The gate needs to be oiled, but I don’t really have any extra money to spend on WD-40 or the time to drive out to Home Depot to get it.
“Stupid gate!” I kick it instead. Not a great solution.
I’m about to head inside when, out of the corner of my eye, I see the mail truck. I am about to turn back, but something keeps me here. Getting the mail is not as exciting of an event as it once was. A long time ago, I remembered looking forward to getting cards in the mail from my grandparents and tearing through envelopes with the words “Sweepstakes” and “Winner” on the cover. Nowadays, the only thing that comes in the mail is medical bills.
Despite that, something is holding me back. I wait for the mail truck to pull next to the house. The mailman is a sweet old man who has been delivering mail for close to thirty years or so. Whenever we are short on money, and I have to say that the check is in the mail, even though it isn’t, I’ve always felt bad about it because I know that I’m blaming it on him.
“How’s your mom?” he asks. There’s no way to really answer that question. Throwing up every morning, afternoon, and night. Staying in bed all day long. People don’t want to hear these things.
“Hanging in there,” I say. It’s the best way to describe the teetering that she’s doing between this world and the next.
The mailman hands me a thick stack of envelopes. All are approximately the same size, and I know they’re all bills. I sigh and head to the house.
I don’t have any money to pay any of the bills. I will have to spend days in the coming week on the phone talking with various administrators at the hospital and Mom’s different doctors’ offices, all with the hopes of getting some of the bills reduced.
I toss the pile of bills on the kitchen table and open the refrigerator door looking for something to eat. I’ve been up since 3:30 a.m, so a simple grilled cheese sandwich is a no-brainer. While the skillet is heating up, I check on Mom, who’s fast asleep with the blinds still down.
When I sit down at the kitchen table, I reach for the remote to flip on the TV and accidentally knock the stack of bills onto the floor.
“Dammit,” I say. I gather all the envelopes, but one stands out. It’s different than the rest, and my name is written on it in a beautiful cursive script.
Ms. Sophia Elizabeth Cole
I look at the envelope closer. The paper is fancier than the others, and the stamp is unusual, not the standard issue stamps that they sell at the post office. It has a detailed painting of a buffalo in a field of grass.
There’s no return address in the upper left-hand corner. When I turn the envelope around, I see that it’s from The Grayson Foundation. Something about that name sounds familiar. Grayson. What’s Grayson? Is it Grayson International, the pharmaceutical company?
Instead of tearing the envelope open like I usually do, I get a knife and carefully slice open the top.
* * *
Dear Ms. Sophia Elizabeth Cole,
It has come to our attention that your mother is gravely ill. Please use the following check to pay for her treatment.
* * *
There’s more to the letter, but that’s the only part I see. I read it over and over, not believing my eyes. I look into the envelope again and pull out a check.
$250,000
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About Charlotte Byrd
Charlotte Byrd is the bestselling author of many contemporary romance novels. She lives in Southern California with her husband, son, and a crazy toy Australian Shepherd. She loves books, hot weather and crystal blue waters.
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Copyright © 2017 by Charlotte Byrd
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His to Take, Book 1 Page 11
