The Life She Wants Page 8

  The only jobs she seemed to qualify for were laborer’s positions. Waitressing paid far less than minimum wage because of the tips, which waitstaff were obligated to report to the IRS. In the end she did better for herself by not mentioning her degree; she said she was educated through high school. Stealing a little bit from Riley, she said she’d cleaned houses for work and the only reference she had was Adam Kerrigan because she hadn’t lived around here since high school.

  So she took a job on the housekeeping staff of a hospital in Petaluma. After four days of training she began on the day shift, punching in at 7:00 a.m.

  She made a decision, an easy one. She wasn’t about to tell anyone her story. She’d like to at least pay her bills for a while. She kept it simple. She had been married to a man named Rick—no one had ever called Richard Rick—they didn’t have children, he died of a brain injury. Hospital people took that to mean stroke or aneurysm, not a bullet. She never mentioned New York; she said they’d lived in Ohio. On the line that asked for her last address, she made up a completely fictitious address in Akron. She decided to come back to California where she grew up, where she had a few friends and some sparse family. It was a little dicey when people asked, in a friendly way, “Who are your friends? Who do you hang around with?” At which point Emma began to have secret, imaginary friends. “Oh, my girlfriend Mary Ann who I went to school with and a cousin, Jennifer, who’s married with two kids. Then there’s Ruth, my favorite aunt who’s only four years older—I’m close to them.”

  The women on the housekeeping staff she worked with were exceptionally friendly, reaching out to her, warning her about the supervisor who was a dragon lady named Glynnis Carlson. Glynnis was short, wore a forty-year-old hairstyle with one silver slash in front, came upon them like an unexpected storm and without even raising her voice threatened their very lives for having a cell phone out, for disposing of soiled linens wrong, for leaving streaks on the floor or porcelain, letting their carts get overladen or worse, understocked. And that was nothing compared to the way she berated people who weren’t keeping up with their assigned area, which was very hard because nurses and aides were constantly summoning housekeeping. They didn’t help with cleaning up beds or patients, of course, but anything that hit the floor was passed on to the housekeeping staff. There were a lot of messes that hospital staff didn’t handle. The horrid ones.

  “Be glad you’re not in the ER or the operating room. Wear a mask and never work without gloves, just change them out,” advised Barbara, one of the cleaning staff who had been around for years. “Wrap as much mess as possible in the linens, careful not to get any plastics or papers in them, get them down the chute fast as you can. Let it be laundry’s problem. They transfer it all with big sticks and hooks.”

  There was a lot of that in a hospital. The doctors passed it off to the nurses, who passed it to the orderlies and aides, who passed it to housekeeping, who passed it to laundry.

  It was hard, ugly work, but steady and among decent people. Emma had never been shy of hard work and she was growing confident and a little bit happy. She had work. She had just enough money and didn’t require much to live on. Life in her tiny bungalow was compact and uncomplicated. Not only were her coworkers nice to her but the patients and their visitors were also pleasant, and under the direst of circumstances—illness. Cleaners weren’t allowed to have traffic with patients—they weren’t trained for that. But there was nothing preventing them from being cordial, going for an extra water jug for flowers, calling nurses when they saw a problem. “Just don’t touch them,” the dragon lady said. “Not even if one of them falls. Switch on the emergency light and stand by.”

  “Not even if they fall?” Emma asked, aghast.

  “All you need is to help someone off the floor and break their neck or something. You’ll lose your job and the hospital will get sued. You never move an accident victim. You let the professionals do that.”

  “Makes sense, when you put it that way,” she said.

  “Think of them all as accident victims,” Glynnis said. “Just get their bathrooms clean.”

  But despite these terrifying warnings, Emma warmed to the patients, particularly the elderly. Little old people were so vulnerable when ill and she found she couldn’t turn away. The old women loved her and the old men loved her more, and she just couldn’t stop herself from offering the occasional sip of water to someone who was struggling with the tray table or a glass. It pleased her to hand a wet washcloth to someone who needed it. She even stayed late and read to an eighty-five-year-old blind woman, though she was careful to ask the dragon lady for permission first.

  “I’m not allowed to help you to the lavatory,” she told the woman. “I’m so sorry. But I’ll get the nurse.”

  “I hate the nurse. I’d rather it be you.”

  “Oh, I’d be happy to, but the housekeeping staff has been threatened with dire consequences if we break the rules, even just slightly. I’m not trained in patient care. Let me get that nurse and I’ll stay with you until she comes.”

  She started thinking about possibly training as a nurse’s aide.

  She had three very blissful weeks in her hospital job, though it was the hardest work she’d ever done. She didn’t care; she went on break with coworkers, she ate lunch with her new friends, heard about their marriages, their kids, their aging parents, their car problems and vacation plans.

