River Wolf(61)

a handful of childhood treasures including some photographs, a ragged paged book and a blanket she’d had forever.

No word from her mother. Not a single one until the message. Even when she’d returned to the house she’d grown up in to retrieve her clothes and a few other personal items, her parents absented themselves and left Mrs. Tang, their neighbor, to let her in and then lock the doors when she left.

Torn between humiliation and pride, she held the phone down and stared at the message again. The disconnect between parent and child was normal on the approach to adulthood. So many psychology books she’d read on the subject all said the same thing, but she and her mother had never been close. Not when Colby proved to be a constant source of disappointment. Never quiet enough. Never proper enough. Her clothing was too loose or too revealing, and her choice of occupations?

You have strong grades and good mind. You could be in big business and make good money.

Not interested. Her father was an accountant and a skilled one. He saved his clients thousands of dollars every year. Did he make excellent money? Yes. Did he always have a constant source of business? Yes. Did he have a regular schedule that allowed him weekends off and at home every evening by five-thirty? Absolutely.

Was the work boring as hell? After scrubbing a hand over her face, she forced herself to listen to the rest of the messages. Her probation officer’s was a perfunctory good luck call, so nothing missed there. She’d completed her community service; her time was now served, and have a nice life. Yippee. No enthusiasm filtered through her. Five days since that last day, yet it felt like five years.

Miranda’s messages were a balm after her mother’s chilly announcement. “Girl, I hope you are enjoying Florida. I’m going to email you the recommendation I promised. I know you aren’t a fan of it, but I still have the email address you used when you came to work here. If I need to send it somewhere else, call me and let me know.” The second message came in shorter and to the point. “Recommendation sent. Call me and let me know you’re all right or just send me an email. We miss you. Our new girl had bed pan duty yesterday. I don’t think she’ll ever speak to me again.” The amusement in the last sentence pulled a weak laugh from Colby.

Miranda liked to haze the newbies and give them the worst jobs those first couple of weeks. As she used to say, it’s a shit job kind of career. When you can handle the crappiest part with grace, you can handle anything.

“Thank you, Miranda,” she murmured. Colby could handle the shittiest jobs with grace. So the fuck what that Brett couldn’t answer her question, he’d told her he wouldn’t lie to her. That mattered. He mattered.

Debating the message from the number she didn’t recognize, she hit play just so she could delete the damn thing.

“Ms. Jensen, my apologies for the message here. When you came to the school on Sunday, you spoke to one of my TA’s about enrolling in the RN program. I’ve had a chance to review the transcripts you authorized and reviewed your work at the Alba Hospital. I have some questions for you, and I’d like to set up an appointment so we can discuss your options.” He left his number and the instructions to call him but not his name. She talked to a crapton of people with Gillian when they went to SUNY.

Excitement curled in her belly. Despite all her protestations, the idea of someone overlooking her mistakes or at least accepting she’d done while allowing her to finish her degree and eventual certification…

Tears pricked in her eyes. As awful a job as being a nurse could be, she also got to help people. Her community service as a nurse’s assistant at the Alba Hospital demonstrated more than anything else, she wanted to help them. She liked to make the lonely patients smile and give the cheerful ones someone to chatter to. Hell, she even liked the grumpy ones because it meant she had to work a little harder to soften the edginess and make them happy.

Luc definitely qualified for the latter category, and she’d managed him. Hope flared and her finger hovered over the call back button. If she did call him back, he could tell her everything she wanted to hear.

Or he could tell me sorry, I wish I could do more, but character is a vital part of the commitment to service. The judge had said those words to her in his admonishment prior to approving the community service for time served. What if he did say yes? She’d be committing to staying in the area, and she’d barely been able to promise Brett a week.

God, her thoughts kept racing in circles. Impatient with the nail chewing, she reclaimed her mug and Brett’s. Instead of worrying at the edge of an indecisive bone, she could do something. Every day since she’d arrived, Brett or his family had cooked for her. Baking would give her something to do in return and keep her hands and mind occupied.