Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
But then, my cell beeps and reflexively, I look at it. I should throw this thing away because of the control it exerts over my life. Unfortunately, modern living doesn’t allow for such a thing, and the tiny handheld is pretty much glued to my palm 24/7. Even worse, it’s Cranston, my foreman from the Trinity Church job.
Yo, he texts. Miguel injured himself on-site yesterday. He’s at the hospital and the hospital just informed his family that our health insurance lapsed. What the fuck?
I bow my head, ashamed, because it’s my fault. I didn’t pay the last premium because we had no cash, and I was barely even making payroll. As a result, I prayed that no one would get hurt this quarter, but obviously, that didn’t work.
I’ll be in touch with his family, I text. I’ll handle it.
You better, Cranston texts back. They say the hospital bill is nearly five figures. No health insurance to cover this shit? What the fuck, bro?
I pinch the bridge of my nose in agony, sinking further into a deep, dark hole. In fact, the hole is so enormous now that I can’t see how to claw myself out. Still, how the fuck could Miguel have gotten injured yesterday? I thought we’d pretty much finished the Trinity job, and were going to do the punch list today.
But accidents happen, and this is one of the risks of working in construction. Goddamnit! I swear again. Of course, I could pay Miguel’s hospital bill using the three hundred thousand that Vanessa gave me, but I promised myself this morning that I would transfer the sum back to her. Or at least, that’s what was going to happen until I got this text. Miguel deserves to be taken care of, after all. He’s been with me for five or six years now, and is a solid and reliable worker.
I hang my head in defeat again, hating myself. How the fuck did this shitshow get so out of control? When did the mighty Gray Thomas start borrowing money from his stepdaughter? Even worse, the three hundred thousand might not be enough. It’ll keep Thomas Builders in business for another a week or two, but then what?
To my horror, tears begin to prick in my eyes, and I even feel moisture streaking my cheeks. Holy fuck, am I crying? I haven’t cried since I was in seventh grade, when I was hit by a car while skateboarding. The experience was excruciating, and hot jets of fire felt like they were rocketing up my arm as I screamed. But this is a different kind of agony altogether. Now, it feels as if the weight of the world is crushing me, and that there’s not enough oxygen in the world to make things right.
At that moment, Vanessa prances into the kitchen, still clad in the silky negligee from last night. She looks gorgeous of course, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but she skids to a stop when she sees me.
“Gray?” she inquires in a soft voice. “Are you alright?”
I turn away, suddenly embarrassed.
“I’m fine,” I bark. “Everything’s fine.”
She comes up behind me silently before placing one small hand on my arm.
“Everything’s not fine,” she murmurs. “Please. Tell me. It doesn’t hurt to share.”
I shake my head.
“No, this isn’t your business,” I rasp, refusing to look at her. “Besides, I’ve already done enough. You don’t need to get involved.”
“But I do,” she says, pulling me around to face her. Reluctantly, I meet her chocolate brown eyes, and the empathy in them is my undoing.
“Sweetheart, you have no idea…” I begin.
“I do,” she says. “Just tell me what needs to be done.”
Then, to my horror, the whole sad story comes pouring out. How I didn’t pay last quarter’s health insurance premium because of my financial circumstances. How a loyal employee has been injured on the job, and how I need to do right by Miguel. How the hospital’s probably charging an arm and a leg for routine X-rays, and how the American health insurance system is the equivalent of fucking highway robbery. It’s all very pathetic and I can hardly believe that I’m revealing my troubles to the young woman.
But Vanessa’s sympathetic. Her brown eyes are limpid as she squeezes my hand in her much smaller one.
“It’s okay,” she murmurs. “I get it. Everyone’s mystified by our health care system and Congress really needs to do something. Anything, because there’s no way this should be happening to citizens of a first world country. But how much did you say Miguel’s bill is? And the health insurance premium for next quarter?”
“I didn’t say,” I just barely get out. “But five figures. And my quarterly premium is in the five figures as well, although paying it now isn’t going to help Miguel. It’s too late for that.”
Vanessa looks thoughtful, rubbing her thumb in small circles against my palm. The gesture is soothing, even if she’s doing it unconsciously.