I grunt, so glad I don’t have a half-sister who drives like a drunken teenager. If I did, and if she wrecked my car, I’d put her on a one-way flight to Africa with my brother Noah. He doesn’t believe in luxury travel. His goal is to take the best wildlife shots possible, which means rolling around in dirt, bugs and snakes until he can position himself to get the photos he needs.
“So what’s wrong with your mom? A car accident?” As soon as I say it, I bite my tongue. It’s none of my business. I’m never going to see her again.
“No. She collapsed, and…” She takes a shaky breath. “Why do people collapse, do you suppose? Low blood sugar?”
When the pause stretches, I realize she’s waiting for a response. I shouldn’t engage. But the sight of her pleading eyes makes my resolve weaken. “I’m not a doctor, so I wouldn’t know.” The women in my family don’t faint. They make the other party do so with fear.
“She’s too young to have something serious, I’m sure. She’s not some health freak, but she’s fit enough.”
I don’t tell her that just because you look okay from the outside doesn’t mean your insides are in top shape. Young and seemingly healthy people get diagnosed with cancer all the time. One of my friends’ fathers died in his forties of stomach cancer that way.
Soon we pull into the entrance of the ER. The area is a madhouse, with an ambulance pulling up, people shouting. Coming from a wreck, judging from the way a mangled man on a stretcher is bleeding.
“Thank you. Here…” My hitchhiker reaches into her pocket…and pulls out the saddest-looking dollar bill I’ve ever seen. She flushes. “Um, sorry. It’s all I have, but wait. Lemme Venmo you.” She grabs her phone from a back pocket, but it’s also soaked. “Shit.” She pushes buttons, but obviously nothing’s happening.
Or maybe it is responding, but she’s playing dumb. Honestly, I don’t care. I didn’t drive her here for the money. Still, a glimmer of respect stirs in my heart that she’s at least trying.
Curiosity over how she plans to get out of the situation she’s in keeps me quiet. If she has no cash and her phone isn’t working, what are her options? Write me an IOU? A check? Ask me to drive her to an ATM? But would she do that if the situation with her mom is urgent enough for her to jump in front of a car?
“Here.” She takes the pen I keep on the console and writes on the dollar bill. “This is my number. Please call me and I’ll send you the money.” She looks down at the wet seat. “And I’m sorry about your car seat. I’ll pay for this, too.”
She lifts the damp bill, waiting for me. I stare at it for a while.The number’s probably fake,the cynic in me says. Still, she’s waiting, so I accept it gingerly between my index finger and thumb.
She beams at me. “Thanks again!” She runs out, disappearing into the ER.
I look at the limp bill and toss it on the seat she was occupying just seconds ago. “Hope your mom’s okay,” I mutter. The car suddenly feels empty and quiet as I pull out to head home.
Chapter Two
Grace
–two years later
“Still working?” Elizabeth says as she exits her office. As always, she’s in a beautiful designer dress—something in a pretty pink today—and her golden hair is perfectly styled and curling around her shoulders. The makeup on her face is just enough to bring out her gray eyes and highlight her model-perfect cheeks.
She’s one of the heirs to the Pryce family fortune, as well as being the head of the Pryce Family Foundation and my boss. Most importantly, she’s my savior. If she hadn’t agreed to take a chance on a kid with a history degree from UCLA nobody wanted to hire because the economy was terrible and “oh gosh, what are we supposed to do with a history major, ha-ha-ha” I would’ve been so, so screwed.
When people learn that my father is Nelson Webber, they assume I grew up in luxury and have never experienced money problems. He’s a very successful lawyer, and the Webber family is wealthy. What they don’t know is that he resents my having been born. Only if I hadn’t been conceived—or, failing that, hadn’t survived—he could’ve denied that he’d ever seduced a particular young woman. Or that he got her pregnant and then abandoned her because he didn’t have the balls to fess up to his wife.
Nelson is to himself the greatest tragic hero and victim, made to suffer endlessly. Mom and I are a burden he must bear for a “minor youthful indiscretion”—even though he was thirty-seven when he slept with my mom, who was only twenty-four. He often forgets that he hasn’t given Mom a penny in child support. He used a fake name with her, and then ran as quickly as he could when she told him she was pregnant. She only found out who he really was when his photo was all over the news because he was the lead counsel for a sensational lawsuit involving a giant pharmaceutical company sixteen years later. She didn’t chase after him for anything because she had her pride and realized he never wanted to be a responsible human being. Also, she was making enough money to support us.
But when she first became ill and started having to go to the hospital just as I was finishing high school, everything changed. Mom never earned enough to have much in savings, certainly not enough to pay for the outrageous hospital bills, and I confronted Nelson at his house, where I was blocked, and then at his law firm.
He would have continued to ignore me, except I changed tactics and went directly to his father, Andreas Webber. After a paternity test, Andreas told Nelson to man up and do the right thing or he’d sue Nelson on by my behalf for neglect, abandonment, unpaid financial support and everything else I was legally entitled to.
“I just need to check some personal emails,” I say with a smile.
“Good. I was wondering if we were working you too hard. There’s a catered lunch in the breakroom if you want. I’m out for a lunch date.” Her entire being glows as she says it. Despite being married for years, she still acts like a teenager having her first crush. She flutters her fingers. “See ya.”
Tolyan gets up from his desk and accompanies her out. I think of him asthat scary Russianrather thanElizabeth’s personal assistantbut don’t have the courage to say it out loud. The man gives off a weird, dangerous vibe that is completely at odds with Elizabeth’s sweet personality. And he stands out among the gentle souls at the foundation. If that man has a gentle soul, I’ll eat my toenails.
I turn my attention back to my computer and look for the weekly update from Johns Hopkins Hospital, where my mom was transferred a year and a half ago. Andreas insisted that she be treated by Dr. Adlai Blum, the world’s foremost specialist on cerebral infarctions, which is what finally put Mom into a coma two years back. Nelson flushed, probably upset at how much it’d cost, and his wife Karie protested, but neither could afford to cross Andreas.
There it is. Like clockwork.
Your mother’s condition hasn’t changed much, but the new therapy we started last week is very promising. Many patients in her situation have shown some improvement over time. She’s still relatively young, and I think she is a good candidate.
Dr. Blum’s messages are never long, but always in layman’s term and to the point, which I appreciate. The previous doctor flung dozens of technical words at me, and always acted like it was a bother to explain himself. Despite Dr. Blum’s cautious words, I’m optimistic. The last time I visited her in Baltimore, her lashes fluttered and her fingers twitched in my hand. The more I spoke to her, the more she responded, and I know she could hear me.And that means she’s getting better.
