Page 36 of Fire Fight
“I’ve been here for the last two weeks, and I was just discharged, but I wanted to discuss my bill before I leave. I’m not local, so I was hoping to enroll in paperless billing and figure out a repayment plan.”
“We can absolutely look into that for you. Why don’t you take a seat, and I’ll pull up your file.”
I flinched at the thought of parking my tender skin on the hard wooden chair. “I’ll stand, if you don’t mind.” Tattooed brows creased, and I gestured to my left side, clarifying, “Burns.”
Expression clearing, she said, “What is your name?”
“Aspen McKay.”
Her fingers flew over the keyboard, but she didn’t look away from me. “I’m sorry for what happened to you.”
“Thank you.”
“Sheriff Lawless is a wonderful man. He’ll do whatever he can to bring your attacker to justice.”
I barely withheld a snort. My two interactions with the man hadn’t exactly been stellar, but the sheriff’s department was actually my next stop, so we’d see if the third time was the charm.
“I hope you’re right,” I mumbled noncommittally.
Marjorie gave me a reassuring smile, her bright pink lips parting to reveal stark white teeth, then returned her attention to her computer.
“Let’s see here…Aspen McKay…Huh. That’s interesting.”
“I’m sorry, what is?”
“It seems your bill has already been paid in full.”
“What?” I asked dumbly.
“You have a zero balance,” she said slowly, like she was worried I’d also sustained brain damage.
Actually, I had, but the concussion had cleared up, the lingering mind fog and headache lifting a few days ago.
Maybe I wasn’t as healed as I thought.
Still, I took my shiny new iPhone out of the pocket of my brand new crossbody bag and navigated to my banking app. Maybe my Mom had used my card to pay it without my knowledge? I had yet to even see a bill, so I had no idea how much I owed, but I doubted the sum had been small enough to be covered by what I had in my checking account.
Regardless, the transaction history didn’t reflect any disbursements to Dusk Valley Memorial.
“Does your system tell you who paid?” I asked an expectant Marjorie when I looked up from my phone.
Squinting at the screen and arrowing down a few clicks, she said, “Donald and Leesa McKay. Oh! Those must be your parents. Wow, that was so generous of them.”
“Yeah, it was something alright,” I muttered, then shot Marjorie a wide grin. “Could I have a copy of the invoice for my records?”
“Sure thing.”
Five minutes later, sheaf of papers detailing my stay and care at Dusk Valley Memorial in hand, I exited the hospital for the first time in two weeks.
The gentle breeze brushed my skin, cooling my angry red cheeks.
Mom and I were about to have a reckoning, so I took a seat on a little bench in the sunshine right outside the doors and dialed her number.
“Hi, honey!” she crowed. “I’m sorry about earlier. I just worry about you, you know? But I know you can take care of yourself, and as long as you?—”
I cut off her rambling with six words.
“Did you pay my hospital bill?”
