by Lisa Mills
“The realtor has a waiting list of people who want properties down here. She figures they’ll sell within days once she officially lists them, and she said the folks buying up the property ‘round here are wealthy enough to pay cash most times. Speeds up the closing process without a bank loan to arrange. The new owners will likely want to get into the homes right away and make some changes. You know, decorate to their tastes. The realtor said most buyers gut the house and remodel everything.”
Danielle glanced around her living room and tried to imagine it stripped bare of her possessions with some stranger painting the walls a different color and changing the flooring and drapes. And then she tried to imagine living somewhere else. Her mind drew a blank. For her, the word “home” had been defined within these walls, woven of pictures and memories that could not be separated from this place. Leaving would tear her apart.
Trevor drifted across the room and leaned against the arm of her chair, his gaze darting from the Mannings to Danielle. He’d missed most of the conversation but the somber mood in the room was palpable enough for even a child to understand. He looked at her, brown eyes probing her face with too much discernment for one so young. “Mommy?”
“It’ll be okay,” she whispered. “We’ll talk later.” Giving him a peck on the cheek, she rose and walked the Mannings to the door. “Thanks for coming to tell me in person. If you are able to give me some extra time, I’d appreciate it. Our schedule is pretty hectic right now. Packing will take longer since we’re at the hospital so much.”
Mrs. Mannings stopped at the door and offered Danielle a hug. “We’ll do our best by you, Danielle. We’ve loved getting to know you and Trevor. It’s our hope you’ll stay in touch with us.” Mr. Mannings opened the door for his teary wife and guided her down the small step.
Trevor moved up behind Danielle and slipped under her arm, pressing a cheek to her hip, as she watched their landlords go. She wrapped her hand over his thin shoulder, hoping he did not feel the fear that was rolling around in her stomach. Inside she felt fractured and broken, like big chunks of her heart were being torn off and ripped away. Each time a new crisis hit, the pieces of her got smaller and more difficult to reassemble into something cohesive and functional. How much could one person bear?
~ ~ ~
The antiseptic smell of the hospital turned Danielle’s stomach as she sat at Trevor’s bedside. Poison dripped into his PICC line with a steady rhythm. The thought of the nausea that would assault him in a few hours made her cringe. Of course, the treatment was for his good, but it was so toxic to his system. She wished she could trade places with him, take upon herself the misery she knew would follow today’s hospital visit.
But she wouldn’t complain if it kept him alive. Most kids who made it through this stage lived the rest of their lives cancer free. Trevor’s doctors had assured her his prognosis was excellent.
Trevor sat in the bed, propped up against a mound of pillows. The television across the room broadcast his favorite cartoons, supplying him with a pleasant diversion. The nurse assigned to administer the treatment sat on the other side of the bed, watching cartoons and teasing Trevor while checking his PICC line and monitoring the process.
Danielle decided that since Trevor seemed content, she’d slip out and take care of an issue that needed her attention.
“Trevor?” She waited until he looked away from the television.
“I need to go downstairs for a few minutes. Is it okay if I leave you with Nurse Mitchum?”
He shrugged. “Sure, Mom. Go ahead.” The cartoons quickly reclaimed his focus.
Danielle rose and smiled at the nurse. “I won’t be long.”
“We’ll be fine,” she whispered. “Take your time.”
Danielle hitched her purse strap onto her shoulder and strolled down the linoleum-tiled hallway to the elevator. The doors opened with a whisper. She stepped inside and punched the button for the first floor. The elevator hummed to life and began its slow descent. She leaned against the mirrored wall and listened to the instrumental music filtering through hidden speakers. Away from Trevor’s watchful eyes, she let her guard down and allowed the worries she faced to surface.
The gas she used driving back and forth to the cancer treatment center, co-pays for medications, and the occasional hotel bill had drained her accounts. To add to her problems, the time she had available to work and meet clients had been drastically reduced, which in turn reduced her income. Now she had to come up with a security deposit and first-and-last month’s rent for a new place. The mountain she was climbing seemed to get bigger every day, and she didn’t know how much longer she could endure the grueling struggle.
The elevator doors slid open, and Danielle headed for Patient Accounts, the hospital’s billing department. When she and Trevor had checked in for the day’s treatment, the registration clerk had told her Patient Accounts needed to see her. They hadn’t yet contacted her about payments. She figured that was the subject they wanted to discuss today. A nervous flutter rippled through her chest. What would she say when they asked about her ability to pay? She had nothing to spare. Maybe she could squeeze ten dollars a month from her over-worked budget, but even that would be a strain.
Her stomach bubbled like a cauldron of acid. Stress was eating away at the lining of her stomach. She fished in her purse for an antacid as she walked the last stretch to the billing department.
Danielle added her name to the waiting list and took a seat in the small lobby, absently flipping through a magazine. A few minutes later, a representative was available to speak with her.
“How can I help you, Miss Jordan?” The round-faced older woman had kind hazel eyes and smile lines around her mouth.
“I received a message that you needed to discuss my account.”
The woman swiveled in her chair to face her computer. “I’ll need your social security number to pull up your records.”
