Читать книгу DARK WORK - Barbara Rush - Страница 6

Pastor Rocky Ledford was on his last sip of burnt coffee when he received the call from Nelson Funeral Home about the death of Liz Griffin. He pushed the button on his intercom.

“Karen, do you know Liz Griffin? Nelson just called and said she was killed yesterday in a traffic accident.”

Karen took her job seriously as the secretary to the lead pastor. She made it her business to know everyone in the church and everything about them, salacious or otherwise.

“Yes, I know Liz. She helped with translating the booklets we sent to the orphanage in the Ukraine last year. Oh, how terrible, and I think she has a daughter, doesn’t she? I believe her daughter – Erin - that’s her name – works in the same building as my husband.”

“Great, could you get her address, send her a letter of condolence from me? And of course if there’s anything we can do …” he trailed off as he glanced at his watch, fighting the urge to ditch the salad his wife made for him and go out for a Lotta Burger.

“Right, Rocky. I’m on it.”

Karen called her husband Ron who easily found Erin Griffin listed in the building directory as a paralegal for Redding & Miles. Within 20 minutes, she had Erin’s address, cell phone number, and a letter prepared for Rocky’s signature stamp. It was how she liked to do business so close to lunch: quickly. Gathering her things, she swallowed hard, almost tasting the chili dogs at Coney Island where she was meeting Ron for lunch.

Karen was pushing in the seat to her neatly arranged desk when an attractive woman stuck her head through the door.

“Excuse me, but are you Karen?” she said shyly.

“That’s me,” Karen answered.

“Oh, I am so sorry to bother you. You must be on your way out to lunch.”

“No bother. How can I help you?” It was Karen’s job to intercept people like this, so that Rocky had time to meditate.

“May I come in?”

“Certainly.” Gesturing toward one of the chairs in front of her desk, Karen gave the woman a warm smile as she folded her coat neatly and sat back down.

I hope this isn’t going to cut into my lunch plans, Karen thought.

“My name is Lydia Knox, and I work for a company called Good Grief.”

Oh no, a sales vendor. Karen smiled. She could handle this in five minutes and still meet Ron. “We do all of our own grief counseling here. But I appreciate your thinking of us.”

“That is so wonderful!” Lydia seemed delighted and beamed as though Karen personally was doing all of the counseling.

Karen felt flattered. Lydia was a tall, slender woman who looked as though she were in her mid 30’s or early 40s at best. Her hair was fashionably styled, she was impeccably dressed, and her clothes looked expensive. She was drop-dead, knockout, stunningly beautiful. She had cold black hair and radiant green eyes. Her skin was perfect. Karen smoothed her own dress as she listened, subconsciously pushing in the bulge that sat on her lap.

” … is why we do this. There are so many in pain after a loss … ” the beautiful head tilted to one side, slightly frowning.

Karen rarely saw anyone she would consider glamorous. Tulsa is not exactly New York, after all, and when she did see attractive people, they rarely gave her a second glance. But here Lydia was treating Karen with deference – not as an equal, but as someone who should be respected. Karen sat up straighter in her chair, leaning into the role. She reached for the gold Waterman rollerball Rocky gave her for Christmas last year, poised to take notes on a fresh page of her legal pad. She pushed her feet with its lightly scuffed brown Naturalizer shoes farther under the desk.

“There is no charge for our services,” Lydia said, reaching for her messenger case on the floor, “I want that to be clear. We do not accept donations from anyone who experienced loss of a loved one.”

“How do you survive without charging for your work?”

Karen wrote in neat strokes: N/C for services.

Lydia shrugged and smiled. “Donations, just like you. We are fortunate to have many believers who have been grateful for our services throughout the years, and they have provided enough endowments for us to operate in the black. Most of the counselors, like me, are working part-time, as a service to others.” She placed a brochure on Karen’s desk.

Karen thought about their own counseling center backlogged with marriages disintegrating, job losses, homes foreclosed, internet pornography, and shuddered internally with repulsion. There was a minimum three-week waiting time as it was. The dead and their families have had to wait behind the adulterers. It wasn’t fair. They badly needed more counselors, but that would require more office space, and the budget was tight ever since Rocky did that sermon about Haiti.

