Chapter 7 Esme #2
“But you made it to the top,” Grady said. “I know you’ve been working on that for a long time.”
She nodded, her chin wobbling. “I wish I’d just stayed on the ground.”
“Hey now, you’ve got to take chances,” Grady said. “You were very brave.”
“I’m not. And it really hurts.”
“I know, Sweet Pea.” He reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “But they’re going to fix you up. And then you can tell Robbie all about the medical procedures. He’ll love that.”
“I won’t remember it all,” Madison said. “The nurse said I’ll be asleep.”
“I’ll remember for you, okay?” Grady said.
“Because I’m your sweet pea.” Madison’s eyes had gone glassy and a little smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Right?”
“That’s exactly right,” Grady said.
A nurse adjusted something on the IV pole. “Pain meds are kicking in now. Doctor will be in soon.”
Madison turned her gaze toward me. “Mommy, you won’t leave, will you?”
“I’ll be here every second.” I smoothed her hair back. There was dirt on her cheek from the playground.
Madison looked at Grady again. “Will you stay?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.
Her good hand let go of mine and reached for his. He caught it with both of his and held on.
Tears flooded my eyes. I turned away so Madison wouldn’t see me crying. I tugged a tissue from a box on the table and wiped my eyes.
The doctor came in—a woman in her forties with kind eyes and purple scrubs. She clipped X-rays onto a light board on the wall.
“Madison’s got two fractures,” she said, pointing. “Here at the radius, and here closer to the wrist. We’re going to need to do surgery—put in some pins to make sure everything heals straight.”
“Surgery? Is that really necessary?” I asked.
“It’s routine. She’ll be under general anesthesia for about an hour. Orthopedic surgeon is on his way. We’ll get her prepped and upstairs as soon as we can.”
Madison squeaked.
“You’ll be asleep the whole time,” I told her. “You won’t feel anything.”
“And I’ll bring you ice cream,” Grady said. “Strawberry.”
“That’s my favorite,” Madison said, sounding a bit like a sorority girl after an all night party.
The doctor cleared her throat, clearly impatient to get things moving along. “Someone will be in with consent forms.”
She left. Madison closed her eyes, the pain medication pulling her under.
“Thank God for pain meds,” Grady said, sounding as shaky as I felt.
A woman in business casual appeared with a tablet. “Ms. Taylor? I’m Angela from Patient Financial Services. I need to go over some information with you before we can proceed with surgery.”
My stomach dropped.
She tapped on the screen. “Your insurance shows a ten-thousand-dollar deductible. Ambulance transport, emergency room, surgery, anesthesia, hospital stay—we’re looking at anywhere from fifteen to twenty thousand total.
You’ll be responsible for the first ten thousand before insurance coverage begins. ”
Ten thousand dollars.
I stared at her.
“We can set up a payment plan if you need to,” Angela said. “Or if you have a credit card—”
“I don’t—” My voice came out thin. “Can I have a minute?”
“Of course. I’ll be at the desk when you’re ready.” She left.
The room felt smaller. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Madison’s heart monitor beeped steadily.
Ten thousand dollars.
I stared at the form. Self-employed insurance.
High deductible plan because it was all I could afford.
Ambulance, surgery, hospital stay, anesthesia, follow-up appointments.
I started doing math in my head. Which bills I could push.
I had maybe five-hundred in savings. The business account had another two, but that was for payroll and rent.
I’d already dipped into it twice this month.
Jeff hadn’t sent child support in nine months.
God, I hated being broke all the time. I hated myself for not being a better provider.
And for all the mistakes I’d made, starting with getting pregnant in college and marrying Jeff because I felt like there was no other option.
But you wouldn’t have the kids without that mistake, and then what would your life be?
I could feel Grady looking at me, but I couldn’t look back. If I looked at him I would cry again.
“Esme?” Grady asked. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll figure it out,” I said.
“I could—.”
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
I turned to look him directly in the eyes. His expression was careful, like he was trying not to spook me.
“I know exactly what you were going to say,” I said. “And the answer is no.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it.
Angela reappeared in the doorway. “Ms. Taylor? We need to get Madison upstairs soon. The surgeon’s ready.”
I nodded. Pulled out my wallet. Handed her my credit card, even though I knew it would max out.
“This should cover part of it,” I said. “I’ll figure out the rest.”
She processed it right there on her tablet. When she handed the card back, my hand was shaking.
“Sign here.” She turned the tablet toward me.
I signed.
Madison was taken up to pre-op twenty minutes later. Grady and I followed to the surgical waiting area on the third floor—a room with rows of blue chairs and a TV playing the news on mute.
I sat. He sat next to me. Neither of us said anything for a long time.
“I should text Jeff,” I said finally.
Grady was quiet for a second. “You think he’ll answer?”
“I don’t know.” I pulled out my phone. “But he should know his daughter’s in the hospital. Trust me. He’ll ask about money before he asks if she’s all right.”
He nodded, but his jaw was tight. “He doesn’t deserve to even be called, but yeah, you should.”
Esme
Madison broke her arm in two places falling off the monkey bars. I’m at the hospital now. They have her in surgery.
Jeff
How bad? Did they really need to do surgery or is that just a way to gouge us for money? I’m still waiting on that job to come through so I can’t help you right now. I thought you said she wasn’t ready for the big playground equipment yet. Why was she even up there?
