3. Lissa
Lissa
As I leave the restaurant, I feel a twinge of guilt over what I said to Bethany.
Well, more than a twinge. My best friend has always been there for me, through everything I have gone through over the past two years, and now I’ve blown up at her for merely trying to protect me.
But the panic quickly smothers the guilt. I need to find a way to raise this money. Short of moving out of my apartment and using the rent money to pay for Henry’s care while we live in a tent on the street, Sterling House was my best bet.
So I would have to sleep with some crusty old CEO once in a while. Is that the worst thing in the world?
As I head toward the store to buy myself some lunch, lamenting the loss of the glorious-looking food that I have just abandoned, my cell phone begins to vibrate.
All thoughts of Bethany, Sterling House, and my financial worries fly out the window as I see the school’s number on the screen.
“Hello?” I say, running across the road in front of a cabby who beeps at me angrily.
“Hello, is this Mrs. Davenport?”
“Yes.”
“We have Henry here. He’s not feeling well today; would it be possible for you to come and pick him up?”
“What’s wrong?” I ask, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk as angry New Yorkers push past me in every direction.
“He threw up.”
Nausea rises in my throat as I think of Henry alone at school, sick and not understanding why. I check the time. If I head straight from the office, I could be at the school in about fifteen minutes.
“I’m on my way. Would you be able to give him some water and let him know I’m coming?” Dread trickles down my spine as another thought occurs to me. “Did you call his father?”
“No, Mrs. Davenport. We have a note in his file to always contact you first.”
“Thank you, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
I hang up, forgetting the food I had been on my way to buy, and instead, head straight back to the office. But as soon as I walk through the doors and into the reception area, I know I should have called instead of coming back in person.
Maria is behind the desk, a phone beneath one ear, and a line of patients waiting to be seen in front of her.
“Oh, thank God,” Maria mutters the second she sees me. “Could you deal with this gentleman’s bill?” she asks distractedly, then begins speaking into the phone.
But my thoughts are only on my son. I don’t care about any of these people, I just need to get to Henry and check if he’s alright.
“I’m really sorry,” I say genuinely, as I hurry to grab my scarf from the coat rack. “I have to go. Henry’s sick.”
“What?” comes a shrill voice.
I freeze as my fingers curl around the thin fabric of my scarf, turning slowly in place as Francesca Charvez, our boss and head of the practice, steps out from behind the reception desk. I hadn’t even noticed her.
Shit.
“You’re leaving again?” she asks, her forehead creased in irritation.
Francesca is a wiry woman, tall and spindly with slicked-back brown hair in a tight ponytail, a long, pointed nose, a wide mouth, and small, beady eyes that narrow as she looks at me accusingly.
“I… I’m sorry, Francesca, but Henry’s sick.”
“I understand that, but you can’t leave early again. This is the third time this month.”
That’s not true. I haven’t left early for weeks, the last time in late January, but I don’t correct her. I know there’s no point.
“I’m sorry, I have to?—”
She holds up a hand. “Can’t you see how busy we are? We rely on you, Lissa, and there is such a thing as coparenting. As a mother, I know you must feel it’s your duty to deal with your son’s every need, but I think, just this once, his father can step in and take care of this, don’t you?”
I stare at her, my brain swirling. She knows nothing about my marriage to James or the protective order I have against him.
I shake my head helplessly, the line of patients staring at me.
“I have to go get him; he’s sick to his stomach.”
Francesca’s eyes harden, and the look of triumph on her face is enough for me to know that this was a test, and I failed it.
“I see. Well then, I’m sorry to inform you, Lissa, that if you aren’t able to fulfill your duties at this practice, you will need to find another job. I can’t have my office staff walking out every other day, no matter what the family circumstances are.”
“Francesca, please—” I attempt, my heart thudding.
“Either you go back to your desk and find another way to deal with the issues at your son’s school, or you’re fired.”
“What?” I whisper, a weight dropping into my stomach. “No, you can’t?—”
“It’s a simple decision. Look at the line of people waiting to be dealt with,” she says, sweeping a dramatic arm behind her. “Then look at me. Does it seem like I’m kidding? If you go to his school today, fine, but you’ll need to start looking for another job.”
“Francesca?” Maria pipes up suddenly, hanging up on whoever she was speaking to and stepping forward. “It’s fine, I can deal with everything today; it’s just the lunch rush. I’ll?—”
“No, you will not,” Francesca snaps, and I see a man in line wince at her tone. “This isn’t a job for one person. It’s a two-person reception for a reason, so we can tackle the backlog and ensure all calls are answered in a timely manner. So, what’s it going to be, Mrs. Davenport?”
Every eye in the room is on me, including Maria’s, whose normally uncompromising expression is, for the first time, filled with sympathy.