“The way it works,” Lydia continued, “is you put us in touch with some of your people who need immediate help. We get them started on the grieving process and walk with them until they feel strong enough to finish it themselves. You know it takes years and we just want to help them understand what they should expect. We also furnish reading materials. You may be familiar with the ‘You Are Not Alone’ series.” Lydia reached into her bag for more glossy hand outs.

Karen nodded, although the title made her chuckle every time she heard it. The back of the book proclaimed that it is about how “God is with us, and so are others.” Karen thought “You are Not Alone” sounded like, at best, a threat from outer space aliens, and at worst a treatise on voyeurism. But the book was widely used in the grief classes offered from time to time at Church On The Wall. It was standard fare for grief counselors and it would have been odd if Lydia had not been using it.

Lydia continued, “We have a 30-day, 60-day, and a 90-day plan. We check with you every 30 days and provide a progress report and we discuss how long to continue. Like your church, we are fully non-denominational. We do not compete with you, and as I said, we do not accept funds from people who are grieving.”

“Let me talk to the pastor,” Karen said, “and I’ll get back to you.”

“I so appreciate that, and I apologize again for barging in like this without an appointment. You are so busy, and you have been so nice to talk to me.” Lydia leaned forward and held out a heavy stock resume. “My resume. If you are anything like us, you need to know who you are dealing with. Since I am assigned to your area I want you to be confident in my qualifications and references.”

Karen took the resume and slipped on her reading glasses. “You have a Ph.D. in psychology as well as your M. Div.” Wow. All Karen had was half of a two-year certificate from the local junior college. “And you have James Dillon as a reference.” James was a prominent member of Church on the Wall, recently elected to the Board of Directors. Mr. Dillon probably didn’t even know Karen’s name.

“Yes, I personally helped James through a difficult time in his life.”

“When his first wife died?” Karen asked.

“Yes, exactly.” Lydia was visibly impressed by Karen’s knowledge. “James is such a fine man. He spoke so highly of your congregation. I have always wanted to work with you. I’m sorry if I am being too aggressive, Karen, but James really thinks this would be a good fit. I’d like to know what you think about it; see if this is something you think would be a good fit for Church on the Wall since you seem to be the one that’s really ‘in the know’ in this place.” A smile. It was ‘girl’ to ‘girl’ chat now, Lydia closing the sale.

What a nice woman, Karen flushed, so educated and polished, and yet so humble. People who came in to see Karen were always so demanding, even demeaning at times. And here was a woman representing an organization that had both hands extended, hoping to help heal the broken people suffering with grief. Why not give her a chance? After all, she was recommended by no less than James Dillon, who’d just paid the tab for the Dillon Sports Complex for the youth program. Dillon contributed a healthy chunk of money to fund the budget every year.

“I’ll tell you what.” Karen made the decision fast enough that she could still get those coneys. “We have a member of our church that died yesterday, a relatively young woman, and it was a tragic accident.”

Karen thought she saw tears in Lydia’s eyes. What a dear she was! She just couldn’t let Lydia go away empty-handed. Shuffling through the neat pile on her desk she found Erin’s information. “I have the name of her daughter. I will call her myself after lunch and tell her that you are going to come by to visit with her. She is actually not one of our members, but a family member, and I think it is appropriate for us to do something for her.” She sealed the transaction internally with a nod. She had the authority to make decisions as Pastor’s secretary, and this was one that would be good for all.

Karen scribbled Erin’s name, address, and phone number on the back of her business card and held it out to Lydia.

“Erin Griffin. What was the mother’s name?”

“Her name was Liz. She died yesterday.”

“Oh, yes, I remember seeing that on the news. How tragic. I am sure I’ll be able to help Erin get through this. I lost my own mother when I was just 12 years old.”

“I’m so sorry,” Karen said.

“It was difficult, and a real uphill battle for me to get through,” Lydia said as she stood. “I think that was part of the impetus that led me to the line of work I am in. Fortunately, my late husband left me with enough money to live on without working, so I am able to donate my time and efforts to make sure that people like Erin have an easier time than I did.”

Lydia smiled a bittersweet smile and extended her hand to Karen.

Karen shook hands with Lydia, and walked Lydia to the door feeling a great sense of accomplishment. Rocky would be pleased.

And now for those coneys! She would reward herself with extra cheese.