office whenever possible.”
“Recycle, reuse, and reap?” I asked.
She smiled again. “I like that motto. We might have to adopt it for our conservation program.”
Nate stood. “Is that all?”
Willow didn’t look at him, but stood and held out her hand again. “It was great meeting you, Lisa. Let me know if you have any questions.”
“Thank you, I will.” I shook her hand.
“I hope you like it here. I’m sure you’ll be a great asset to GRS.”
“Finally, somebody with vision.”
Nate harrumphed and left without waiting. “Is he always like this?”
“Oh no, just around me.” She sighed. “I’m sure he’ll be somewhat human with you.”
“One can only hope.” I gave her a consoling smile and left. Something had definitely happened between him and Willow. Call me an office gossip, but I was already devising a plan to squeeze that info out of him. I skipped a few steps to catch up with him. “What’s next?”
“Time to find out if you’re pregnant.”
Chapter 6
I skidded to a stop. “Excuse me?”
Nate turned to face me. “Your medical exam is next.”
“Oh.” I started walking again. The only way I’d be pregnant was through an immaculate conception, which I was beginning to believe could actually happen. Who knew which of the things I once considered fantasy could possibly be true. “You’re not going to be in my exam with me, are you?”
He stopped at a glass door. A metal sign engraved with medical office hung beside it. “Thankfully, no.”
Thankfully indeed. “Are we finished after this?”
Nate checked his watch. “I’ll come back and in about an hour. We can catch some lunch after that.” His eyes did a quick track up and down my body. “You must be getting hungry.”
Wow, he’d so effortlessly insulted me with his judgmental scan. I had questions for him about the job, so I bit back my retort and plastered on a smile. “Sounds great.”
Without any more discussion, because seriously, my self-esteem had already taken a beating today, I entered the office and shut the door in his face.
Cherry wood and rich plum walls decorated the outer lobby. The warm mood directly contradicted the utilitarian world that existed beyond the door. I prayed the doctor was a woman. Of all the employees I’d met so far, women seemed to be the only ones with an ounce of compassion.
I walked to the counter and tapped the bell. A feminine voice answered from somewhere beyond my sight. “I’ll be with you in a second.”
So far so good. At least the nurse or receptionist was a woman. Another minute passed, and the doctor finally appeared. She was around fifty and had black hair with two thick streaks of white racing down each side, as if they’d been painted on.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Jensen, but call me Candace.” She held open the door with her hip and extended her hand. “You must be Lisa.”
“That’s me, the new recruit.” I gave her hand a quick shake, relief washing through me. I didn’t know how far up into my sweet junk she was going to get, but I felt much more comfortable discussing my girl problems with a female doctor. “Nice to meet you.”
“Come on back.” She led me to the first room on the right, and pulled a file from the pocket next to the door. “I’ll need to get some history before we start the exam.”
“Great.” I plopped down in a plum colored chair that was incredibly comfortable and would look fantastic in my living room. She took her place at a small writing desk. “Doesn’t a nurse usually do this part of the exam?”
“I’m the doctor, nurse, receptionist, and sometimes janitor.” She looked up from the file and smiled. “Besides new recruits, and the annual medical exam on the employees, I don’t see a lot of action here.” She shrugged. “I used to be an ER doctor in Detroit. I loved it for a while, but the constant crisis tends to take its toll. Here there’s rarely any drama and a lot of my day is free to work on other projects.”
“Sounds like a dream job. I’d like getting paid big bucks and having everybody basically leave me alone.”
“That surprises me. Most reapers like to be in the thick of things.”
I held out my arms to the side. “Do I look like your typical reaper? I have three kids, one of them being a teenage girl. The most excitement I’ve had over the past year was the convenience store robbery that landed me here.”
“Yes, I heard about that.” Thick black lashes framed her dark blue eyes. “I think you’re the first recruit I’ve had who accidentally became a reaper.”
I sighed. “Once you get to know me you’ll see how fitting my initiation was.”
She laughed. “I’m sure you’ll be a great reaper.”
I grimaced and shook my head. “You’re either being incredibly diplomatic or gullible.”
“Between you and me I think the reapers could use a little more estrogen on their team.” She tucked a hank of thick hair behind her ear and looked at the chart. “It seems to me reaping should be handled with finesse and compassion, instead of acting as if they’re tossing a log on the fire.”
