Chapter 1 - How much does it cost to keep your sister alive?”
The question sounded impossible in Adrian Mercer’s voice.
Not because of the amount.
Because nobody had ever asked me that way before.
Doctors asked what insurance covered. Billing departments asked what I could pay today. Friends asked whether there was anything they could do, usually with the frightened politeness of people hoping the answer would be no.
Adrian simply looked at me as though there had to be a number somewhere, and once he found it, the problem would become manageable.
I gathered the papers against my chest.
“I don’t know.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“You have a final notice in your hand.”
“That isn’t the whole cost.”
“Then what is?”
I glanced toward Lily’s room.
Dialysis had taught me that illness was rarely one bill. It was transportation, medication, missed shifts, lab work, consultations, meals bought in hospital cafeterias because there had been no time to pack dinner. It was a hundred small holes in a boat that never stopped taking on water.
“She needs dialysis until the transplant,” I said. “If I’m approved as her donor, there are tests, leave from work, recovery time, things insurance doesn’t fully cover. Her medication afterward. Rent while I’m not earning.”
“You have paid all of this yourself?”
“Mostly.”
“For how long?”
“Almost two years.”
His gaze fell to my shoes again.
I wished he would stop looking at them.
The left sole had begun separating near the toe. I had repaired it twice with glue.
“I’m not asking you for money,” I said.
“I noticed.”
Something about the answer irritated me.
“Then we understand each other.”
“No, Claire. We clearly don’t.”
His voice remained calm, but I knew the tone. I had heard him use it on contractors who arrived late and executives who tried to explain obvious mistakes.
I straightened.
“I’m your employee. Lily is my responsibility.”
“And you are responsible for my son six days a week while apparently sleeping in hospital chairs on the seventh.”
“I have never neglected Ethan.”
“I didn’t say you had.”
“Then don’t make this about my work.”
His expression softened almost imperceptibly.
“I’m making it about you.”
That was worse.
I looked away.
Outside Lily’s room, a cleaning cart rolled slowly down the corridor. Somewhere farther away, a machine chimed. The hospital at three in the morning had its own strange kind of silence, full of small sounds made important by exhaustion.
Adrian held out his hand.
“Let me see the bill.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
“No.”
For several seconds neither of us moved.
Then, unexpectedly, he lowered his hand.
“All right.”
I blinked.
That had been easier than expected.
Then he pulled out his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling someone.”
“At three fifteen in the morning?”
“She’s awake.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
“My hospital administrator has been trying to get me to join a fundraising committee for six months. She answers my calls.”
“Adrian.”
It was the first time I had used his first name.
We both noticed.
His thumb stopped above the screen.
“I mean it,” I said more quietly. “Please don’t turn Lily into some problem your office solves before breakfast.”
His expression changed.
Not anger.
Understanding.
At least enough of it to make him put the phone away.
“Then tell me what you want.”
“I want her to get better.”
“That isn’t something you can control.”
“I know.”
“What can you control?”
I almost laughed.
He sounded like Ethan negotiating bedtime.
One more book, one more glass of water, one more question about dinosaurs.
“I can work,” I said. “I can pay what I can. I can finish the donor testing.”
“And when do you sleep?”
“I manage.”
His gaze moved toward the sandwich in my bag.
“And eat?”
I closed the purse.
“That was perfectly good food.”
“It was half a grilled cheese sandwich.”
“With tomato.”
A sound escaped him.
For one astonishing second, I thought Adrian Mercer might laugh.
He didn’t.
But the corner of his mouth moved.
Then Lily’s door opened.
Sarah stepped out.
“She’s awake.”
I was beside her before she finished speaking.
“Can I see her?”
“Yes. But only for a few minutes.”
I turned toward Adrian.
He was already stepping back.
“I’ll wait downstairs.”
“You don’t have to wait.”
“I know.”
That answer followed me into Lily’s room.
My sister looked impossibly small beneath the white blanket, although she was twenty-six years old and had spent most of our childhood insisting she was the taller one.
She smiled when she saw me.
“You look awful.”
“So do you.”
“Good. I’d hate to lose the competition.”
I sat beside her.
Her fingers were cool when I took them.
“You scared me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
“You always say that.”
“Because you always apologize for things that aren’t your fault.”
Lily studied my face.
Then her eyes moved toward the door.
“Was that your boss?”
My shoulders stiffened.
“You saw him?”
“He was standing in the hallway looking like he owned the building.”
“He probably owns something nearby.”
“Claire.”
I sighed.
“Yes. It was Mr. Mercer.”
“At three in the morning?”
“He was here for someone else.”
“And then?”
“And then he found me.”
Lily was quiet.
I knew that silence.
She had been using it since she was twelve, when she realized that if she waited long enough, I usually filled it.
