Compass (Siren Songs Book 2)

by Stephie Walls

  “What? That’s insane. It was already below market value, and you dropped the price yesterday!”

  “I realize that, but keep in mind you don’t owe what you’re asking, and a cash offer gets the responsibility of the condo off your plate quickly. She’s a single mom whose husband was killed in Iraq. She just got a large settlement from the Army and needs a house. She wants to close in seven days if you accept the offer.”

  “Damn, Rachel. I was hoping we would make money from the sale to pay some of the medical bills.” My heart breaks a little. I feel sorry for the woman looking for a home but my needs are just as important.

  “You’re not required to accept the offer. You can certainly counter, but I don’t think she has much flexibility. She’s using whatever cash she got from her husband’s death. She’s young, and I would bet doesn’t have one more penny to put on the table to go with it.”

  “What do you think I should do?” I whine into the phone like a petulant child.

  “I think you should counter, go up five to seven thousand, but before you do anything you need to talk to Moby.”

  “No-go on that one. I’m not putting this pressure on his plate. He hasn’t thought about the condo or the mounting bills, and I’m not going to bring it up.”

  “Then I think you should counter, and see what the buyer does.”

  I sigh heavily, not wanting to relent on the price any further but the truth is, if we close in a week I don’t have to come up with money for another house payment and likely wouldn’t have to take anything to closing but will get nothing out of the property. “Okay, go up seven thousand and see what she says.”

  “You’re making the right decision, Piper. I know it doesn’t seem like it right now but it eliminates an entire set of bills and the upkeep of a second piece of real estate. You need to eliminate this responsibility. She contacted me directly so I’ll waive my commission but I can’t waive the broker’s fee. I’m going to ask my boss if she’ll consider giving you a break knowing the circumstances but don’t be surprised if she doesn’t give in. I’ll call you back.”

  “Thanks, Rach.”

  We hang up, but I keep the phone in my hand willing it to ring with a response. It doesn’t ring, but a text message comes through.

  Rachel: Get to my office in an hour to sign the contract. I’m meeting her there in a few minutes. Deal done. She agreed to your $7k increase but wants a $500 home warranty. I accepted for you.

  Me: Isn’t that illegal to accept on behalf of your seller?

  Rachel: Not if I agree to pay for the home warranty, which I did. So STFU and get down here.

  Rachel: Oh, and Casey agreed to waive her fees and said she hopes it helps you and Moby. Things are looking up, Buttercup!

  Me: Love you, Fish!

  Rachel: I know ;)

  I touch Moby’s name on my phone, hoping he isn’t in therapy. I want him to be happy or at least feel some relief. It’s not what we hoped for but Rachel’s right; it eases a lot of stress and worry for me and with the commissions waived it brings us close to the asking price.

  Luckily, he answers the phone, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. “Hey, sweetheart. You’re up awfully early.”

  “Hey,” I coo into the phone. I miss waking up beside my husband. I miss having his arms around me. I would kill for a hug, a real hug, with both arms, tightly wrapped around me, protecting me.

  “You okay?” His voice suddenly sounds concerned.

  “Yeah, but I don’t have long to talk. I need to get down to Rachel’s office to sign a contract on the condo.”

  “Piper, that’s fantastic! I didn’t even know we had an offer.”

  “Don’t get too excited, Moby. I dropped the price on the condo yesterday and the offer I accepted is twelve thousand below that.”

  The silence on the other end is deafening.

  “Why would you do that?”

  “It’s a cash offer, and the girl wants to close in a week. That means we don’t have to make another payment on the house and honestly, Moby, I’m not sure where the money was going to come from to make it anyhow. Rachel and Casey are giving up their commission so we will still end up making a couple thousand off it which will cover a few of the medical bills sitting on the counter. Please don’t be mad. It just seemed like the best solution since money is tight and my time is even tighter. Taking care of two houses, working, and coming to the hospital is taking a toll on me.”

  “You must think I’m a total ass.”

  “What? Why would I think that?”