  Emma began to have fantasies of a normal life. It wouldn’t be a rich life for sure, but at this point a rich life only represented disaster and danger to her. She was looking for stability, nothing more. She had her food debit card, she handed out Halloween candy with Penny, the leaves finished turning, November came in wet and cold. She got together for wine with Lyle and Ethan, who was almost starting to believe she wasn’t a bad person. She spoke to Adam on the phone a couple of times when he called to see how she was doing. She had a light dinner with Penny on TV trays, watching Madam Secretary with her, just like normal people. Penny invited her to join her with her girlfriends Susan, Marilyn and Dorothy for a potluck one evening and to her delighted surprise, these old girls liked martinis! Susan’s son was the chauffeur for Susan, Marilyn and Dorothy. “I told him I was completely capable,” Susan said. “But it’s just as well he wants to drive us. That way we can have two!”

  “William is such a nice boy,” Penny said of Susan’s son.

  “That boy is fifty-nine years old,” Susan said. “Before long I’ll be chauffeuring him!”

  At two weeks until Thanksgiving, Emma had more than one offer for the holiday feast. Lyle and Ethan were going to Ethan’s sister’s house and had graciously included her. She might’ve gone but for the fact that Penny and a couple of her widowed girlfriends who were sharing the feast also invited her—and they were to dine at Penny’s little house. She dearly wanted to join them.

  “Being one of the new kids at the hospital, I’m sure I’ll have to work that day,” Emma said.

  “We took that into consideration,” Penny told her. “We’ll be ready at about four—that should give you time to get home, shower, come over for some pre-turkey poo-poos and wine.”

  “Let me pick up the wine,” she said.

  “You’re absolutely welcome to.”

  “And I’ll visit Lyle’s shop and see if he’ll give me a break on a centerpiece,” she added.

  “Try your best, darling, but be warned—he’s going to gouge you! I’ve been looking for a discount for years. I guess I can’t complain,” she said with a smile. “He gave me you.”

  Emma was having a life. She had friendly acquaintances at work, a paycheck large enough to cover her most immediate expenses, friends apart from the hospital, two invitations for a holiday dinner, a comfortable place to live. It didn’t even bother her that her own family hadn’t so much as called to check on her much less ask her to join them for Thanksgiving dinner. I
n fact, she was relieved.

  Just as she was beginning to relax, something weird happened. One of the older nurse’s aides was glowering at Emma for no apparent reason. Clarice seemed angry about something. Angry or on edge. Some others seemed to be following suit. It appeared to be an unhappy day on the ward. There was a static in the air and Emma knew something was wrong. There had been a couple of emergencies; maybe that was setting everyone on edge.

  The static turned to an electric crackle. Emma tried not to notice but she was beginning to feel paranoid by the behavior around her.

  It didn’t last long. It was two in the afternoon, about an hour until shift change. A patient had been discharged and the room was ready for a terminal cleaning. Emma got her cart, mop, linens, gloves and went to the room. Standing there beside the now empty bed in a room with no other patients was Clarice.

  “How much do you have stashed away?” she asked, her voice hard.

  “What?”

  “You heard me. How much do you have stashed away? Enough to take care of my elderly mother? Because Hugh and I can’t afford her and she has to live with us now since her entire savings was stolen.”

  “What are you talking about?” Emma asked, fearing she knew.

  “I know who you are, Mrs. Compton. We all know who you are. My mother’s name is Roberta Sinclair and you took everything she had and I think you can find a way to get it back.”

  Oh, no! Even though she’d been over every possible scenario, now Emma didn’t know what to say. She just shook her head. “There’s nothing,” she said. “I have nothing.”

  “You have assets in your name,” Clarice insisted.

  Emma shook her head again. “There’s nothing in my name. Everything was in Richard’s name and the few things that weren’t, I surrendered. All our possessions were auctioned—I surrendered those, as well. Do you honestly think I’d be scrubbing floors in a hospital if I had anything?”

  “For a while, yes,” she said. “You’ll lie low for a while, then when the talk has died off, you’ll tap into your hidden money. I read the book!”

  “The books are wrong! The internet is wrong! Everything is gone—my wedding ring, my wedding gown, wedding gifts—I gave it all back. I’m not lying low—I’m using my legal name. I haven’t even colored my hair! I didn’t know what was going on, Clarice. I had nothing to do with Richard’s business.”

  “What about offshore money? One of the books says he was about to give the SEC account numbers when—”

  “Gone. He was trying to negotiate a smaller sentence, but... There’s nothing that I know of, nothing left to me, I swear.”

  “The book says you retained 1.4 million and a lot of valuable property...”

  She was getting dizzy, shaking her head. “I kept a few thousand so I could drive back here and rent a small space. The US Marshals sold everything at auction. Everything. I kept some sheets and towels, a few dishes and pots. I gave most of my clothing to women’s shelters. There’s nothing. Do you think I want to be tied to that hideous crime? I was told that investors got roughly thirty-two cents on the dollar. I couldn’t do anything more.”

  “You’re lying,” Clarice said. “You had lawyers! My mother didn’t have a lawyer, she couldn’t afford one! And she didn’t get that much. She borrowed against her house to invest with Compton!”