Danielle gave her the information, and the computer whirred and clicked through its memory. The woman’s lips moved as she read the information that appeared on the screen.
She looked up from the computer and pasted on a smile. “Over a month has passed since your son started treatments. Your insurance company has begun sending payment for their portion. We’d like to work with you to arrange payment for the remaining charges.”
Danielle swallowed hard and nodded. “I was told you’d be contacting me.”
“Do you happen to be in a financial position to pay the balance each month?”
“No. I’ll have to make payments.”
The woman nodded. “Most people do it that way. What we normally suggest is that you pay one percent of the balance each month.”
Relief flooded through Danielle. They would work with her. And one percent sounded manageable.
The woman punched a few keys on her keyboard. “That would put your payment this month at five hundred ten dollars.”
Danielle’s stomach lurched. “Five hundred ten is one percent? What’s the balance on the account?”
“Fifty-one thousand.” The woman pivoted her monitor and pointed at a number on the screen, confirming her words.
The floor beneath Danielle began to tilt. She gripped the edge of the desk to keep from sliding off her chair. “How can that be? It’s so much!”
The representative looked sympathetic. “The cost for treating cancer is very high. I show that your son was hospitalized for nearly two weeks at the beginning of his treatment. He’s had several surgical procedures, extensive testing on a regular basis, and the cost of the chemotherapy drugs is significant. It adds up fast, I’m afraid.”
Danielle leaned back in her chair and pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, trying to gain some equilibrium. “I just … I mean, I knew it wouldn’t be cheap, but I only have to cover twenty percent, and I thought—”
“Did you say twenty?” The woman clicked through several screens with rapid keystrokes. “I show that your insu
rance carrier considers this hospital to be out-of-network, so they’re covering only sixty percent of his expenses. You’re responsible for forty percent of the cost of treatment here.”
“Out of network,” she choked. It hadn’t even occurred to her to check before bringing Trevor here. Their family doctor had her insurance information, and he had referred her to this facility. She’d assumed he’d taken her insurance into consideration. A phone call to her agent should have been top priority, but everything had happened so fast. Now she realized she couldn’t have picked a worse time to let her diligence slip. She leaned against the desk, reeling in the crosswinds of this new disaster.
“What am I going to do? I can’t afford that payment. I can’t pay a tenth of that.”
The Patient Services representative was quiet for a moment. “You don’t have a savings account to pull from?”
Danielle shook her head. “I’m a single parent. We live week to week, and I’m barely keeping up with expenses as it is. There’s just … there’s just no way.”
The woman bit her lip as she glanced through a few more computer screens. “If you’d like I can arrange an appointment with one of our financial advisors. They’re more knowledgeable about the help that’s available from the government and charitable organizations. You could apply for aid.”
A charity case. Danielle withered inside. In her mind, she flashed back to that day she stood on the sidewalk in front of the women’s shelter, arms wrapped around her bulging stomach, her heart torn to shreds. Homeless and desperate, she’d swallowed her pride and fallen on the mercy of strangers. In the years since she’d worked so hard to move beyond that place, to take care of herself and her son. A wave of despondency washed over her, and she couldn’t hold back a tear.
“Would you like to talk with an advisor?” The woman was trying to be helpful, but Danielle could see she didn’t really care. No one cared that Danielle was losing her home, had no money to pay her bills, and was now in debt for more than twice her annual salary with the total climbing every day. Tears dripped down her cheeks and dotted her t-shirt. Feeling empty and at the end of herself, she didn’t have the energy to wipe them away.
The woman handed Danielle a tissue. “I’ve sent a request for a financial advisor to contact you.”
Danielle nodded, unable to force words past the knot in her throat.
“Do what you have to in order to take care of your little one. That’s what’s important right now.”
Danielle rose and retraced her steps to the elevator. As she walked, her breath came in shallow gulps. Pain spread through her ribs and became unbearable. She ducked into a restroom and locked herself in the largest stall, backing into a corner like a trapped animal. Her legs gave out, too weak to support the weight of her despair. She slid down the wall and huddled there, arms wrapped around her shins, forehead on her knees, and wept.
Just when she thought she’d hit bottom, the ground crumbled beneath her, and she plummeted still further. How was she going to manage this new challenge? Unless she won the lottery, she’d be working the next twenty years to pay for Trevor’s treatments. And she was so tired already. Weary to her core.
Why?
The question wrenched itself from the depths of her soul. Why had life turned against her? What had Trevor done to deserve cancer? And what had she done to deserve heartache upon heartache as she watched her life being torn to pieces and scattered to the wind? They had so little—only each other, really—and some force beyond her understanding seemed determined to rip even that away. If God was in control of this world, how could He sit back and watch them suffer?
Janna would tell her to have faith. She wanted to, really. But life had shown her again and again that God didn’t care about her hurts and pains. She’d suffered all her life, and He’d done nothing about it. How could she trust Him?
Red-hot anger seared through her despair and self-pity, infusing her with defiance. Whether God was there or not didn’t matter. She and Trevor may not have a house, or decent insurance, or an income to speak of, but they still had each other. She’d walk through hell and fight to her last breath for her child. She’d do anything necessary to ensure that he survived.