  “It never occurred to me what you had to be doing when you weren’t here to take care of our life while I’m not involved in it. Why haven’t you talked to me about it?”

  “I didn’t want you to worry, and I knew it would work out…and it has. Just not the way we thought it would. Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

  “Yeah, baby. I’m okay with it. We need to lighten your load. Is anyone helping you with the house?”

  “No, but I haven’t asked either. I’m sure if I did they would.”

  “For Christ’s sake.” I hear the anger in his voice. It’s the same tone he used when he found out I slept in a parking garage. “So you’ve been taking care of two houses, working full time, and coming here daily, with no help, from anyone?”

  “Moby, really. I’m okay. Once we get this off our backs everything else is a breeze, right? Please don’t get worked up. It’s not worth it.”

  He doesn’t respond instantly but when he does I hear the defeat in his voice, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt he feels like he failed me. “Okay, Piper.”

  “I’ve got to get in the shower and dress. Once I’m done with Rachel, I’ll come to the rehab center. We can spend the afternoon together.”

  “See you then.”

  “I love you.”

  “I’m sorry I haven’t been what you expected, Piper, but I’m lucky you still love me. I love you, too.”

  I don’t dignify his emotions with a response, they aren’t worth one. I’ll acknowledge this in person, but I’m not dealing with it by phone. We hang up and I take the steps to get one albatross from around my neck.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. How can the insurance company tell a doctor I no longer need to be here? Isn’t it the doctor’s job to determine that?” I’m trying to stay calm but having my caseworker tell me the insurance company is denying inpatient treatment beyond this week is skyrocketing my blood pressure.

  “I understand your frustration, Mr. Cooper, I truly do. I’m still arguing for another week, but I wanted to give you a heads up in case I don’t win.”

  “I can’t walk on my own! Our house is not handicapped-ready. Piper isn’t a nurse. She has to work. Who’s going to help me with PT?” The questions come pouring out as fast as they pop into my head like a popcorn popper with no lid.

  “When do you think your wife might be here today?”

  I understand Piper is the rational one of the two of us, but this is pissing me off. “It doesn’t matter, does it?”

  “I thought it might be beneficial for us to go over some other programs that might be able to help you if you’re released this week. There are several available but in order to qualify for financial assistance, there’s a lot of paperwork to go through. I assumed she’d be the one to organize that information since you don’t really have access to those records while you’re here.” Her impish smile makes me feel like crap. She can’t help what she’s told; she’s just the messenger.

  “I can call her to find out. What time do you want to meet with us?” I resign myself to playing nice. I need this woman in my corner to guide us through the process, aggravating her won’t do me any good.

  “How about eleven o’clock?”

  I call my wife to ask her to come to the center at eleven. She can hear the irritation in my voice, but when I tell her they’re kicking me to the curb, she doesn’t seem upset or angry.

  “Do you not fucking care they’re s
ending me home before I’m ready? Jesus, Piper, I can’t even fucking walk without help. Are you going to quit your job to come take care of my invalid ass? Do you realize I can’t get in our house? Physically, I can’t get in the goddamn door because of the stairs on the porch.” She continues to allow me to rant, never interrupting, just letting me get out the rage pent up inside. When I pause, she finally opens her mouth.

  “Does screaming any of that at me change the situation, Moby?” Her voice is calm and soothing.

  “Huh?” I don’t know what the fuck she’s talking about.

  “Did screaming at me change the situation? Is the problem now resolved?”

  “No, it’s not resolved. Are you listening?” Surely she hasn’t gone stupid in the last ten minutes.

  “Then what’s the point in screaming? Are you trying to have another stroke? Because that’s the direction you’re heading.” She never raises her voice simply speaking the truth. “Moby, it bothers me. I’m not ready for you to come home because I don’t know how to help you, but I can assure you, you’re not the first person they’ve ever sent home before the patient was ready, and you won’t be the last. Before getting freaked out, let’s sit down with this lady, and see what she can offer us as suggestions. Until then, just chill out. Please.” Her voice cracks at the end.

