Emily Redfeather

“Dead? What do you mean she’s dead? I just got a letter from her a week ago. How can she be dead?”

“Maybe she wrote the letter before she died.”

“Ya think?”

“Yep, she was probably still alive when she wrote it.”

“Probably?” I groaned. A headache thumped at the base of my brain.

This is going nowhere.

My dad didn’t always make sense on a good day. The fact that he thought his sister was dead wouldn’t make this one of his good days.

Am I really having this conversation on the phone—and from the office, no less? Holy cow, this is freaking painful. But I’ll get further if I just go along with him.

“Okay, Norman. How did she die and where is she?”

“I don’t rightly know how she died, Emily. She’s just dead.”

“Where is she?” I shouldn’t be short with my dad, but he was so trying at times like this.

When he didn’t answer, I went back in for another shot. “Daddy, where is Aunt Beatrice?”

My father, for some unknown reason, always said he preferred it when I called him Norman. But through the years, I’d found ‘Daddy’ worked best when I needed him to focus on what I said. I’d long suspected it was the name he secretly treasured, so I saved it like an ace-in-the-hole for when I really needed it, despite his protests.

Dad hesitated before replying, “Aunt Beatrice?”

I closed my eyes to keep from screaming.

The quiver in his voice was a sure indication he wasn’t as steady as he tried to make me believe. He walked a thin line.

My father had been an insurance salesman for many years, but had retired when he’d sustained a serious head injury in a car accident the summer after I moved to Tucson. For the most part, he functioned okay and got along well in the small town he lived in, but often drifted into a fantasy world where he claimed to be an ex-DEA agent. Everyone in town knew of his injury and loved him, so they went along with his fantasies and sometimes humored him more than they should.

His best friend these days was a chimpanzee named Chaz someone had dropped off at the farm well before Dad’s accident. He’d taken to the creature right off the bat and delighted in telling everyone Chaz used to be his partner in the DEA.

I took a deep breath to calm myself and tried again. “Daddy, tell me where Aunt Beatrice is.”

“She’s right here, sitting in her rocking chair.”

“In her rocking chair? She’s in her rocking chair?” My mind reeled as I skimmed through all the possibilities. “Are you sure Aunt Beatrice is dead?”

Aunt Beatrice was my father’s sister and he lived with her on the family farm where they’d grown up. My mom had died of lung cancer shortly before my fifth birthday, so Dad and Aunt Bea had raised me along with half the children in town. They were always taking in strays, whether they had two legs or four.

Sounding like a man discussing the weather, he replied, “She’s dead all right. I’ve seen dead before and she’s definitely dead.”

“Where’s Beau?”

“Beau?”

“Yes, Daddy. You remember Beau—your son. Where is he?”

“Oh, Beau. He stayed at his girlfriend’s house last night.”

“Great.” Fine time for my brother to find a girlfriend.

I didn’t want to know the answer, but I had to ask, “Daddy, how long has Aunt Beatrice been sitting in her rocker…dead?”

“Let’s see. She was there yesterday, but I don’t think she was dead. No, I remember her crocheting and we talked a bit. So, she must’ve been alive yesterday, or was it the day before? Hmmm. No, I think it was yesterday. Yes, definitely yesterday. She must’ve died today then…I think…maybe.”

Holy crap. Really? Can this be any weirder?

Frustration and panic had me by the throat and my stomach clenched. In a flash of inspiration, I had an epiphany and decided to come at it from another direction. “Daddy, think hard. Is Aunt Beatrice in the same clothes she had on yesterday when she was crocheting?”

The silence stretched on forever. When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I prodded, “Do you remember what Aunt Bea wore yesterday? Pants? Overalls? A skirt? Can you remember? Is she wearing the same clothes?”

“That’s a lot of questions, Lumpy. I can’t answer all those at once and I can’t think with you poppin’ off questions like they wuz bullets from a machine gun. Which one do you want me to answer?”

I groaned at the reminder of the nickname he’d pinned on me in puberty, about the time I’d gotten my first bra. Only two people in the world ever called me Lumpy—my dad and my best childhood buddy, Hawk. Dad got away with it because he couldn’t remember I hated it. Hawk got away with it because it was impossible to stop him.

I pinched my lip with my fingers to keep from snapping. No way I’d get a straight story from him. He was too confused today. “Okay, Daddy. Don’t worry. I’m gonna call Dal and have him come check on you and Aunt Beatrice. You stay in the house and I’ll have him come out right away. You understand?”

“Sure, honey. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of Aunt Bea. You give us a call when you get to town and Chaz and I will ride in and pick you up. I love you.”

