Chapter 6: The Thing Nobody Had Said Out Loud
Richard picked up his phone and turned the screen face-down on the table.
"That's a separate conversation," he said.
"No," Mom said.
"It isn't.
Not anymore."
He looked at her.
Then at me.
Then at Chloe, who had come fully into the kitchen and was standing beside the counter with her arms crossed — not aggressive, just present.
Waiting.
He set the phone down again, screen still facing down, and folded his hands.
"Danny's heart condition has been getting worse," he said.
"Slowly, but consistently.
His cardiologist has been talking about a procedure.
A catheter ablation — it's not open-heart surgery, but it's not minor either.
The problem is Teresa's insurance changed when her employer switched providers in January.
The new plan has a gap in pediatric cardiac coverage." He paused.
"A significant gap."
"How significant?" I asked.
"Enough that Teresa has been trying to figure out how to cover it for four months."
"And you've been helping her figure that out," Mom said.
It wasn't a question.
"I've been trying to find options.
There are programs, grants, hospital financial assistance funds.
I've been making calls."
"On your own."
"Yes."
Mom stood up from the table.
She walked to the kitchen window — the same spot she'd stood last night — and was quiet for a moment.
Then she turned around.
"Richard, I have a question and I want you to think before you answer."
He waited.
"In two years, has anyone ever helped you with this?
Not Danny, not Teresa.
You.
Has anyone ever said, 'Richard, what do you need?'"
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
"That's what I thought," Mom said.
She came back to the table and sat down.
She reached across and put her hand over his.
"I have some savings," she said.
"I'm not rich.
But I'm not without resources either.
And I know people.
My friend Harriet's daughter works in hospital administration at St.
Catherine's.
My neighbor Frank spent thirty years in insurance law before he retired."
"Carol—"
"I'm not asking your permission," she said.
"I'm telling you what's going to happen.
You are going to let me make two phone calls.
And you are going to stop treating the people who love you like they're too fragile to share a hard thing."
Richard looked at her hand on his.
His throat moved.
"I don't want you to feel obligated," he said quietly.
"Obligated." Mom almost smiled.
"Richard.
I bought a red dress for you.
I started wearing perfume again.
I smile at my phone like a fifteen-year-old." She glanced at Chloe.
"Her words, not mine."
Chloe raised both hands.
"I stand by them."
Something shifted in Richard's face.
Not a smile exactly.
Something quieter and more complicated than a smile.
"There's one more thing," he said.
He turned the phone back over and scrolled up.
He handed it to Mom.
She read.
Her eyebrows rose slightly.
She handed the phone to me.
It was a message from three weeks ago — from someone named Garrett, with a profile photo of a man in his mid-thirties.
The message said: *I know you've been covering for Teresa.
I know about the boy.
I think it's time we had a conversation about what that's worth to certain people.
Call me.*
I looked up.
"Who is Garrett?"
Richard's expression was flat and careful.
May you like
"Teresa's ex-husband," he said.
"Danny's father."