  That was not exactly how it worked, as Emma knew from the trial. Richard Compton worked with a number of financial managers and brokers who represented smaller investors, and it was they who invested in his company. Richard didn’t talk anyone into mortgaging their house; he talked hedge fund managers into investing with him and he neither knew nor cared where they got their money. Large sums. Many collections of smaller investors. Richard was big-time. He had a minimum requirement, probably a hundred times the value of Mrs. Sinclair’s mortgage.

  “My lawyer was assigned by the court and he wanted me to keep enough to live on since finding work would be hard, but I didn’t keep anything. I’m sorry,” Emma said. “I’m so sorry. I would never have let something like that happen if there was anything I could do to prevent it.”

  “You’re lying!”

  Clarice picked up a bedpan that sat on the now vacant bed and hurled it at her. Emma blocked the missile with her forearms but that did little good. The damn thing was full. Since she knew the patient just discharged was ambulatory, Clarice must have looked high and low through the whole ward for just the right bedpan. Or more likely, she emptied catheter bags into one. The splatter threw Emma off balance. She stumbled backward, hit her tailbone on the pail on her way down and cracked her head on the metal door handle. She was covered in the filth.

  When she tried to stand, the world was spinning and she ended up scooting across the floor, escaping out of the room into the hallway.

  “Oh, my God,” one of the other housekeepers said, running to her. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

  Clarice walked out of the patient room and, lifting her chin in the air, walked past Emma. She went down the hall to the nursing station.

  “Can you get up?” the other housekeeper asked.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. “Ugh. Oh, God, this is awful.”

  “How did this happen?”

  “She threw a bedpan at me. Apparently she was swindled by... My late husband was guilty of... But I didn’t know,” she said, turning imploring eyes to her friend. “I swear I didn’t. I would never. And he’s dead now.”

  Two of the RNs on staff came running down the hall. One said, “Dear God.” The other one said, “Clarice has lost her mind.” They tried to get Emma on her feet but when she swayed and threatened to fall again, they went for a wheelchair and took her to the ER. She tried to briefly explain the problem, but it didn’t come out well. She tried to tell them she’d been married to a bad man, a thief, but she didn’t know it and it seems Clarice was one of his victims but Emma didn’t know...

  I should have done something, she thought. I should have done something when I wondered why lawyers negotiated our prenup but Richard had hired both of them. I should have asked questions when this fabulously wealthy man wanted to marry me, but I didn’t! I should have done something when the SEC started investigating him. I should have looked through his papers or found a way to hack his computer when I realized something was wrong, but I didn’t know. I should have known. How could I not have known? I should have talked to the people who worked for him, the people who eventually testified against him. I should have found out how they were going to carry on—they got deals from the prosecutors. Everyone got deals—even his mistress!

  When everything was so murky, so mysterious, I should have looked into it! Maybe I should have hired a detective or something. Maybe I should have run!

  “Clean her up and get a head CT,” the ER doctor ordered. “Listen, you might have a concussion, Emma. Can you get a ride home today and a ride back for your car tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, thinking I’m covered in urine! Who wants to drive me home?

  “Well, you can think about that. We’re going to get you some clean scrubs, stand you in the shower and wash you off—Mandy will go with you and make sure you don’t faint or fall in the shower. And while you’re having your CT, think about who you can call. If there’s no one, someone from the hospital can either take you home or put you in a cab. You can’t drive for twelve hours, at least. And Mrs. Carlson is waiting to see you, but let’s get you cleaned up first.”

  Glynnis! Glynnis was going to fire her!

  She was taken to a shower, her smelly uniform was put in a plastic bag and a set of scrubs provided. “I think your shoes are fine,” Mandy said from right outside the curtain.

  “My shoes are fine because it hit me in the head and got in my hair,” Emma said with a hiccup of emotion.

  “Just to be safe,
throw the shoes in the washer when you get home. Or spray clean them with some disinfectant cleaner.”

  “You can wash those?”

  “I do it all the time—they’re just running shoes. Canvas and that little bit of leather.”

  If I’d been doing my own laundry and cleaning instead of hiring people to do it, I’d probably know that, she thought.

  Emma was given a comb and had a little lip gloss in her purse. By the time the doctor looked at her head CT, her hair was almost dry and completely mangy-looking. Without some product, a brush and a blow dryer, she looked a wreck. It was a relief to be clean, but she wasn’t feeling much better about the whole thing. They gave her a list of symptoms to watch for and she had a very large bump on the back of her head, but that didn’t hurt nearly as much as her tailbone where she’d hit the metal bucket on the way down. She was given some ibuprofen.

  The doctor was insistent that she not drive herself. Emma thought about just ignoring the instructions. Then her wiser self intervened and reminded her that all she needed was to pass out while driving and kill a family of four. She couldn’t bear the thought of calling Lyle and having Ethan snigger to learn that her past was kicking up trouble. She didn’t want to call Penny; she didn’t want her landlady having second thoughts about her decision to rent to her.

  She texted Adam.

  I fell and had a little accident at work and need a ride home from the hospital in Petaluma. Are you available? If not, I’ll look around for someone who will give me a lift.