by B. E. Baker
“How often do you get to see him?” I ask.
“Almost every day. He's in the assisted living off of Townsend, by the new Hilton. In fact, I'm supposed to go by and see him before I head back to work.” He glances at his watch.
“What time is it?” I ask.
“One fifteen.”
I take one more big bite and stand up. “I've got a meeting I need to prepare for.”
“Good timing then.” He motions for me to walk first, and then follows me out of the restaurant. He walks me over to my car.
He leans toward me, and time stands still. I realize he's going to kiss me, and my heart races. Until he reaches past me and opens my door.
My heart skids to a halt. Not a kiss. Just a gentlemanly gesture.
His breath puffs out in a white cloud in the brisk air. “Good luck with your meeting.”
I hope he didn't notice that I turned toward him, lips parted, eyes eager. I cast my eyes down at the car door, and slide into the seat. I pull my keys out, and toss my purse on the passenger side seat. “I hope your dad's doing well. You'd think he'd be a real hit with the ladies, what with his accent and all.”
“It's hard when you've lost someone. For the first few years, all you can think about is the love you lost. It becomes almost a pattern, the sorrow, the regret, the longing.”
He sounds like a really good son, like he's really given a lot of thought to how his dad must feel.
“My dad never got over my mom leaving,” I say, “and she didn't even die.”
He shakes his head. “I don't even care if he gets over Mum. I'm okay with him never finding someone new. I just wish he'd try to make some friends, or do anything but lay in bed and watch crime shows.”
“Crime shows depress me, and I didn't recently lose the love of my life. I can only imagine how depressing they'd be if my wife had died.”
Luke winces, and steps back from the car.
I don't know what I said wrong, but he doesn't even wave back when I pull away.
The preparation for the Bargain Booksy meeting only takes ten minutes, thanks to Paisley's competency. I check my phone when I'm through reviewing the file and I have two texts from Luke.
THIS IS LUKE, SORRY I WAS WEIRD WHEN YOU LEFT. LONG DAY.
It's promising that he noticed he was being odd.
I HAD A GREAT TIME. CAN I SEE YOU AGAIN TOMORROW?
I type back as quickly as I can, a smile plastered on my face. SURE. TIME? PLACE?
INDIAN FOOD?
I LOVE INDIAN, YES. NOON?
I watch my phone until the dots turn into a reply. OUCH. STILL ON THE FENCE ABOUT ME?
WHY DO YOU SAY THAT? I ask.
I'VE BEEN LUNCH-ZONED.
I chortle, and I'm glad he can't hear me.
“How was lunch?” Paisley asks from behind me.
I jump and slide my phone into my top drawer. “I don't know what you mean.”
“You can't fool me. We left United Way at the same time, and you took forever to get here. You met that guy from last night for lunch.”
I suppress a smile.
“And you like him.” She perches on the edge of my desk. “Spill.”
“There's nothing to spill,” I say. “I stopped for food.”
Her eyebrows rise. “Oh my gosh, you really like him! Otherwise, you'd tell me.”
I shake my head.
“Oh please,” she says. “You can stop covering it up, because you're smiling like a loon, and you've barely listened to anything I said for the last half hour.”
“I'm just happy to be working on Sub-for-Santa again.”
Paisley points at my shirt. “You sure? Because you've got a little bit of strawberry tart on your lapel there, and you never eat dessert at lunch unless you're on a date.”
I glance down, and she's right. I swear, and rush to the bathroom to clean it off.
Paisley's voice follows me down the hallway. “You still owe me a photo!”
When I return, it's five minutes until my meeting. “Pais, can you get a message to Shauna? Tell her I need to talk to her this afternoon and try and get fifteen minutes on my calendar after this meeting, if possible?”
Paisley nods. “Of course, but what should I tell her it's about?” She grins innocently. Which is how I know she's prying.
I promised Shauna I'd keep the whole thing a secret, which means I can't tell Paisley either. “Not everything is noteworthy,” I say. “Just schedule the time.”