“Oh, you’ve met Nate then?”
She laughed again and nodded, but made no further comment on the subject. “So, first question. Are you pregnant, or is there a possibility of being pregnant?”
Several answers popped into my head but I refrained from saying them. “No.”
“Do you have any old injuries that are giving you problems or periodically act up?”
“Well, I sprained my ankle in a horrible gardening accident last year.”
She looked up, her brows lifted. “A horrible gardening accident?”
“I was talking on the phone and carrying a potted tomato plant out my front door, when I tripped and fell.” It had been awful and humiliating. Repeating the sordid details again dredged up what a Mrs. Magoo I could be. “I landed on the pot, tossed the phone over the side of the patio, and buggered up my ankle.” Perhaps it was from the painfully embarrassing memories, but my ankle began to throb. “It aches when the weather changes, or if I walk on uneven ground for a long time—or talk about it.”
“Did the tomato make it?” she asked seriously, scribbling a few notes down.
“Nope, but it was a lost cause to begin with. My plants always die.” It was true, I’d yet to own a plant I was able to nurture and get to flourish.
Continuing to write, she said. “That’s probably because you’re a reaper?”
“Seriously?”
She looked up. “Most reapers have a tough time with plants and small animals, like fish.”
“Wow, I always thought I’d inherited my mother’s anti-green thumb.” We never had plants when I was growing up. When I got my own place I’d been determined to get a little green in my life. Alaskan winter days were dark and plants seemed like the perfect touch of life during the cold months. But no matter what I tried, I couldn’t get the darn things to grow. Now I knew why. “Remind me not to clean my boys’ fish tank.”
“I’ll make a note here to start you on physical therapy. I can help you strengthen your ankle.”
“A physical therapist too?” I liked Dr. Jensen. She didn’t just listen to what I said, but seemed genuinely interested in helping me.
“I started my medical career as an assistant to a physical therapist.” She smiled. “It made me want to become a doctor.”
“Where would we do my physical rehab, here?” Lord knew I could use it on more than just my ankle.
“Yes. One of the benefits of working at GRS is deep pockets. I’ve got better equipment and supplies than most hospitals in Alaska.”
Her gaze tracked down the form. “Do you smoke?”
“No.”
She made a checkmark. “Do you drink alcohol?’
“Yes.”
“How often?”
I hated these questions. They always made me feel like I’d done something wrong. “Two to three times a week?”
She scribbled another note. “Hard liquor? Wine? Beer?
“Yes.” Realizing that sounded rather alcoholicish, I added, “But I prefer beer.”
Another smile spread across her face. “A girl after my own heart.”
The woman had sophistication coming out her ears and I had a difficult time picturing her downing a cold one. “I pegged you as a wine drinker?”
“One of my claims to fame in college was being the two time beer drinking champion at my sorority’s Oktoberfest.”
“Impressive.” The connection between Dr. Jensen and I tightened a little more. “But only two years?”
She flipped around a picture frame that had been facing away from me and pointed to a Muffy-looking blond. “Belinda Mayer stole the title my senior year.”
The good doc stood out amongst the sea of Barbies. “She looks really—perky.”
“Don’t let her looks fool you. The girl could drink like a fish.” She set the picture back in its place and returned her attention to the questions. “Do you use any recreational drugs?”
“Define recreational?” When she looked up with her eyebrow lifted, I rethought my answer. “No, besides the occasional swig of cold medicine to help me sleep, I’m clean.”
“Do you have trouble sleeping?”
“For the first six months after Jeff died I did, but I’m getting better.” I still woke some nights thinking he was beside me, but it didn’t cause me the jolt of depression anymore. Usually, I just rolled over and fell back asleep. “No need for a prescription if that’s what you’re asking.”
“It was.” She ticked off another box. “Are you taking anything for depression?”
“Despite the opinion of others, no.”
“Tomorrow you’ll be given your psych exam, which includes a little chat with GRS’s psychiatrist. He’s good, but a little pill happy if you know what I mean.” She set down her pen and looked at me. “My suggestion is to take the prescription if he writes one, and toss it when you get home. It’s better to look cooperative than having to defend your mental competence.”
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