1
Sitting in her car at the curb was not going to get Kenna Johnson this position. She took a deep breath and stared at the white stucco house. Four women waited inside to see if she’d pass muster as an acceptable caregiver for their mother-in-law’s convalescence.
Marietta Santoro. The world’s bossiest busybody.
Kenna’s late husband’s derisive voice echoed in her head. But then, Maurice Hamelin never had anything good to say about anyone, his wife included. She’d stuck with him, though, a man thirty years her senior. If she could handle Maurice, she could handle Marietta.
And she needed this job.
Show time.
She breathed a quick prayer to a God she didn’t really know, slid out of her car, and strode up the walk. Before she could reach for the doorbell, the door swung open, and a woman of about sixty offered a bright smile.
“Hi. You must be Makenna? I’m Genevera Santoro. Come on in.”
Kenna gave the woman’s hand a firm shake. “Yes, that’s me. Pleased to meet you.”
Genevera introduced her cohorts: Grace, Winnie, and Betta. Together, they made up the local contingent of the old lady’s daughters-in-law.
Kenna smiled and nodded at each of them in turn before taking in the living room packed with the evidence of a full life. Furniture, knickknacks, and two walls crammed with ornately framed photos of graduations and weddings and babies.
Maurice had rejected her notion of hanging anything, even an old painting from the thrift store. Certainly not portraits of his sons, since he’d despised them. The feeling had been mutual.
“Please, have a seat.” Genevera motioned toward a club chair. “Can I get you a coffee?”
“No, thank you.” This wasn’t a social call. Kenna perched on the edge of the seat and launched into her spiel. “I achieved my Bachelor of Nursing at Gonzaga U ten years ago and worked at the nursing home for several years before taking time away to nurse my late husband through his final days. Since then, I’ve picked up shifts at Deaconess Hospital, but nothing permanent full-time, so I applied with the home-care agency.”
“Your references are impeccable,” Winnie assured her. “And the agency highly recommended you.”
They’d better have.
“Tell us a bit about yourself.” Grace leaned forward. “What are your hobbies?”
Kenna blinked. Hobbies? Who had time for anything like that? “I prefer to work.”
Genevera smiled. “You can’t work all the time, though. Do you enjoy reading? Knitting? Gardening?”
Right, the Bridgeview area of Spokane was particularly big on gardening. She’d circled the block earlier and caught glimpses of Marietta’s lush backyard through the tall fence. She’d probably be expected to help with the old lady’s yard. Marietta sure wouldn’t be doing much over the next few months, not with a cracked pelvis, broken ribs, and her arm in a cast after a nasty fall a couple of weeks ago.
“Sure, I like gardening.” Kenna liked whatever would get her this position. Anything to get away from the head nurse on her ward, who seemed to have it in for her. As if Kenna could help attracting crude remarks from little old men. Maurice had been adept at them, too.
“And you’re okay with moving in for a few months? From what the doctor at the rehab center said, Mamma will need assistance until at least Thanksgiving.”
“Yes, I’m fine with that. I can sublet my apartment.”
“It entails more than nursing.” Winnie eyed her. “Cooking, cleaning, running the household...”
“No problem.” She might not be the most inventive cook, but she could get meals on the table. It would work out. And cleaning? That filled any spare time. She already itched to dust the baseboards and straighten a crooked frame. “Which is your mother-in-law’s favorite chair? Will she be able to access it from her wheelchair?”
Winnie pointed to a wide armchair with low arms. “She loves to sit there where she can watch the street. She usually has a knitting project on the go, but I guess she won’t be doing that for a while. Not with her arm in a cast.”
“You’ll need to remove one of the side tables by her chair.” Kenna glanced around the living room. “The space is way too crowded for a wheelchair.”
“Yes, the agency did a home study.” Genevera nodded. “We have a list of requirements from a ramp to the front door to grab bars in her bathroom to... well, the list is long.”
“We have a family work day planned,” put in Grace.
“Good. What day do they expect to discharge her?” As in, what would Kenna’s start date be?
“Wednesday afternoon, if we’re ready.