I checked the household checking balance, confirmed the mortgage had cleared, and made sure my next paycheck would go into the personal account I already used for work expenses.
It was the first useful thing I had done all morning that wasn’t answering Gavin.
Marlene took me to a diner two blocks away.
She ordered soup, then asked if I wanted her to call anyone.
“My friend Kelly,” I said. “But I want to tell her myself.”
Kelly worked with me in the school office at an elementary school outside Sacramento.
When I explained what had happened, she immediately asked where I would stay that night.
I hadn’t thought that far.
“You can come to me,” Marlene said quietly. “For tonight, or longer. We’ll decide after you eat.”
Gavin sent another message.
I can put it back. Stop telling people.
I answered with one question: Where is it now?
He didn’t reply.
Marlene opened her bag and took out a folded sheet.
It was a printed hospital estimate with handwritten instructions to transfer money to Gavin.
“He sent me this yesterday,” she said.
At the bottom, in darker type, was a sentence claiming payment was required before admission.
“Did you already send him more?” I asked.
“No. That’s why I came today.”
She opened the attached message.
If you can’t help with $9,600, Audrey may not be able to get into the hospital. Please don’t tell her I asked. She’s scared enough already.
Below that was another.
Send it to me. I’ll make sure it gets where it needs to go.
I pushed my soup away.
The baby’s money was already gone.
And he was still asking for more.
PART 3 — THE THINGS WE HADN’T ASKED EACH OTHER
Marlene’s house smelled like furniture polish and vegetable soup from the slow cooker.
She opened the guest room, moved a sewing basket off the bed, and asked whether I needed help carrying anything.
I had only my purse, appointment folder, and the clothes I was wearing.
“We’ll get the rest,” she said.