Paisley harrumphs, but I know she'll do it.
My client shows up late, but the IRS representative is reasonable and it moves along quickly. One more meeting and we should reach an acceptable compromise. After all, it's not like my client's a huge conglomerate. I walk my clients out, and when I reach my office, a post it note's stuck to my screen. It reads: Meeting with Shauna at four-thirty.
It's four o'clock now.
I sit down at my desk and close my eyes, mentally preparing what I'll say. I appreciate her offer, and I know she's been my mentor and my champion for years. I appreciate her help and her interest in me, and I'll miss her dearly, but I don't want to run an office. I only want to prepare tax returns.
The ringing from my phone startles me, and I pick up the receiver automatically.
“I've been calling you for like two hours,” my little sister Trudy says.
My cell phone was in my drawer. I slap my forehead.
“What's wrong?” I ask.
“Troy's in the hospital. It's not good, Mary. Can you come see us?”
“Of course. I'll be right there.”
Chapter 5
I stuff my phone in my bag and jog past the poinsettias that sit on the corner of almost every desk. I almost knock one over on my way down the hall to Shauna's office. When I poke my head inside, even though I'm half an hour early, she stands up, her eyes wide.
“Mary, you look upset. Are you okay?”
I shake my head. “My sister's little boy Troy is in the hospital.”
Shauna's eyes widen. “I assume you wanted to talk to me about the job?”
I nod my head.
“We can talk about that later. Go take care of your sister.”
Before I have time to turn around and go, Shauna crosses the space between us and pulls me in for a hug. She doesn't let go until I pull away.
“Thanks,” I say. “I needed that. I'm sure he's fine, but he's only three and a half. She didn't give me any details, just said she needed me.”
“You've always been there for her, and she'll be fine. So will Troy.”
I nod, and blink away tears. I'm really going to miss having Shauna around. I hope they find a good replacement for her, someone who remembers my nephew's name, and someone who sees people and not just numbers around the office.
I don't get a ticket en route to the hospital, in spite of going at least twenty over the entire way. Maybe it's a good sign.
I'm winded by the time I reach the nursing station on the fourth floor of the hospital. I run five days a week. Why am I winded from jogging up some stairs? It's embarrassing.
I race down the hall until I see the name TROY written in black sharpie on a red stocking stuck to one of the large, metal hospital doors. I swing it open quietly, and creep inside. My sister's sitting on the hospital bed, rocking tiny Troy back and forth in her arms. He's whimpering quietly. I wait in the doorway until he drifts off to sleep, and Trudy transfers him into the bed. She tiptoes over to where I'm standing and pulls the curtain closed.
When she mouths the words, “Get food,” I follow her out the door.
She pulls the door almost closed and then inclines her head to the right, toward the nursing station. I follow her over to it, and Trudy stops, waving to catch their attention. “Troy's finally asleep. I hope he'll stay that way, but please call my cell if I'm still downstairs when he wakes up. I'm going to try and grab something to eat.”
“We can bring you a tray,” a short nurse with a bob offers.
Trud
y shakes her head. “I don't want him to wake up and see me eating, well you know.”
Eating? What's wrong with Troy seeing her eating something? “What—”
Trudy cuts me off. “I'll explain in a minute.”
A tall, black nurse with kind eyes clucks. “I understand.” She writes down Trudy's cell phone. Her nametag identifies her as Patty. “I'll wait outside his door to listen for any sounds.”
Trudy grabs Patty's hand and squeezes it. “Thank you.”
Patty's eyes crinkle when she smiles. “I know it's scary, but it's going to be alright, honestly. This is very common.”
We walk past a box of stuffed animals, the Grinch on top, the toy donation boxes, and the Make-A-Wish-Tree on the way down to the cafeteria. Trudy doesn't speak when we walk down the stairs, around the corner, or through the line. I choose things from a cafeteria lineup for the second time today, but this time with far poorer options. When we sit down and she digs into her food like a stray dog, I can't take any more silence.
