He had an obligation to fulfill, but when he had looked at me when came to the bar, I didn’t feel like some dreaded responsibility. He even asked about my favorite jelly bean flavor. No one had ever paid attention to what I ate unless it was to tell me to back off, but he did.
I couldn’t look too far into it. Maybe he no longer felt like my personal nemesis, but we weren’t friends. We weren’t even colleagues really. What were we?
Raquel, the nurse in charge, stopped next to me, her eyes sympathetic. “Your mom asked to see you.”
Shit. That obliterated all thoughts of Teller. Mom did not ask. She’d probably ordered my supervisor to tell me to get my ass there as soon as possible. “Okay, thanks. I’ll make it quick.”
“We all try to,” she said, knowing I felt the same way and it wasn’t so I could return to work quicker. “Also, Ramona’s on a rampage.”
My stomach dropped. Ramona was the director of the nursing home. I’d paid for the next month before I’d bid on Teller, and I was keeping a few months in reserve until her house sold. Technically, it was my house, but I refused to live there. “Because of my mom?”
“Because she’s Ramona.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. I already had one big Cheryl Townsend strike against me. If the director thought I was laughing at her, I could lose my job. Other than our small clinic, there was nowhere else to work as a CNA in town, and I doubted I’d get hired for home healthcare if I was let go from here.
I slowed my usual hurried walk as I approached Mom’s door. Cheryl Townsend wasn’t an easy resident, and she refused to have me help her with anything. I took the reprieve where I could, and the other staff paid the price.
Turning the corner into Mom’s wing, I jumped. Ramona was leaning against the wall, her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose, and she was scrolling through her phone.
“Madison. Good.” She tucked the phone into the pocket of her gray cardigan. Ramona never wore scrubs, despite being a nurse. Most of her work was admin and complaining to me about Mom.
Not good. “Yes?”
“Your mom swore at Joseph today.”
Hopefully, she hadn’t called him a cunt. Though he could be. “She swears a lot.”
“We’ve given her warnings.”
“I can talk to her again.” Twice already, Mom had been threatened with removal, and she’d known enough to settle down. Her pride wouldn’t allow her to live with me. She’d rather die on the street than seem weak in front of her daughter.
“I can have her removed.”
“I know.” I’d learned shortly after I started here that agreeing with Ramona was the best tactic. She hadn’t hassled Scott like she did me, but Scott’s lawyer used to be one of his customers. If the lawyer wasn’t also an abusive dick to his kids, I’d probably give him my business. “I appreciate your patience.”
“Mmph. She’s on her last warning.” Ramona sauntered away.
Mom had been on her last warning since my first day of work.
Sighing, I continued on my way. Mom’s room was in the far corner of the east wing, where she couldn’t be as easily heard cussing out the staff. The doors I passed were decorated with artwork from kids and grandkids, cutouts of handprints, and happy photographs. When I reached Mom’s door, there was nothing but her first name.
I knocked. “Hey, Mom. Can I come in?”
“’Bout damn time. You shouldn’t be late for work.”
“I wasn’t.” I was never late, but I was never that early. We couldn’t clock in more than seven minutes early, or we’d have to be paid for a whole quarter hour.
“What’s this about you and that Bailey boy?”
Lead formed a ball in my gut. I should’ve anticipated this, but the work to be done on the bar and dealing with my sleazy real estate agent had demanded my brain space. “I hired Teller as a project manager.”
“You bought him from that stupid bachelor auction. Fucking Wilna.” The corner of her mouth curled up. The other side was weaker from the stroke, and the effect only deepened her sneer. She’d done only enough during her rehabilitation to keep that poisonous tongue of hers strong, but not her limbs. “Why the hell would you think he’d help you?”
She knew all about gambling, and I’d taken the biggest bet out on Teller. “I needed someone for the repairs and he won’t screw me over because it’s for charity.”
“You should’ve sold that goddamn place instead of your childhood home.”
“The sale isn’t done yet.” She was lucky I didn’t burn my childhood home to the ground. The property and house were technically mine, thanks to Scott, so I could demolish it all. But I was better than that. I had a reasonable and responsible plan: sell it to pay for Mom’s care.