I pushed hard on the bridge of my nose to ease the pain collecting there. It’d take way too much time and effort to convince him I couldn’t come home. I prayed this was just another one of his paranoid fantasies.

“All right, Daddy. I’ll talk to you later. I love you, too. Bye.”

After confirming he had disconnected, I then dialed the cell number for my childhood buddy, Dal, who was also the deputy sheriff in my hometown. He’d always kept an eye on my dad and Aunt Bea for me.

It had been almost a year since I’d gone home for Christmas. After college, I’d bounced around the Phoenix area for almost three years and worked a couple of programmer positions until I managed to get a job as a project leader with a small software firm in Tucson.

We didn’t do real elaborate stuff, just fleet management software for small businesses like trucking companies. My current assignment was a project to customize our software package for a local garbage company. Handling the logistics of spoiled prunes, empty beer bottles and dirty diapers wasn’t the dream job I’d imagined I’d have by now, but it paid the bills.

“BBPD, may I help you?”

“Hi, Viola, this is Emily Redfeather. Is Dal around?”

“Hello, Emily. How you been, honey? Long time since you been home. When you gonna come visit a spell?”

I’d grown up in that small, dusty town and knew everyone from the town drunk to the mayor. Viola had been the receptionist and dispatcher at the police station longer than I’d been alive.

Unfortunately, she was also the town gossip and a Facebook and Twitter addict. Any news that hit the police station would be broadcast across the continent within approximately ten-point-five seconds. I pictured her opening her Facebook account as we spoke.

“Sorry, no plans to come back right now. I’ve got lots of work stacked on my desk and can’t get away. Uh, I really need to talk to Dal. Can you get him on the phone, please?”

“Sure, honey. Everything okay?”

I failed to hide my frustration as I half-snapped, “Yes, Viola, everything’s okay. I need to talk to Dal and I’m in kind of a rush. Please get him.”

“You don’t have to be in such an all-fired hurry. Used to be a time when you’d spare a few minutes to talk to your Aunt Viola. Guess things have changed. I’ll go get Dal. Hold on.”

I shouldn’t have been short with her so I worked to calm myself while I waited. Viola wasn’t really my aunt. Life was different in a town with a population of under five hundred people. Kids grew up believing everyone in the community was related, and they often were in one way or another. Anyone more than fifteen years older became an adopted aunt or uncle and anyone over fifty was called ‘Grampa’ or ‘Gramma’. Nothing happened in a small town without it being everyone’s business and life happened at one pace—slow.

Slow might not be so bad right now.

My life had shifted into fast forward and sometimes I thought it was just a matter of time before the wheels came off. I’d been working long, hard hours. My emotions were frazzled from the workload and the bad direction my relationship with Jeremy had taken. I needed a break before I went over the edge, but it wouldn’t happen any time soon, given the backlog at the office.

“This is Dal.” The familiar voice at the other end of the line soaked through me like a healing tonic. Dal Ryan and I had gone to school together as kids. He’d been my friend forever.

“Hi, Dal, this is Emily. How are you?”

“Em. Good to hear from you. I’m great. How you doin’?”

“Not so hot right now. I got a call from Norman. He says Aunt Bea’s dead in her rocking chair.”

“What? Dead?”

Dal’s chair creaked in the background as he sat at his desk.

“That’s what he says. But you know Norman. He sounds pretty confused and isn’t sure how long she’s been in her chair. My guess is, she’s exhausted herself with all those animals and she’s so sound asleep, she can’t hear him. You know how deaf she is these days.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you’re right. Listen, hon, don’t worry. I’ll take a run out there myself, wake her up and get Norman squared away. All right?”

“Thanks, Dal. You’re a life saver.”

“No problem. I’ll give you a call back when I get ’em settled down.”

“I appreciate it. I’m beat and I’m gonna knock off on time today. Call me on my cell phone. You got the number?”

“Yep, sure do. You take it easy and don’t worry. I’ll talk to ya in a bit.”

Never one to waste time, Dal disconnected.

I flopped back in my chair. My stomach knotted and bile burned the back of my throat.

Can Dad be right? Is it possible Aunt Bea is dead?

“God, I hope not,” I whispered.

Just then, the office door swung open and slammed against the wall. I jumped an inch off the chair and almost toppled backward, chair and all. With both feet straight out in front of me and arms windmilling, I struggled to save myself. As I barely avoided a very humiliating upset by regaining my balance, I stared hard at my boss and waited for an explanation.

“I need to talk to you in my office.” He wouldn’t make eye contact.

Not a good sign.