“You didn't tell me anything on the phone. What's going on?” I ask.
“I'll tell you. I'm just hungry. I haven't had a bite to eat since we got here.”
“How long ago was that?” I ask. “And if it's been a while, where in the world is Chris?” I may not like her husband very much, but he's like gum on the bottom of her shoe, always there to make a mess.
Trudy frowns. “Chris left us last month.”
My jaw drops. “No. He couldn't have.”
She swallows slowly and takes another bite without meeting my eyes.
“Why, why didn't you call me?” I ask. “Surely you were upset. Devastated.”
She nods.
“Then why am I only hearing about it now?” I touch her arm. “Gertrude?”
“I couldn't say anything to you. You've been telling me all along I should make sure I'm ready to handle my life if anything goes wrong. You thought I was an idiot for marrying him.”
“That's not true,” I say halfheartedly. “Technically I thought he was the idiot, not you.”
She sighs heavily. “You have a degree and a career, and you said loving Chris was a mistake, and you told me not to have a kid right away, to get a degree, or at least to have a job long enough to make progress with my career, but I ignored you. Love mattered more to me than security, and now Chris is gone, and all I have is Troy. My dear sweet baby, and no job, and no money, and no plan.”
“You have me.”
She drops her fork, and her spoon and looks at her feet. “Troy's sick, Mary. Really sick, like for the rest of his life the doctor says.” She chokes up, the last words barely coming out at all. “I'm sorry to dump all this on you while you're running your program or whatever, but I didn't know what to do. I never know what to do.”
I want to shake her and tell her I'll always love her no matter what. I want to tell her I'd never say 'I told you so'. But right now she doesn't need anything that feels like chastisement or judgment, even if it's about not calling me soon enough. Trudy needs support, so I let go of all my frustration and cut to the crux of the issue. “What's wrong? How exactly is Troy sick?”
“He's been thirsty all the time, and drinking cup after cup of milk, and then when we ran out, cup after cup of water. He's lost a lot of weight I guess too, and he complains that his body aches. He even has some bruising we can't explain.”
“And?” I want to yell at her for not calling me, for not taking him in earlier, but I bite my tongue.
“Today he passed out, so I rushed him over here. I called Chris and he thinks I'm making all of it up.”
I don't call him any of the creative names I come up with in my head. I don't call Chris on the phone and yell at him. I clench my fists under the table where Trudy can't see them, and then I let my breath out slowly. I'm proud of how calm I sound when I say, “What do the doctors say?”
She shudders. “At first they thought he had leukemia, but after running some tests, oh Mary, at least it's not leukemia, but it's going to impact every single day for the rest of his life. Troy's diabetic. Type I. He'll need insulin forever, and if I don't do a good job with his diet and his medicine, and if he doesn't act and eat responsibly, he could lose his feet and his eyesight.” She bursts into tears. “It's all so horrible.”
Insulin is expensive. Testing and measuring and caring for him is expensive. I shake my head. “Did they say how much it would cost to get him stabilized and buy all the equipment he needs? Your deductible portion, I mean?”
Trudy shakes her head, and whispers, “I don't have insurance.”
“Wait, what? What about Medicaid or CHIP?”
A tear runs down her face. “Chris didn't want to pay for it, since we're all healthy. He makes too much to qualify for Medicaid, and since we're still married, I can't get it, either.”
I close my eyes and breathe in and out once, then twice. “How much are they saying you'll need, Gertrude?”
“Well, for just this stay, it's probably going to be twe-twe-” She starts crying again, and I pat her back until she calms down. “Twenty thousand.”
I nod. “That's okay. I can help. It's going to be alright.”
“One of the pediatricians told us about a new protocol for children under seven who are diagnosed.”
“Okay,” I say. “And?”
“He said if there's any way we can afford it, we need to try to do it.”
“And?” I wish she'd just spit it out.
“It's a fifty thousand dollar enrollment, with another fifty thousand in costs over the first year,” she says, “but they're seeing amazing results at keeping their sugar levels consistent. Apparently what causes nerve damage and shortens his life is the inconsistency of sugar levels.”