  I know she’s under a lot of pressure; she has the weight of our entire outside world on her shoulders. All I have is therapy. This is my full-time job these days, and if I’m honest, I’d probably be fired if I had a boss. In all actuality, it only equates to a few measly sessions a day, but if I had to guess, Piper’s probably pulling closer to twenty hours a day, seven days a week.

  “I’ll see you in a little bit. I’m going to rest until you get here.” I should apologize, but I don’t. I wonder how long she’s going to give me passes for my behavior before she nails my ass to the wall.

  She answers that question when she shows up a little before eleven. Putting her purse down when she walks in, I can see the attitude she built up since I talked to her. It’s oozing from her. Her hardened eyes turn to me.

  “You need an attitude adjustment, Moby. Not just for me but for yourself. If you think this is the way to heal, you’re dead wrong. If you’re defeated before you even start, you’re done. I will only say this one time, so listen closely.”

  She leans into me sitting on the bed so I can see her eyes and the storm brewing in them, she squints just slightly, lowering her voice, “If you ever scream at me like I’m a dog again, you can just go ahead and call your mama because you won’t be sleeping under the same roof I do. Understood?”

  I nod my head unsure words are appropriate right now. Luckily, Rhonda saves me. I think that’s the caseworker’s name, but hell, it could be anything. My short-term memory was shit prior to the stroke, it’s non-existent now. Rudely, I don’t introduce my wife because I can’t remember the lady’s name, but she must be accustomed to it because she extends her hand in greeting to Piper.

  “I’m Rita Jamison, your husband’s caseworker here.” Rita! I was close.

  “Hey, I’m Piper. It’s nice to meet you. So Moby tells me we have an insurance issue.” Leave it to Piper to just go for the gusto. She’s not wasting time with any get-to-know-you horseshit.

  “Well, between the time I talked to Moby this morning, and now, I have managed to secure approval for one more week, but I can assure you unless something drastic happens, you will be checking out at the end of next week. So we need to talk about continuing rehabilitation options.”

  My mind begins to swirl listening to the two of them chatter back and forth. Piper taking notes furiously, hanging on every word Rita utters. They talk about other facilities run by the state with income restrictions, and Rita also offers facilities giving discounts for cash payments. Piper diligently jots down a list of documents she needs to secure for Rita to try to obtain financial aid. She also informs us our insurance benefits will max out after twenty OT and twenty PT appointments once we check out of here. At four per week each, I will exhaust my post-hospital benefits in about a month, leaving me roughly three months into my one-year recovery.

  When Piper asks about the cost of continuing rehab here, I about fall off the bed at Rita’s response, “It’s fourteen thousand a week to stay here. That would be the cash price if you choose to stay beyond the insurance carrier’s term.”

  I watch her face fall and know exactly what’s going through her mind; she knows we don’t have the money to afford me the care I need. She’s also mentally searching for resources to make it happen anyway. She and Rita tie up loose ends, Piper telling her she will get her all the paperwork she needs before lunch tomorrow, but really there’s no resolution. The ugly truth is, I’m likely heading home in a week to a house not equipped for my handicaps. My wife isn’t either.

  When Rita walks out the door, Piper turns to me. “So, what are your thoughts?” Her nervous habit of chewing on her bottom lip normally turns me on, today it’s an indicator of worry, and I don’t like it at all.

  “My thoughts on what?” I’m trying to keep my cool. I’ve already blown my top once today, and it got me nowhere.

  “Ideally, what do you want to do? If money weren’t an issue, where do you think you need to be?” Her eyes dart all over my face, watching for changes in my expression, hoping to gauge whether I’m being honest with her. The truth is, I’ve never been anything but.

  “I don’t think I’m ready to be at home. I can’t navigate the stairs into the house; we don’t have a walk-in shower; I can’t drive to appointments or therapy; I have no idea how any of it could possibly work. But there’s no way we can pay for another week of stay here. It’s not an option, so put it out of your mind.”

