Page 1 of Maverick
1
Kat
There was one thing I disliked about spreadsheets: they couldn’t give paper cuts to idiots.
“Becky.” I took a deep breath, willing myself not to lose patience with my human resources director. Oh, excuse me, not HR director anymore—Becky was now the People Ops Director. My firm had bowed to cutesy culture and rebranded job titles with glitter and unicorn farts.
“You’re missing a right parenthesis.” I leaned over her keyboard and added the missing punctuation. “You should be good now.” I clicked enter and sure enough, the error message disappeared, and she had her answer. “Although, for such a simple equation, you might be better off using a calculator.”Or your fucking fingers.
“Don’t be silly. I’ve got you to help me if I run into any problems.” Becky looked up and flashed her signature thousand-watt smile.
“You know I’m not IT, right? I can’t keep running in here. I have actual important work to be doing.” Work I got paid a shit ton of money to get done before the deadline andnotto act like IT.
“Of course I know. The Chief Bean Counter keeps this place running!”
I closed my eyes, losing the battle with my patience. It wasn’t Becky’s fault she got slipped bad Kool-aid.
“I told you not to call me that. Ever. I will not answer to that title, and if I see it on my door one more time, I’ll quit. I’m not kidding.” Although technically I was kidding. I’d worked too hard to get to where I was to let an obnoxious fruit loop derail my life’s goals. So maybe I wouldn’t quit outright, but I would float my resume.
Becky laughed. “Well, there was a second option…”
I paused at the door, my hand gripping the knob. “My contract requires a two-week notice, except in cases of extreme duress or employee bullying. Shall I enact that clause?”
Becky laughed again. Seriously, what was she on and how was that not a violation of the drug and alcohol policy? “Not today, Kat. But just know I’ve got a Finance Fairy door plaque already made up if you change your mind.”
I opened my mouth to tell her where she could put that door plaque when Becky’s assistant interrupted me.
“Miss Evans, you’ve got an emergency call from North Carolina. They said they’ve left messages but need to speak with you now.”
My heart stopped. North Carolina? That’s where Dad lived. I hadn’t seen him in a few years, but I talked to him every month or so. He seemed fine last time I spoke with him.
Dad was sixty… five? Maybe? I did some quick mental math and nodded. Sixty-five. No telling what might be going on with him. Since turning thirty last month, I’d started falling apart.I had to get reading glasses and a wrist brace for my budding carpal tunnel.
I hurried to my office and closed the door. Dad and I weren’t super close, but I did have fond memories of spending my summers at his house. He lived out in the country on fifty acres of land, ten or twenty of which were swamp. We spent the time fishing, feeding pigs, chasing chickens, and getting dirty. It was like going to summer camp, but without having to make friends. Kinda perfect. Until I turned sixteen and started attending academic summer programs.
“Hello, this is Katherine Evans. How can I help you?”
“Oh, thank goodness.” The male on the other end of the phone sounded relieved. “This is Dr. Alston from Atlantic Shores Medical Center. I’m calling because you are listed as having the healthcare power of attorney for your father, Larry Evans.”
“The what?” I blinked, trying to recall any conversation with my dad that involved being his POA.
“We have a document on file stating you have the authority to make healthcare decisions for Mr. Evans if he is unable.”
“Oh, well yeah, okay.” I was his next of kin so I guess that made sense. “What happened?” When was the last time I’d spoken to him? Definitely not this month because I’d been working nonstop on developing the budget for the upcoming fiscal year. And probably not last month because I reworked the revenue projections after the failed launch of our most recent app. Maybe the month before that?
“He came in three days ago complaining about his heart. He was admitted for aFib, and we were able to treat that and get his rate back to normal. But unfortunately, he can’t be released in his current state.”
“What do you mean? He needs help getting around or something?” I pulled out a notebook and began jotting notes.
The doctor paused. “When’s the last time you spoke with your father?”
“Um, a few months ago?”Maybe?
“Did you notice anything different or off about the conversation?”
I racked my brain but couldn’t think of anything. Why could I remember the second quarter expenditures for printing, but not my last conversation with my dad? “Not really, no.”
“I see. Well, your father is having serious cognitive issues. When he checked in, he was a little confused but nothing out of the ordinary for a 65-year-old male. As time went on, he became more agitated and confused. Right now, he thinks he’s at a hog farm, waiting on a vet to see his sows. We can’t release him in this state. He would be a danger to himself and others. He can go home if there is someone there, either a family member or home health aide. Or you could arrange for a bed in a long-term care facility.”