“He saw the bills,” I admitted.
“Oh.”
“And the donor forms.”
“Oh.”
“And Ethan’s sandwich.”
That made her smile.
“The famous emergency sandwich?”
“It wasn’t an emergency sandwich.”
“You carried macaroni in a container for four hours last Tuesday.”
“That was different.”
“Claire.”
Her smile faded.
“You can’t keep doing this.”
“Sarah already gave me the lecture.”
“Sarah is smart.”
“Sarah is bossy.”
“So am I.”
“You’re attached to three monitors.”
“I can multitask.”
I squeezed her hand.
“We’ll get through Friday.”
“With what money?”
“I get paid Thursday.”
“And then rent?”
“I’ll manage.”
“Meaning you’ll delay it.”
“By a few days.”
“Meaning you’ll tell the landlord your bank made a mistake.”
“He likes me.”
“He likes being paid.”
I stared down at our joined hands.
Lily’s voice softened.
“I don’t want you donating if you’re exhausted.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“It should be.”
“You need a kidney.”
“I need my sister too.”
I couldn’t answer.
She squeezed my fingers.
“Promise me you won’t make a decision tonight.”
“What decision?”
“Whatever Mr. Mercer offers.”
“He hasn’t offered anything.”
Lily gave me a look.
“A rich man sees medical bills at three in the morning. He’s going to offer something.”
“You don’t know him.”
“No. But I know you.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you’ll refuse before he finishes the sentence.”
I wanted to argue.
Instead, I adjusted her blanket.
She smiled faintly.
“See?”
“Go to sleep.”
“Bossy.”
“You started it.”
When I left fifteen minutes later, Adrian was not downstairs.
He was sitting in the waiting area outside the elevators with two coffees.
He handed one to me.
“I don’t drink coffee.”
“You do every morning at six forty.”
I stared at him.
“You notice that?”
“I notice what happens in my house.”
The coffee smelled suspiciously like tea.
I lifted the lid.
Chamomile.
“You called the house?”
“Mrs. Alvarez told me what you drink when you’re tired.”
Of course she had.
His longtime housekeeper knew everything.
I sat carefully.
Adrian remained standing for a moment, then took the chair opposite me.
“I won’t pay your sister’s bills without your permission.”
My shoulders relaxed.
“Thank you.”
“But tomorrow morning, I want you to speak to someone.”
I immediately tensed again.
“Who?”
“A hospital financial counselor.”
“I’ve done that.”
“Not about charity.”
“Then about what?”
He leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees.
“The Mercer Employee Benevolence Trust.”
I stared at him.
“I don’t work for Mercer Freight.”
“No.”
“Then why would I qualify?”
“You might not.”
“That sounds useful.”
His eyes held mine.
“Your father did.”
For a moment, the hallway disappeared.
“What?”
“Thomas Hale.”
I heard my father’s name as if someone had spoken from another room.
My father had died seven years earlier after a sudden heart attack. He had worked loading freight most of his adult life. He never talked about it much.
“How do you know my father’s name?”
Adrian looked almost as unsettled as I felt.
“Your emergency contact paperwork from when you were hired listed your mother as deceased and your father as deceased. I remembered the surname tonight.”
“That doesn’t explain anything.”
“No. It doesn’t.”
He paused.
“My father started the benevolence trust for long-term employees and their immediate families. It still exists.”
“My father never worked for you.”
“For my company.”
I shook my head.
“No. He worked at different warehouses.”
“One of them was ours.”
I stared at him.
“He never told me.”
“He worked for Mercer Shipping for nineteen years.”
“That isn’t possible.”
“It is.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I checked.”
“When?”
“While you were with Lily.”
Something hot rose behind my eyes.
“You went through my father’s employment records?”
“I asked one question.”
“Without telling me.”
“Yes.”
I stood.
He stood too, but didn’t move closer.
“I told you not to make this into something you could solve.”
“I’m not trying to solve you.”
“It feels exactly like that.”
His face tightened.
“I was trying to understand why someone who may have access to an existing medical fund is sleeping in a hospital chair with a final notice.”
“Maybe because nobody told her it existed.”
The words came out sharper than I intended.
Silence followed.
Adrian’s expression changed.
“That,” he said slowly, “is what I intend to find out.”
I picked up my bag.
“I need to go home.”
“I’ll have a car take you.”
“No.”
“Claire, it’s almost four.”
“I have a bus pass.”
“And you can barely stand.”
“I said no.”
He looked as though he might argue.
Then he nodded.
“All right.”
That second surrender surprised me more than the first.
I took three steps toward the elevator before he spoke again.
“You’re off tomorrow.”
May you like
I turned.
“No, I’m not.”
Related Stories