  “What if I can come up with the money? Maybe between our parents and our 401k we can scrounge up enough.”

  “You realize there are other things we’re going to need, right?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Piper, there will be a cost for the leg brace, equipment to use at home for rehab, the prescriptions, a walker, a shower seat. None of this stuff is free even if the insurance company pays for part of it. If we use all of our resources to stay here another week, it may not benefit us in the long run.”

  “Okay, so you’re telling me you’re not ready to go home, but we can’t spend the money for you to stay. What do I do with that information, Moby?” She’s starting to lose her shit becoming impatient and completely overwhelmed. I normally find her furrowed brow endearing but today it just makes me sad.

  Pulling her to me, I force her to sit in my lap. Unable to put both arms around her, I wrap her tightly in my right, pressing her face into my neck. Feeling her back jolt, I know the flood of tears is right around the corner. It comes quietly with a random hiccup and little gasp for air. I rub circles around her spine with my good hand, pressing my head against hers reminding her I’m with her. I don’t say anything; if she wants to talk, she will, but right now, she just needs to let out the emotion. She’s on hyper-drive, and even she has to take a break every now and then. I realize I’m the cause of her pain, but I know if I can keep her with me, right where she is, relying on me for her support, we can get through this. Somehow.

  When the tears stop flowing, I turn us in the bed, with her tucked into my right side. It’s awkward, but she doesn’t mention it, just helps me adjust us. Silently, we watch some drivel on the Hallmark Channel before she reluctantly gets up to leave.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, she turns to me, I see the exhaustion and fear in her eyes and wish I could calm the storm.

  “I need to go home so I can get all the information together for Rita. Do you want me to take your clothes and wash them? I can bring you a fresh batch tomorrow.”

  Reaching for her face, her sad eyes soften, my thumb brushes her cheekbone as she leans into my hand. “Yes, that would be nice. Thank you.”

  Responding with a weak smile. She grabs my laundry bag from the closet
, kisses me chastely, and waves without saying goodbye.

  There’s a war waging inside her. I can only hope it’s one we’re fighting together.

  Preparing for Moby’s homecoming wasn’t quite the blissful experience I imagined. My dad and Nate built a makeshift ramp up the stairs to our house; that was a nightmare in and of itself. Holy hell, never solicit this kind of help from anyone other than a professional. Seventeen hours later, five additional men, and countless trips to the hardware store, and I now have a piece of plywood lying across my front stairs. That might be a slight exaggeration, but I swear, not by much.

  Never in my life have I seen grown men fighting over stupider shit—nails versus screws, hammers versus nail guns, types of wood—for the love of all that is holy, who cares? I would like to believe we don’t need to build something to withstand the test of time, just help Moby out for a week or two until he’s more comfortable walking on his own.

  Day two of preparing for Moby’s return included modifying the shower to help make it easier for him to get in and out. Taking glass doors off a track shouldn’t be very difficult. Wrong! Either these are the most mechanically challenged men in the world or that shit is crazy-hard. I don’t even want to think about Landis and Brooks assembling the shower seat. Seriously, three parts: two legs and a plastic seat. Ten screws. Hours, I mean hours later, I finally took it from them and assembled it myself in less than five minutes by simply reading the directions.

  Day three, I spent running around like a chicken with my head cut off going to multiple pharmacies to get a myriad of prescriptions, picking up tennis balls for his at home occupational therapy, and getting a dog. Yes, a dog.

  His doctor recommended a puppy since Moby would be home a good deal on his own. The theory being he will have to get up and down to take the puppy out, feed the puppy, care for the puppy, et cetera. I’m also hoping it helps ward off loneliness and depression. I’m going on blind faith here. Moby wants a dog anyhow, so hopefully this won’t backfire.

  Day four, I’m attempting to plan a coming home party to celebrate Moby’s release but trying to contact his friends without him knowing about it is proving to be more difficult than I imagined. With the nameless puppy at my feet in my office, I drop my forehead to the desk, lift, drop, repeat.