I nod my head. “You didn't tell me about Chris.”
Her mouth drops open, and she shakes her head.
“And you've been here all day.”
“Yeah,” she says, glancing anywhere but my face.
“You didn't call me until you needed money.”
Trudy twists her napkin until it begins to shred. It's not the first time she's asked me for money, but it's the first time she's asked for quite so much. “I don't want to ask you, but I don't know who else I can ask.”
I lean back against my chair and groan. “I'm not upset you're asking me for money Trudy! I'm upset you didn't ask me for any help until now.”
Her eyebrows draw together and her lower lip wobbles, just like it did every time my dad yelled, every time she scored poorly on a test, every time she got nothing but a new toothbrush from me for her birthday. My heart breaks all over again.
“I'm your family. I'm here for you. You should have called me the second Chris started being a butthead. The second you thought Troy was sick.” I lift her chin until she's looking in my eyes. “You and Troy need a place to stay, right?”
She shakes her head.
“Of course you do. You can move in with me. I've got a three bedroom house, and I don't even use the other two bedrooms. That should save you some money in the long run. Beyond that, I may have a way to get the money you need quickly, and even if I don't, I can take out a loan or cash out a retirement fund, okay?”
Trudy leaps across the table to hug me, knocking my bland soup over and onto the floor in the process. She hasn't changed a bit in twenty years. In spite of her carelessness and her inability to plan ahead, I love her and I'll do anything for her. She collapses against my collarbone, sobbing noiselessly like always. I pet her hair slowly until she stops.
Once Trudy's calmer, and she's eaten, she heads back upstairs and I meet with the financial office. She wasn't wrong about the figures she quoted me, and it looks like the clinical trial really is the cutting edge of treatment for young children with Type I.
I guess it's a lucky break I haven't turned Shauna down yet, because money may not be everything, but it's pretty important when you need it. I guess I'm not going to turn down that promotion after all.
; Chapter 6
When I finish filling out financial responsibility paperwork for the woman at the business office, I hike back up to the fourth floor. I'm breathing heavy again when I reach Troy's room. I make a mental note to add some stairs to my normal route.
“Did you take the stairs all the way up here?” Trudy asks me.
I nod.
“What's wrong with you?” she asks. Troy's awake now, and sitting on his mother's lap. She shifts Troy so he can see me. “Aunt Mary always does things the hard way.”
Says the woman who struggled through all this alone until she monetarily absolutely had to call me. I shove aside any annoyance. With the day she's had, Trudy gets a pass.
I walk toward her, my eyes focused on Troy's angelic face. “Aunt Mary sits all day at work, so she tries to be active whenever she can.”
“Aunt May May will play.” Troy slips off his mom's lap and pads across the floor to where I'm standing, his short arms raised high. I lean over and pick him up under his armpits, careful not to jostle the IV port. It may not be plugged into anything right now, but I imagine a bump or tug would still hurt.
“How you doing, kiddo? You being a brave little prince?”
He nods and leans his head against my shoulder. “They been poking me all day, and I only cried a little.”
“I certainly hope they brought you Jell-O.”
“Nope.” He shakes his head forlornly.
Nurse Patty, as if we'd paged her, knocks twice and walks in the door with a dinner tray. “We need to get you hooked up again little man, and once we're monitoring you, if you eat your dinner, you can have this blue Jell-O.”
Trudy frowns. “Is that safe right now?”
Patty grins. “It's sugar free, don't you fret. We're taking care of this.”
Trudy and I read Troy his choices of a variety of books the hospital had on hand, and then we tuck him into bed.
“I'd stay with you,” I say, “but I've got a meeting at eight tonight.”
“Sub-for-Santa?” she asks.
“Yeah, sorry. I can cancel if I need to?”
She smiles. “I'm lucky to have a sister like you. I don't tell you enough. You've done plenty. No, go to your meeting.”
