I try to pacify Mom and Winnie with generic answers, hoping it’ll keep me from accidentally letting something slip. It’s best if my mom never finds out about this.
The phone rings in the distance, and my shoulders tense as I notice the way Mom and Winnie immediately look at one another.
“Mom?”
“I’ll get it,” Winnie says. She walks over to the phone and slowly lifts the receiver. The action in complete opposition to the way she handles most everything else life throws at her.
“Hello.” Pause. “Yes.” Pause. She starts prattling off my mother’s date of birth as if she’s answered this question a dozen times. Because she probably has. “Yes.”
My eyes never leave her face. Is it the bank calling? Have we bounced one too many checks? Has the hospital had to get collections involved? Will the pharmacy stop sending her meds? My heart is hammering in my chest.
Yet Winnie smiles as she looks over at us. Relief washing over her features. “Thank you.”
“Who was it?” My mother asks quietly.
“It was the hospital.”
Ugh. I knew it. So why does she look so relieved?
“It was the caseworker you had when you were hospitalized recently.”
“Oh, thank goodness.”
“Why? Why, thank goodness? Have the bank or collections people been calling?” I can’t risk my mother hiding this from me until they come and take the house. Then where would we go?
“No, honey.” She hesitates before adding, “Your dad. He’s been calling.”
I slump into the chair beside me. “What?” Neither of us has even so much as breathed his name in over a decade. I mean, what’s the point? There’s nothing but heartache associated with that time. “What about him?”
“He started calling for you while you were away. And when you didn’t call him back, he became more persistent. Apparently, he’s gotten some bad information. Someone must’ve told him you were modeling or something. I’m pretty sure his congratulations on your newfound success are only an attempt to squeeze you for a piece of the pie.”
Wow. I don’t know which is worse? The fact that I’d be utterly humiliated if my mother found out what I did, or the fact that it’s the only reason my father has attempted to get in touch with me in almost twenty years. Is that the odd sensation of being watched I keep feeling? Is he the man I keep seeing around town? Has he beenfollowing me to see if he can share in the windfall? Not that I’d recognize him after all of these years. And here I thought it was Brad.
I scratch my head trying to calculate when I first started sensing someone was watching me. But that was long before the magazine was published. Wasn’t it? I feel like I’m losing it.
Good grief, Grace. Get it together.
“What did the caseworker want?”
“She said there was an anonymous donation made to the hospital. It stated that the funds be directed to cover the outstanding debt of some of our patients who would benefit from continued therapy and medication they might not otherwise be able to afford.”
My eyes spring wide. “What are you saying?”
“Everything is taken care of. The hospital bill, therapy, and her medications.” Winnie beams.
What?
Ben
Okay,this sucks. I’m married. But I’m waking up alone. How do I go from having the best weekend of my life to this? Is this going to be like thatFriendsepisode where Ross and Rachel try to annul their Vegas wedding?
Fuck. I hope not.
I start to pace. What do I do? What do I do? Running my hands through my hair, I tug at the ends in frustration. Then it hits me.
Tuesday! She’ll know what to do.
I rummage through my wallet to find her number. Once I’m finally connected, I’m dejected to hear the sound of a male’s voice.
