Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
I need a specialist, but I don’t have health insurance here.
I thank him for the antibiotics before I hang up. I feel Thatcher’s gaze on me, but I don’t want to admit what we both know. That I’m failing as a mother. Tears burn my eyes as I search for nearby specialists for hard-of-hearing children who are self-pay, trying to ignore Thatcher.
I need a plan.
Something to pacify him.
“What did he say?”
I swallow. “He sent in antibiotics and suggested tympanostomy surgery.”
Before I look up, he’s shaking his head. “It’s not a draining issue. This ear gear is cheap.”
He tosses the gear to me to make his point, and I snatch it up, placing it up by Arwen’s head. I know if I utter a word, I’ll start crying or screaming at him, so I ignore him as I search the web for information.
“What is her hearing percentage?”
I press my lips together. “Forty-three percent.”
I feel his scrutinizing gaze. “Is her doctor a specialist?”
“No, they don’t have them here. I have to go to Richmond, and I’m on the waitlist to get in.”
A growl rattles his chest as he tugs his phone out of his pocket. He gets up, walking over to where my desk is. He sits down, and I watch as he opens my computer. It’s not password-protected since no one is ever in my room. His brows pull in before he looks back at me. “You’re going back to school?”
I see the online schooling platform up on the screen. I had a paper due last night and forgot to log off. Not that it’s a secret, but shyly, I answer, “Yes, I’m getting my master's.”
He rolls his eyes. “While you work at a fucking diner and raise my daughter. Alone.” He sneers the last word as he shakes his head, his annoyance getting the best of him. “Fucking frustrating is what you’re getting your master’s in,” he mutters under his breath as he starts to type while holding his phone at his shoulder.
“I heard that.”
“Didn’t mean for you not to,” he snarks back, glaring at me. He thinks I’m frustrating?
“Your face is frustrating.”
“Back atcha.”
My phone sounds, and I look down. “Arwen’s meds are ready. I’m going to run down and ask Ruby to go get them.”
He whips his head around to me. “Let me call you back,” he says to whoever he is speaking to. “Do you have a car?”
I swallow hard. “I do.”
“Give me the keys and the address. I’ll go get them.” I hesitate as he stands, tucking his phone into his pocket. “Do I need her insurance card?”
I open my drawer and pull out my keys to give myself time to think of the best way to answer that. As he comes to stand beside me, he holds out his hand, and I drop the keys into it. “You take a left out of the diner, and it’s the pharmacy in the Walmart.”
He hikes a brow. “There is a Walmart here?”
I shoot him a deadpan expression. “Yes, and it’s self-pay.”
His eyes burn into mine. “Self-pay? You don’t have insurance for her?”
“No,” I answer, meeting his gaze. “I pay out of pocket.”
“Why isn’t she on state insurance or something?”
“Because I didn’t want anyone to find me.”
His eyes burn, his face turning red as he breathes heavily. He turns and leaves without another word. Once the door shuts, I try to see through my tears as I search for a different specialist. Why didn’t he yell? When will he lose his temper and let me have it? Why didn’t I recognize how badly I was failing until he showed up? Damn it. When I find a specialist in North Carolina, I push past my fear of re-entering the Carolinas and make an appointment for this week. Just as I set down my phone to check on Arwen, the door opens and Ruby sticks her head in.
I give her a watery grin, and her shoulders fall. “Oh dear. I saw him leaving. Did it go belly-up?”
I shake my head as she comes in and sits where he was sitting when he was stroking Arwen’s back. Her kind blue eyes hold mine as she waits for me to answer. My heart is in my throat. “He went to get Arwen’s antibiotics.”
“Oh, so he’s coming back?”
“Yeah, though, I don’t know what is going to happen.” I wipe away a tear, hating how much I’ve cried since he showed up. I don’t even know how to feel at this moment. I have missed him, but also, he makes me feel like I’m a poor excuse for a mother.
My feelings are the epitome of “It’s complicated.”
“He wants me to go back home with him. Says he refuses to be an absentee father.”
“I didn’t realize he didn’t know.”
The guilt is suffocating me. “Neither do my parents.”