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Chapter One

Laura

By nine on Monday morning, Denise, one of our nursing directors, is already sitting across from my desk with a printed email between us.

“I was frustrated.”

“I believe you.”

“That doesn’t mean you agree with me.”

“It rarely does.”

I tap the email. “You can’t solve a staffing shortage by making one of your nurses feel guilty for using approved medical leave.”

Denise exhales and leans back in the chair.

“You’re going to fix this with her this afternoon,” I say, “and then we’ll talk about why you’re short-staffed in the first place.”

She gives me a long look. “You enjoy this too much.”

“One of my better qualities.”

Most days, I like the work. As Assistant Director of Human Resources at Hollis Springs Regional Hospital, I know more about other people’s conflicts and disciplinary histories than any reasonable person should. I also spend a surprising amount of time reminding intelligent adults not to put things in writing they’d be embarrassed to hear read aloud by an attorney.

By lunchtime, I’m hungry enough to order the meatloaf special even though experience has taught me not to ask too many questions about hospital meatloaf. Megan passes my table before I finish unwrapping my silverware.

“Damn you. You got the good potatoes.”

“I got here before you. That sounds like a personal problem.”

She works in payroll and is two years younger than I am. We’ve sat through plenty of meetings together, but we don’t socialize outside work. Her cropped dark hair makes the enormous silver hoops she’s wearing today even harder to miss.

Megan gives my potatoes another aggrieved look. “I was busy correcting somebody else’s mistake.”

“Occupational hazard.”

“That’s rich coming from Human Resources.”

She nods toward a table where two women from finance are waiting for her. “Greg is repainting the guest room. He bought three sample cans yesterday.”

“Let me guess. Beige.”

“Three completely different shades of beige, according to Greg.”

“There are at least forty-seven kinds. You should respect the complexity of the color family.”

“You’re taking paint’s side?”

“Yes, I’m taking paint’s side.”

Megan shakes her head, making the hoops swing. “This is why I should never bring domestic disputes to Human Resources.”

“Excellent. I’d hate to start documenting crimes against beige.”

She laughs and heads for the finance table. A minute later, one of the women seems to be arguing that one of Greg’s samples is taupe rather than beige, and Megan is rejecting that position with both hands.

I finish my lunch and go back upstairs. By the time I leave at five, I’ve had enough of schedules, policies, and questions. What I want is hot coffee, something sweet, and forty minutes in a place where nobody needs anything from me. The Blue Plate Diner is on my way home if I take the slightly longer route through town, so I do.