I rear back. “Since when?”
DoctorHarmonalso startles. “The vest therapy is critical in her condition. I’m sure Doctor Johnson has told you.”His tone permits no argument.
Mom hangs her head, talking quietly. “I know. We just don’t have the money to buy another one.”Embarrassment threads through her words.
I swallow thickly. Money has been a constant source of contention since my asshole old man left us for another woman when I was ten.
I clench my fists painfully, wishingthe fucker were here so I could throttle him. He’d been mandated by the courts to pay child support that included extra for Phoebe’s medical care. But after two payments, the asshole disappeared. Mom reached out to her lawyer, but lawyers want money she doesn’t have. His advice was to hire a PI. Again, money was an issue. So, as a result, Mom was left to work two and three jobs to keep food on the table and the rent paid.
But life became much easier when we moved to South Carolina and she found a good job at a hotel.
However, money is anongoingissue.
The price tag for one of those vestsisat least twenty grand.
“Will your medical insurance pay for one?” I ask Mom. We’re lucky she has medical insurance through her job.
She pins me with a cautionary look, urging me to drop it as she turns to the doctor. “Can we go in to see her?”
DoctorHarmon nods once. “I’ll be back later to check on her.I’ll have a nurse come in and talk to you about how you can get the vest repaired or at least looked at.”
Mom starts for Phoebe’s room when I catch her arm. “Wait.When were you going to tell me about the vest? And is that what you had to tell me before Doctor Harmon came out of Phoebe’s room?”
She purses her lips into a thin line. “I’m trying to get the money, and I didn’t want to worry you.”
My muscles tense.“She needs that therapy. When was her last session?”
She puffs out her cheeks. “She used the vest three days ago. Since then, I’ve been doing it manually.”
“Doesn’t your insurance cover that?”
She stares at me with sad brown eyes that remind me so much of Phoebe when she’s bidding me goodbye on weekends. They are so alike with brown hair and eyes and a cute button nose. Mom told me once the only attribute Iinherited from her was my brownhair.My green eyes, strong jaw, andsomewhatpatriciannose, I, unfortunately, inherited from my asshole Dad’s side.
Whatever.
I know one thing I’ll never inherit from him, and that’s his asshole cheating ways. I would never leave my family behind to fend forthemselves.Especially if one of my kids was so sick.
She sighs heavily, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “I lost my job. That’s what I was about to tell you.”
A buzzingnoisestarts in my ears as I angle my head. “Lost your job?” I repeat her words in a bit of a horrified daze. “Why?”
Suddenly, the past is worming its way into my psyche, and I’m remembering the dark dayswhen Mom didn’t have a job. When she cried night after night trying to figure out how we were going to survive. How she was going to pay for Phoebe’s medical expenses, rent, a car payment, food, and utilities.
Fuck.
We’d been forced to move out of our two-story middle-class house when my old man took off. We’d learned to survive on bread and butter and cans of soup, which was the only thing Mom could afford after she’d spent her entire savings on medical bills and trips to the hospital with Phoebe.
Mom’s only sister couldn’t help us, and most of her so-called friends gradually abandoned us. Aunt Irene has her own money issues, feeding the five kids she has as a single mom, but she provides moral support to Mom in many different ways.
Mom’s soft voice cuts through the buzzing in my ears. “The hotel is closing down. So, they’ve started letting people go. I’m looking, but every hotel I’ve contacted, their administrative staff is full.” She grips my arm. “Adam, not a word about this to Phoebe.” I nod, and she drops my arm before disappearing into my sister’s hospital room.
I don’t follow her. I can’t. My mind is a mess ,and I need to pull myself together before I go in there.How the fuck are we going to survive this time? Or rather, how are Mom and Phoebe going to live?My dorm room is way too small for them to move in, andI don’t have a job.
Mom pokes out her head. “Phoebe is asking for you.”
I shake off the impending doom, which is going to be a fucking disaster if we can’t support Phoebe’s medical expenses. Right now, I need to see my sister.
I plasterona smile and walk in.
