I stared at the form. Self-employed insurance. High deductible plan because it was all I could afford. Ambulance, surgery, hospital stay, anesthesia, follow-up appointments. I started doing math in my head. Which bills I could push. I had maybe five-hundred in savings. The business account had another two, but that was for payroll and rent. I’d already dipped into it twice this month. Jeff hadn’t sent child support in nine months. God, I hated being broke all the time. I hated myself for not being a better provider. And for all the mistakes I’d made, starting with getting pregnant in college and marrying Jeff because I felt like there was no other option.
But you wouldn’t have the kids without that mistake, and then what would your life be?
I could feel Grady looking at me, but I couldn’t look back. If I looked at him I would cry again.
“Esme?” Grady asked. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll figure it out,” I said.
“I could?—.”
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
I turned to look him directly in the eyes. His expression was careful, like he was trying not to spook me.
“I know exactly what you were going to say,” I said. “And the answer is no.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it.
Angela reappeared in the doorway. “Ms. Taylor? We need to get Madison upstairs soon. The surgeon’s ready.”
I nodded. Pulled out my wallet. Handed her my credit card, even though I knew it would max out.
“This should cover part of it,” I said. “I’ll figure out the rest.”
She processed it right there on her tablet. When she handed the card back, my hand was shaking.
“Sign here.” She turned the tablet toward me.
I signed.
Madison was taken up to pre-op twenty minutes later. Grady and I followed to the surgical waiting area on the third floor—a room with rows of blue chairs and a TV playing the news on mute.
I sat. He sat next to me. Neither of us said anything for a long time.
“I should text Jeff,” I said finally.
Grady was quiet for a second. “You think he’ll answer?”
“I don’t know.” I pulled out my phone. “But he should know his daughter’s in the hospital. Trust me. He’ll ask about money before he asks if she’s all right.”
He nodded, but his jaw was tight. “He doesn’t deserve to even be called, but yeah, you should.”
Esme
Madison broke her arm in two places falling off the monkey bars. I’m at the hospital now. They have her in surgery.
Jeff
How bad? Did they really need to do surgery or is that just a way to gouge us for money? I’m still waiting on that job to come through so I can’t help you right now. I thought you said she wasn’t ready for the big playground equipment yet. Why was she even up there?
I wanted to throw the phone against the wall. Or scream. Or call him back just to tell him exactly what I thought of him blaming me for Madison climbing the monkey bars she’d been working up the courage to try for months.
Instead I sat there, jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached, reading his message over and over like maybe the words would rearrange themselves into something decent.
They didn’t.