I took a deep, measured breath and counted to ten as he hurried away. Annoyed, I dragged my poor, tired body across the hall and slumped into the first chair I came to.

“Will this take long?” I was too frayed to hide my annoyance.

He raised his brows. “It might. Are you in a hurry?”

“Sort of. It’s Friday afternoon and I’ve got almost eighty hours in this week. I’m exhausted and there’s a family emergency brewing. I just want to go home and curl up on the couch with a glass of wine and pray for good news. Can it wait?”

George stared at some loose papers on his desk. He still wouldn’t make eye contact, which wasn’t unusual. He was a short, bald man with no people skills and beady little eyes that were always sneaking peeks as if he was on a mission to catch someone doing something wrong.

“Uh, no. This can’t wait, and I’m afraid you’re not going home early. The company is downsizing and you’re being RIF’d.”

The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds while the silence hung thick in the air between us. After a few moments, the wheels churned in my mind.

“RIF’d? What do you mean, RIF’d?”

“A Reduction In Force—job cuts.”

I stared at him, my heart pounding like a hammer on an anvil. “I know what it means. Why me?”

“Like I said, the company is downsizing. Your department is being outsourced and your project has been cancelled. We’re sending the work offshore.” Before I got the chance to respond, he hurried on. “Don’t worry. You’ll be compensated. We’ll give you a severance package and help you update your resume.”

“Severance package? Help me update my resume?” My voice pitched higher as I slid closer to the edge. “Do you know what I’m dealing with right now?”

He rolled his eyes and sighed. “I’m sorry if this comes at a bad time. It’s not personal, just a cost-saving measure.”

My stomach knotted tighter as my foot slip over the mental edge. “Not personal? Are you kidding me? This is my freaking job. It’s damn personal to me. I’ve given this company two hundred percent for the last four years and this is the thanks I get?”

RIFs happened and they weren’t always selective, but some part of me had always believed that if I worked hard and did a good job, I’d be rewarded. I’d never expected to give so much of myself to my career, only to get kicked in the teeth.

Unreasonable rage bubbled up from somewhere deep inside and I shouted. “You think a few lousy months’ pay and some re-training is adequate compensation for having this prestigious career of facilitating the movement of garbage ripped out from under me?”

I was on a roll now, my propensity for sarcasm kicking into high gear and I leaned forward in my seat.

“You think that’ll even begin to compensate me for being thrown out of my corner cubicle and barred from the county dump? For the humiliation of being supervised as I pack my personal belongings into the one box I’m allowed to carry out? For the loss of my insurance and the huge pension I’m counting on for when I’m old and shriveled? You think you can come up with enough compensation for all that?”

He stammered, as if searching for the right words, “Actually, it’s only two weeks’ pay and no training. But there are outplacement services.”

“Two weeks’ pay? That’s it?” Hanging off the edge of sanity by my fingernails, I surged to my feet and stormed to the door. I jerked it open, stepped through and glared at him. “Outplacement services?”

Heads popped up all over the groundhog farm as everyone struggled to see and hear what was going on.

“You’ve got to be kidding. You’re offering me outplacement services? After four years of weekends, late nights, working overtime until I live each day dead on my feet, you tell me outplacement services and two weeks’ severance is all I get? Are you freaking nuts? Well, you can kiss my outplacement services!”

George moved to the door, where he stood with his mouth open, hands stuffed in his front pants pockets. He scanned the room full of gawkers standing on chairs to peer over partitions.

I stared at him and tried to catch my breath, expecting some sort of reply, maybe an explanation that made more sense than outsourcing. When none was forthcoming, I straightened my back and took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. I guess that’s it, then.”

“actually, you need to go to HR and sign some papers so they can get things rolling today.”

“No.” I was done. What did I have to lose?

His eyebrows pushed together. “No? What do you mean ‘No’?”

“No.”

I clenched my teeth to keep them from chattering and stuck out my chin to growl, “No, I’m not going to HR. I feel sick. I’m going home to lie down. If HR wants to talk to me, they can come to my house and sit at my bedside. I will not sign your damn papers today. As a matter of fact, I might not be well enough to sign any papers next week, either. In fact, I might decide to get a lawyer and drag you and this stinkin’ company to court.”

I strode away, ducked into my cubicle, grabbed my purse from the drawer, pulled out my keys and locked the desk. At the front door, I spun about and pointed a finger at my ex-boss and added, “If anyone touches a thing in my office before I get back to pack up, I’ll tell HR all about our little affair.”

“Affair? What affair?” In a panic, he started after me, his comb-over flapping as he moved.

