Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“Morning. Where are you boys coming from?”
We both pause in the front hall, looking up the stairs at Mom. She’s taking her time, and I notice how tightly her hand grips the banister, but she’s walking smoothly enough, and her eyes look clear enough by the time she reaches us. Maybe she’s having a good day. I’m not used to seeing her this early and fully dressed.
“We stayed over at a friend’s—it was too late to drive home.” Preston kisses her cheek before she turns to me and points to her other cheek, silently requesting a kiss.
“I swear, more and more often these days, I feel like I only catch sight of your backs while you’re on your way to one place or another.” She winds an arm around mine, patting my biceps. “I don’t know about you, but I’m dying for caffeine.”
Preston strokes his chin thoughtfully. “You know, I think we can solve that problem in the kitchen.” The two of us exchange a look over the top of Mom’s head, and it feels good. Almost like normal. She’s trying. I wish there was a way to tell her I see that without making it obvious we know she’s got a problem. I guess the only thing we can do is take the good moments for what they are.
Dad is haphazardly smearing cream cheese on a bagel when we walk in together. “Oh, good morning,” he murmurs, eyeing me and my brother. “You’re up early.”
“Yeah, we decided to get a jump on the day.” Again, I exchange a look with Preston, but it’s a different kind of look this time. Why does he have to be such a know-it-all prick?
Might as well get this over with while the memory of the tens of thousands of bucks listed on that bill is still fresh. “Hey, Dad. I wanted to ask you about something.” I don’t care what Preston thinks, and I don’t care if Dad has no power over this. I need to know I tried to do something. “We were hanging out with a friend of ours last night, and I saw this lying around.”
“Stealing someone’s mail?” The look on his face…! Like I’m fucking Jack the Ripper or something.
“I picked it up because I know they’re having trouble paying it.” I wait for him to skim the bill before adding, “That’s a lot of money. They can’t manage it. What is she supposed to do?”
“She?” I swear, it’s like an antenna goes up on Mom’s head. “Who is she?”
“I know who she is.” And Dad does not look happy. A dark flush starts to creep up his neck as he turns our way. “This is the girl from the parking lot, isn’t it? The one who found you beating on Brody.”
“How do you know her name?” Preston asks.
“I make it a point to know things.” This prick. “And right now, I very much hope you aren’t trying to somehow prod this girl into recanting the statement she gave at the hospital.”
I swear to God, he will go out of his way to underestimate us. Like there is no low he doesn’t think we would sink to. “That’s not what this is. She’s… become a friend of ours,” I explain. The words are sour on my tongue—I hate that I even have to explain things to him when he couldn’t understand if he spent the rest of his life trying to. I barely understand it myself as it is.
Mom passes behind Dad and glances at the bill, then winces. “It’s good of them to want to help a friend,” she murmurs. She can’t see the way he rolls his eyes, but I can. Seriously, it’s like he goes out of his way to be a prick.
“We just wanted to know if there’s anything we could do to make it easier on her.” I hate feeling like I have to defend myself for giving a shit. “Do you think there’s any way we can help?”
“I’m not sure what you think would be possible,” Dad murmurs as he slowly folds the bill. “I wish I could help all of our patients. I really do. You don’t see what goes on behind the scenes. We don’t set arbitrary costs for the care we provide. A lot of it is out of our hands.”
Something moves across his face when he looks at us from across the breakfast table. He’s exactly what anybody would expect from the head of a hospital—in his suit and tie, perfectly groomed, totally in control. But for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t look sure of himself. Like maybe, for once, he doesn’t have all the answers. “Does this really mean so much to you?”
“Yeah. It really does,” I tell him. “She’s been through a lot, and so has her grandma, and it doesn’t seem fair that they should basically spend all the money they have just to keep Emma alive.”