“I… I have to go and get Henry,” I say yet again. They’re the only words my brain can come up with. “I don’t have anyone else who can look after him.”
Francesca nods. “Very well. I’ll send you a termination email by the end of the day.” She turns to Maria. “Or perhaps you can deal with that, right, Miss Campbell? Seeing as you’re so willing to deal with everything else today?”
Then she stalks away as the patients move out of her path, keeping their gazes on the floor or their phones, so they don’t have to look at either one of us.
I grab my scarf, walk slowly behind the desk to get my other bag filled with Henry’s things, and feel a gentle hand fall on my shoulder.
“I’m so sorry,” Maria says earnestly. “But she knows you’re the most experienced staff member here. I’m sure she’ll come around.”
I nod mutely.
“I’m a lawyer,” the man at the front of the line says. “If you need employment advice, give me a call.” He places a crisp white card on the surface of the counter, and I stare at it, fighting the urge to laugh.
As if I have the money to pay for a lawyer…
“I have to go,” I whisper, wanting to pick up my computer and hurl it across the room. “I’m sorry, Maria. I didn’t mean to make things more difficult for you.”
“She’ll come around,” Maria assures me, but we both know it isn’t true. Once Francesca has made up her mind, she never changes it.
And why didn’t I fight her? Why am I always so weak?
Pulling on my jacket, I give Maria a forced smile as I move around the desk. The phone starts ringing as I go, and Maria answers it while taking the insurance card from the man in front of her.
I walk through the patients and back out the door. The sunshine isn’t so warm now; it feels harsh and unpleasant on my skin as I begin to walk to Henry’s school.
What am I going to do? I can’t pay the rent without my job, and I have no plan for how to pay for Henry’s surgery.
I want to cry, to scream, but instead I just keep walking, silent and seemingly calm, like I always am. This is what James has made me: a meek, docile creature who never answers back, never retaliates, just sucks up all the pain and gets on with things.
I grind my teeth, staring ahead of me as a wave of white-hot rage burns through me.
I have no other fucking choice.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I scroll to James’s name, staring at his hateful, awful photograph and the simpering smile on his smug face.
One phone call and Henry’s life would be better again. He’d be able to start treatment immediately and start feeling better. The ease and simplicity of it are a tantalizing lure.
I lower the phone, my teeth digging hard into my bottom lip.
And once I call James, what happens next?
He would be back in my life. In our lives, asserting control over my son, ensuring that I am bound to him forever.
If I have to take hundreds of thousands of dollars from him or use his health insurance, I’m tied to him for life.
That’s not a debt I could ever repay, and there’s no way he wouldn’t blame me for it somehow.
That was his specialty. Everything was my fault. Everything…
My mind goes back to the twin black eyes in the photograph of that battered and bruised woman I used to be. I made her a promise, and I intend to keep it.
Henry’s life wouldn’t be saved if I ask James for help, it would signal the end of him having a mother. If I go back to James, he’ll kill me. Just like he almost did before.
I scroll away from his name, back up to the top of my contact list, and stab my finger into Bethany’s name.
“Hi,” she answers immediately. “I was just about to call you, I’m so?—”
“Don’t apologize,” I say quickly. “All you ever do is try to help me. I know that. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. I understand why you said what you said, what you were trying to do, and I’m grateful. I’m really sorry for going off on you like that.”
“Lissa, it’s alright, I should have heard you out?—”
“I just lost my job.”
There’s a long silence on the other end of the line, and then Bethany’s voice comes through again, ominous and filled with rage.
“What?”
“Francesca fired me because Henry threw up at school, and I have to go and get him. She’s given me my two weeks.
Please, Bethany, I’m begging you. I know you don’t like the idea of me working at Sterling House, but I don’t have any other choice.
” I give a long, defeated sigh. “Well, that’s not entirely true,” I continue, feeling guilty for twisting the knife.
“I could call James, and he’d pay for everything. ”
“Fuck me,” Bethany says despairingly.
“Please, Beth. If I hate it, I’ll quit, but I have to try. For Henry.”
There is a long, agonizing pause as I hold my breath.
“Alright,” Bethany says eventually. “I’ll set up an interview, but I’m going to give Pippa parameters.
Non-negotiables. There are some shmucks on our books that don’t get to go near you with a five-hundred-foot pole.
Is that understood? And we have the SOS rule like before.
You feel unsafe, you call me, and I’ll come get you immediately. ”
“Thank you. I love you.”
“I love you, too. So much. I fucking hate this, though. I’ll be in touch.”
Then she hangs up, and I place my phone gently back in my bag and keep walking toward the school. That’s what I’m good at. I keep going until all hope has faded.