Page 108 of By A Thread
Between the rehashing of my scene with Dominic and my half-drunken declarations of “I love you” and “I’ll pay you back,” Faith had dragged the story out of me. And then told me I was a stupid, stubborn, prideful idiot.
“I’ve got it all here.”
Deena’s eyes narrowed at the stack of cash I pushed onto her desk. It couldn’t be more obvious where it had come from. Plus, I was still wearing half of my eye make-up from the night before. Faith’s club makeup was industrial grade, sweat-proof, shower-proof, and grind-proof product.
“What?” I asked. “It’s not like I robbed a liquor store for it.”
Deena’s laugh was mirthless. I took the time to rudely notice that one of her canine teeth was crooked.
“We don’t accept cash, Ms. Morales. We’re notthat kindof business. Just because your father is a favorite among the staff—” She sent a withering glare in Sandy’s direction as if it were a crime to treat their residents well. “—doesn’t mean we’re running a charity home.”
“I don’t expect charity. It wasn’t my fault that there was a problem with my direct deposit. I have cash. Enough cash.” I pushed it closer to her.
She steepled her fingers like a Bond villain.
“Well, it’s certainly notmy fault. If you can’t pay all of your late fees in an appropriate manner right nowandmake a good faith payment on this month’s bill, I’ll have the staff start packing your father’s things.”
“You have got to be kidding me.”
But Mean Deena didn’t kid. She threatened. She ruined. She destroyed. But she didn’t kid. “I am not responsible for your inability to read the intake forms and contract. We do not accept cash payments.”
“Then I’ll go to the bank and deposit it. I’ll write you a check now, and you can cash it Monday.”
“That’s not how this works,” she said with evil glee.
It was then that I realized this woman did not want my father here.
“Where will you send him?” I asked, trying to buy time. Trying to come up with some solution. Trying to decide between bursting into tears and grabbing one of Deena’s solid gold bracelets and shoving it up her nose.
What was the annual salary for an evil accounts receivable rep anyway these days?
“The state has facilities for patients who didn’t plan for their futures.”
“None of this is my father’s fault,” I insisted. I’d definitely go for the nose bracelet.
“It doesn’t really matter now, does it? Without the full amount due right now, your father must leave the property today. Our waiting list is full of patients who are willing to pay their bills on time.”
And there it was.
“Do you get something for harassing patients’ families? Is there some kind of incentive system for avoiding late payments?”
Deena blinked owlishly and then adjusted her gold bracelets. Busted.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lied primly. “Now if you don’t feel like taking him home, we’ll transfer him to a state facility outside of Trenton.”
There were so many things I should have done differently leading up to this exact moment. So many decisions I’d made based on pride when in reality I couldn’t afford to have any.
And now my father was going to pay the price for it all.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuuuuck.
I wanted to throw up. Or throw a temper tantrum. I wanted to record Front Desk Deena behaving like a soulless banshee and then personally show her grandchildren what an asshole Grandma was.
Everything was falling apart, and now it was the worst-case scenario. My poor dad. I’d failed him when he needed me the most.
My work cell phone buzzed in my hand. The little pop-up alert on the screen caught my eye. I blinked rapidly. It was an email from HR department with the subject: Temporary promotion and signing bonus.
Hope aggressively took flight.
