Mrs. Orson lifted a shaky hand to her brow. Ruby could have sworn it wasn’t shaking when she’d been holding her book, but that was Mrs. Orson all over.

“I’m sure I can manage. I’ll just get my walker and take a few pain pills first. My ankles should hold out for a few more weeks. Or maybe Harry—”

Ruby held up her hand, unable to stop a laugh from escaping. “Save the theatrics for another day. I meant I’ll walk him. I have to take him to deportment lessons with some fancy dog trainer, so I can do it then.”

“Deportment lessons?”

Ruby held back a grimace. The lessons were as awful as they sounded, but it wouldn’t do to let either Mrs. Orson or Wheezy know how much. Ruby used to spend hours sitting with her legs crossed just so, her spine elongated, and an increasingly heavy set of books on her head. At the time, it had felt like literal torture, but there was no denying that her posture was still on point. Her core strength went a long way in helping her lift the residents who needed more care than the Mrs. Orsons and Darla Templecombes of this world.

In fact, if she didn’t get into the long-term care facility soon, she was going to be late for work.

“You’re going to be late for work,” a voice called from behind her.

Ruby sighed, refusing to turn around until she recalled a few more of those deportment lessons. Breathe in and out. Maintain a ladylike calm at all times. Never allow your true feelings to show.

“That makes—what—the third time this week? For shame. What would the boss say?” Harry Gunderson laughed. Only after Ruby absorbed this laugh, chewing it and swallowing it like one of Darla’s bone-dry gingersnaps, did she turn around. Harry took one look at her serene expression and said, “Just kidding. The boss’ll go ahead and let this one slide. I’m feeling generous today.”

It was a lie. Harry never felt generous. He was obnoxious and wheedling and an ever-present pain in Ruby’s side.

He was also, as he liked to remind her daily, her boss. They’d both applied for the floor supervisor position that had opened up six months ago, but Ruby hadn’t even come close to landing it. It didn’t seem to matter that both she and Harry had been working as nursing assistants at Parkwood Manor for the same amount of time or that Ruby wasn’t a narcissistic weasel who stole the residents’ pain meds and sold them to his friends as a side hustle.

You’re a good worker, Ruby, and the residents like you, but you aren’t really management material.

There’s a lot of paperwork that goes along with a job like this one. We’re not convinced a desk is the best place for you.