A wave of snickers flowed through the office. Only a moron on crack would ever believe there had been anything between me and my meatball of a boss. But his inflated little ego would think they might believe it. If an idle threat kept him from cleaning out my office before I got back, what did I have to lose? I’d sped past my breaking point five minutes earlier and was now hurtling full-throttle over the edge of an emotional cliff.

I exited the office, closed the door behind me and hurried to my car parked a few spaces down the sidewalk. I climbed in, flung my purse across the seat and jammed the key into the ignition.

The engine roared as I squealed out of the parking space. Black smoke billowed out behind me as George hit the street and screamed for me to come back.

It’ll be a cold day in hell before I give the sniveling little weasel the last word.

I soon pulled into my designated parking spot at the apartment complex, switched off the car and leaned back in the seat. The engine coughed and sputtered to a stop.

I can’t believe it—RIF’d.

I’d always dreaded having to do layoffs whenever management said we had to cut staff. This time, it was my whole group and I’d never seen it coming. Not a hint. Weasel-man had sure played his cards close to his chest. He should at least have dropped hints to give people a chance to get some irons in the fire. Nothing.

Bastard.

My only comfort was the shock on his face when I’d threatened to tell HR we’d had an affair. That had sure gotten his attention, though, and it made me feel a little better to be in control of something…anything. I shrugged off the little nick of conscience that snaked through me.

He deserved it. After all the times I’ve saved his ass on critical projects, this is the thanks I get?

I replayed the events of the last hour in my head, a hot lump in the pit of my stomach and a sour taste burning in my throat. I looked across the courtyard at the front door to my apartment, the one I’d shared with Jeremy for almost a year now.

Losing my job sure won’t help our relationship.

Things had been good for the first six months. He was so different from anyone I’d ever dated. With light green eyes and sandy hair in a long choppy cut, he had a sensitive artist-look that’d melted my heart the moment I’d laid eyes on him. But in time, the whole sensitive thing had become annoying. He’d hinted at marriage but I wasn’t ready for a commitment. I simply changed the subject whenever it came up.

Maybe I’m just not ready to commit to Jeremy.

Then he’d lost his construction job and things had gotten dicey. He’d tried to find another job, but his heart hadn’t been in it. After a couple of months, he’d quit searching and spent all his time painting.

Painting…ha! It’s more like paint hurling.

Frustrated with his lack of direction, I’d searched for a way to make Jeremy a contributing partner. At my wits’ end, I’d given him responsibility for the running of the household, so he cleaned and paid the bills. At first, I had refused when he’d offered. But when work stretched into eighty-hour weeks, I’d had to take the chance. I’d hoped he’d be motivated when he saw how difficult it was to make ends meet on only one salary.

No such luck.

The first few months, I’d double-checked his work and it was fine. So, I’d backed off and let him handle it, in spite of my paranoia. But he’d gotten too comfy with the house-husband role, so I’d begun to push him again to get a job.

I’d thought it might be working when he’d come home late one night a few weeks ago, very excited about the new job he’d found. He wouldn’t give me any details because he said they were still hammering it out, but had assured me our money troubles were in the past. When I’d asked what he meant by ‘money troubles’, he laughed and said it was just a figure of speech.

It’d nagged at me for a night or two, but I’d convinced myself all he needed was a chance to prove himself the man of the house. I’d decided to back off for a few weeks and see how things went.

Stupid.

The middle of last week, Jeremy’s mood had soured again and he still wouldn’t talk about the job. He’d gone to work every day, which had been a good sign, but his attitude had been like a fingernail on a chalkboard. I’d been at the end of my rope and had begun to consider severing the relationship.

Now what? I don’t love him anymore. It wouldn’t be right to stay for financial reasons, but how can I walk away without a job?

Given how testy he’d been, I had a nagging suspicion there might not be any savings left. I never should have given over the financial reins, but I’d been so tired and I’d hoped it might bring him around. If he screwed up, I’d figured I could repair the damage in a few months with the small stash I hadn’t told him about.

I had managed to squirrele away three thousand dollars in the false bottom of my jewelry box to put a down payment on a new car by the time Jeremy found a real job. The car I drove now coughed and sputtered on what cold winter mornings we had in Tucson and smoked like a house afire. It was a race to see if it would last long enough for the cops to pull me over for pollution.

Now, the money would have to go toward bills. Three thousand dollars wouldn’t stretch very far, but it might keep me afloat until I found another job.

I shivered as I reached for my jacket and pulled it on. It was chilly and sitting in the car wouldn’t fix anything. Time to go in and rifle through the filing cabinet before Jeremy got home. My stomach churned over what I might find. Thank God for my secret stash. I needed to keep the old clunker running a little bit longer.