Anything.
Chapter Twelve
“Anybody home?”
Danielle wiped her forehead on the sleeve of her t-shirt then pushed to her feet. “Come in, Janna,” she called in the direction of the door.
The hinges on the screen door squeaked as they opened and again as they closed. Janna strolled into the living room and dumped her purse in a chair. A lime green bandana wrapped her head, holding back the mob of red hair that usually frizzed around her face. The day’s fashion statement included a pale green t-shirt paired with a brighter green pair of capri pants and green flip-flops. Danielle couldn’t help but smile. With all that green covering her long, lanky frame, she resembled a beanstalk, or maybe the Jolly Green Giant’s little sister.
Janna held up a stack of newspapers. “Brought the classifieds. Seven days worth.”
“Thanks. Toss ‘em on the desk.” Janna subscribed to the local paper and had offered to bring by the classifieds after her husband Mack finished reading them. Danielle saved a few dollars using secondhand papers. She was cutting costs anywhere she could, and Janna never made her favors seem like charity. A girl had her pride, and Janna was one of the few people who could navigate the touchy areas of Danielle’s ego.
Danielle turned back the bookshelf she’d been emptying. “Did you see anything promising?”
“I circled a few. Most don’t list the rental fee, though. Hard to say if they’ll be affordable. It’ll take some phone calls to sort out the eligible ones from the no-go’s.” Janna glanced around the room, eyebrows lifted.
Cardboard boxes, some empty, some full, littered the room. Shelves stood half empty, drawers ajar, and picture hangers jutted from the drywall now relieved of their load. Overall, it looked like chaos, but Danielle actually considered it progress.
“Packing already?”
Danielle scooped up a handful of books, wrinkling her nose at the layer of dust that coated them. Her knees gave a crackle of protest when she squatted to place the books in a box. “Between hospital visits and chemo, seems like we’re hardly home. And at some point, I have to find time for apartment hunting. I figured I should pack up the nonessentials now while I can. I’ll leave the everyday things for last minute.”
Janna shook her head. “Still can’t believe you have to move in the middle of all this stuff with Trevor.”
“Guess that old cliché is true. When it rains it pours.” Danielle tried for a smile but only managed a bitter smirk. She still hadn’t come to terms with being ousted from her home, even if the landlords didn’t mean anything personal by selling the place out from under her.
“I have an hour to help before Cory has to be picked up from my sister’s house. He had a play date with his cousins.” Janna took up a position on the other side of the shelving unit and plopped down on the floor, cross-legged. She grabbed a stack of books and added them to the box beside Danielle’s batch. “Have you driven through the tourist area lately? There’s a Starbucks going in next door to that little plaza with the ice cream parlor.”
“In that empty lot by the surf shop? That should be popular with locals and vacationers.” And maybe they’d need some advertising for their launch. She made a mental note to send a welcome letter and a flyer about her services.
They chatted amiably for the next half hour, subject matter darting to this and that. They finished the bookshelf and packed away most of the videos and music collection, then moved to the kitchen to tackle the cake pans and muffin tins, items that Danielle wouldn’t have time to use before the move.
After tucking away a group of mismatched serving bowls, Janna declared her box full and folded the flaps. Reaching for the packing tape and a marker, she asked, “Why’s it so hot in here? Is your air conditioner broke?”
Danielle
paused and wiped beads of sweat from her forehead, noting the sheen on Janna’s skin. “I shut it off. Thought we’d enjoy the breeze for a while.” Danielle ducked her head into the cupboard, pretending to look for more items to pack so Janna would not see the burning in her cheeks. Truth was she didn’t have money to pay the utility bill and figured it was wise to keep the costs to a minimum until she could scrape together some cash. They were making do with fans and the ocean breeze in the meantime.
“You want some iced tea or a popsicle? I don’t know about you, but I’ve been at this for a few hours and could use a break.”
“Sure. Tea sounds great. I’ll stow this and be right back.” Janna hefted the box and carried it around the breakfast bar. They’d decided to stack boxes in the corner of the dining room where they would be out of the way until moving day. Whenever that would be. Danielle didn’t think too far ahead these days. Worrying about the future brought her more anxiety than answers. She was turning avoidance into an art form.
Danielle poured two glasses of tea and set them on the dining room table. Ducking down the hall, she peeked into Trevor’s room. He sat on the floor pushing matchbox cars around, supplying sound effects for engines and horns and crashes. Satisfied that he was safely occupied, she headed back to the dining room. Janna was standing at the open dining room window, taking advantage of the breeze and sipping her glass of tea.
“Mind if I make a few phone calls while we break? I’m eager to get a jump on the apartment hunting.”
“Sure. I have my cell with me. I’m happy to make a few calls, too, if you tell me what questions to ask.”
Danielle went to her desk and grabbed a couple of notepads and the classifieds. “Don’t bother calling about houses,” she said as she returned to the dining room. “I can’t keep up with lawn work with Trevor sick, so I think it’s best to go low maintenance. Look for an apartment or condo with two bedrooms. Beyond that, I need to know the rental price and street address so I can do a drive-by if I’m interested.”