I wanted to throw the phone against the wall. Or scream. Or call him back just to tell him exactly what I thought of him blaming me for Madison climbing the monkey bars she’d been working up the courage to try for months.
Instead I sat there, jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached, reading his message over and over like maybe the words would rearrange themselves into something decent.
They didn’t.
My chest felt hot and tight. How dare he question my parenting!
This was the same man who’d forgotten Madison’s birthday two years running.
Who hadn’t sent child support in nine months.
Who’d spent years telling Robbie he was too sensitive and needed to toughen up whenever his sensory issues made things hard.
Who always—always—found a way to make everything my fault.
But what finally did it—what made me kick him out and change the locks—wasn’t the chronic unemployment or pot-smoking. It was the day he’d yelled at Robbie for having a meltdown over a fire drill at school. He’d called him dramatic and told him he was too old to act like a baby. Robbie was nine.
Something in me had broken. Or snapped might be the better word. Fortunately, instead of stabbing him with a kitchen knife, I’d kicked him out and filed for divorce the next day.
My hands were shaking so hard it was hard to type a message back to him.
Esme
Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it. Just like I always have.
Jeff
Always the martyr. Some things never change.
I stared at the screen. My vision blurred.
“Esme, what did he say?” Grady’s voice was eerily calm, but I could hear the steel underneath.
I just handed him the phone and watched his jaw flex as he read the exchange. “This man doesn’t deserve that little girl. I’d love to break his arm in two places and see what he thinks about surgery then.”
Strangely enough, that made me laugh. A little hysterically but a laugh just the same. “I’m pretty sure that would change his mind about its importance.”
He leaned over, looking into my eyes. “You’re not a martyr. You’re a mother. A really good one. Don’t you let that idiot tell you otherwise.”
“Thank you. Thanks for being here. For me and for Madison.”
“Should you call Robbie and let him know what’s going on?” Grady asked, glancing at the clock on the far wall. “He should be out of school any minute, right?”
The question caught me off guard. I blinked. “Yes, I should text him. I’m not thinking straight.” Robbie would come home to an empty house and panic. He always did when routines changed without warning.
“Text your girlfriends too. You know they’ll be mad if you don’t.”
He was right about that. A lot had changed over the years. But one thing had remained the same. Those girls had my back, and I had theirs.
“You want me to go wait for Robbie at your place?” Grady asked. “I can bring him here or wait with him. Whatever you think is best.”
“Would you? Maybe fix him something to eat. You know what he likes.” Robbie had very particular opinions about what was edible and what was not. The blander the better.
“Whatever he needs, I’ll do.”
I leaned my head against his shoulder for just a second, letting myself absorb his warmth, knowing how cold it would be the moment he stepped into the elevator and left me alone in the waiting room.
A bit over an hour later, Madison was out of surgery and settled into a room with her arm in a cast and a stuffed bear the nurse had given her.
Grady had enlisted Gillian’s help to check in with Robbie and brought the promised strawberry ice cream for Madison and spooned it into her mouth while she giggled groggily.
Robbie arrived with Gillian and catalogued every detail of the procedure with clinical fascination. The doctors said she could go home in the morning.
Grady offered to stay but I sent him home with Robbie. Gillian squeezed my hand at the door and whispered, "Call me if you need anything. I mean it. Three a.m., I don't care." Then they were gone, and the room was quiet.
I settled into the recliner beside Madison's bed. The nurses had given me a thin blanket and a pillow that smelled like industrial detergent. The hallway outside hummed with the muffled sounds of a hospital at night—soft footsteps, a distant beep, someone's TV through the wall.
Madison's small chest rose and fell. The cast was enormous on her tiny arm. She looked so little in that bed. An IV line snaked from the back of her hand to a pole beside her, and every few minutes the monitor beeped softly, a mechanical heartbeat keeping watch alongside mine.
I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, but sleep wouldn't come. My mind did what it always did when everything was quiet and there was nothing left to fix. It turned on me.
The ten-thousand-dollar deductible. The maxed credit card. Jeff's empty promises. The shop barely breaking even. It all pressed down on me in the dark, heavy enough that I gripped the arms of the recliner just to feel something solid.
I could call my parents.
The thought arrived uninvited, the way it always did in my worst moments—slipping past the defenses I'd built, finding the crack.
My father would wire the money by morning.
He wouldn't even hesitate. He'd say, of course, sweetheart, in that careful voice, and my mother would get on the extension and say we've been waiting for you to come to your senses, and within a week there would be conversations about coming home, about how the kids needed their grandparents, about how maybe if I'd just listened to them in the first place none of this would have happened.
Madison stirred in her sleep, whimpering softly. I reached over and laid my hand on her good arm until she settled.
Not yet. I wasn't that desperate yet.
I pulled the thin blanket up to my chin and listened to my daughter breathe and the monitor beep and the hospital hum its strange lullaby.
Somewhere down the hall, a baby cried. Somewhere outside, the ocean was doing what it always did—steady, indifferent, constant.
And beneath me, beneath the recliner and the linoleum and the foundation of this building, I could feel the trapdoor.
The one I'd sworn I would never open. It was still closed.
But I could feel it.