down and pressed the heels of both palms hard against her eye sockets for several seconds.
She removed her hands and spotted the pills that her assistant, Amanda, had dropped off at her desk earlier. She scooped them up, peered at the tiny yellow tablets nestled in her clammy palm and wavered for a few seconds. Normally she didn’t like to take medication of any kind, but Amanda had insisted that these would knock her headache clear to Skagway, wherever that was. She had no clue. With a grimace, she tossed the pills into her mouth and gulped them down with what was left of the tepid water in the now-soggy paper cup Amanda had deposited along with the pills.
Just then Amanda’s voice came on the intercom along with a healthy dose of static. What Emily heard was “Misst ollinsss, your nexx ssex appointment issst ere.”
She reached down and hit the call button only to be met with a loud, static-filled shriek. “Amanda?” She pounded on the speaker and fiddled with the buttons. She leaned over and shouted her name again. “Amanda!”
“Hey,” Amanda said, poking her head into the office. “Did you get that?”
Emily nodded and smacked the now-buzzing intercom, which was already dented on the top from, she assumed, the last frustrated owner who had finally had enough and heaved it against the wall. The faded drywall opposite her desk had a conspicuous indentation that appeared to exactly match its dimensions.
Emily answered, “My afternoon trick has arrived?”
Amanda cocked her head, amusement splitting her lips into a wide grin. “What?” Amanda enjoyed Emily’s hilarious impromptu interpretations of the static-prone intercom.
“My next sex appointment is here?”
“Exactly,” Amanda confirmed with a smile. “Do you need any help getting ready?” This induced a full-blown bout of laughter. She stepped into the room and shut the door behind her.
Emily attempted to grin as she yanked some tissues out of the box on her desktop. She wiped her brow and then mopped at her cleavage. She pulled her suit jacket on over her clammy shoulders. “Yes,” she said, adjusting her lapels and straightening her shirt, “but it’s becoming increasingly clear that I need help of the kind that only a skilled mental-health professional can provide. But for now, could you please see if you can get something even remotely resembling a copy out of that...that...machine in the corner? I can’t get it to do anything but light up like a Christmas tree, and I didn’t make enough copies of the report, although how I was to know that every local yokel from the neighborhood barbershop, Laundromat, karaoke bar and pool hall was going to come straggling in and ask for a copy of it is beyond me. I swear I’ve never seen anything like this town in my entire life....”
She continued muttering as she turned toward the vintage-looking behemoth that was supposed to be acting as her computer and began banging on the keys. An error message, approximately the seventy-eighth one of the day, flashed across the screen. She exclaimed loudly.
Amanda threw a startled look her way. “You okay, Em?” She walked over and hit the escape key, then rapidly tapped several keyboard commands, causing the screen to dutifully display the document Emily had been seeking. Emily then watched, amazed, as Amanda turned toward the copy machine and effortlessly print out page after page of the requested proposal and then began to efficiently staple the crisp pages together. Emily had also tried to use that implement earlier and would have sworn it was out of staples.
Amanda, in direct opposition to Emily, was already in love with their “Alaskan adventure,” as she’d fondly dubbed their pseudo-exile to these ice-encrusted ends of the earth.
“Yes, I’m fine, Amanda.” Emily tentatively pressed a couple buttons on the keyboard and watched as the screen went black again—and then promptly remained that way. She thumped loudly on the side of the computer and this time added a colorful string of frustrated protestations.
“Moose what?” Amanda asked with a bark of laughter.
“Nuggets,” she repeated in a tired voice. “Moose nuggets.”
“Wow. Nice,” Amanda said.
“Thank you. At least I’ve managed to pick up some of the local vernacular. It’s charming, isn’t it? How long has he been waiting?” She gestured toward the door, where she knew yet another irate citizen was waiting to verbally abuse her.
“Only a few minutes, and he knows he’s early.”
“Good.” Emily looked down at the papers in front of her and could not for the life of her remember what she’d just been looking for. “What am I doing? It’s so hot in here. And this headache...” She began absently patting at her desk hoping to somehow solve the mystery.
“Emily?” Amanda said.
Emily looked up. “What? Oh. This Mr. Bearing is another business owner, right?” she asked.
“Um, yes, but actually, it’s Mr. James.”
Emily’s face twisted with confusion. “What?”
“James,” Amanda repeated. “Your appointment is with Mr. James.”
“What do you mean James?” Emily looked down at her planner and back up again. “I have Bearing written down here. He runs a guide and outfitter service?”
Amanda nodded. “Yes,” she said. “That’s right, but his last name is James. His first name is Bering—Bering James.”
“Oh, my—” Emily said with a groan as she reached over and whacked the intercom, which had started buzzing again. “You’re kidding me. Where do these people get these names for their children anyway? Already today we’ve had a Grizzly, a Rock, a Scooter and a Bean. And now Bearing? What in the world kind of a name is Bearing? Where does one come up with a name like Bearing, I wonder? Like, ooh, watch out, there’s an iceberg bearing down on us.” Emily gestured wildly and continued with her rant. “His mother is probably one of those iceberg-crusher boat captains, or whatever they call those barges that break through the ice. Ha! Yeah, and she probably wears an eye patch and curses like a sailor.”
Amanda arched her brows in surprise at Emily’s emotional, and very uncharacteristic, outburst. “Actually, Em, it’s B-e-r-i-n-g, Bering, like the sea.”
“Bering, like the seeaaa, he-he-he.” Emily repeated the words with a weird, mental-patient kind of cackle. She scowled at the now-fizzling intercom and then turned around and tugged the cord out of the wall.
“Um, Em, are you sure you’re okay? And you should know that Mr. James is a very influential figure here in Rankins.”
“Pfft...” Emily spit out the noise and took a swipe at her desk. “I’m not scared.”
Amanda chuckled. “I know you’re not scared, but you don’t seem to be completely on your game here, either.”
Emily shrugged and made a face.
“Seriously, why don’t you let me reschedule this one? You, uh, you don’t look very good.”
“Who cares? These people don’t exactly stand on ceremony, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“No, I mean you don’t look well. You look ill, actually. Like you could pass for Morticia’s
