My Darling Husband(80)
“And the most screwed-up part is that the insurance will cover the lungs. But only if I can guarantee I have the money for all the therapy and antirejection drugs she’ll need to have after.”
I say to Sebastian what I told Tanya when she told me the same story. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
Beatrix sucks in a breath at the curse word, but she’s heard worse, a lot worse from her father, and if there was ever a situation that warranted the f-bomb, this is it. A girl’s life cut short before it’s really begun, on the verge of womanhood, because her father can’t afford the medication to make her lungs stick.
“Tell me about it,” Sebastian says. “And those drugs are just the beginning. There’s testing and rehab, and do you know they even want to charge me for flying the lungs in to the hospital? Why is that something I should have to pay for? If you can’t afford to live in this country, they’re more than happy to just let you die.”
“But Cam’s right, though. This is not the way to go about getting money for her operation.”
My comment seems to anger him. He puffs up his chest and balls his fists, glaring across the coffee table at me. “You think I wouldn’t give her my lungs if I could? You think I wouldn’t rip open my own chest and yank them out myself if I thought it would save her from wasting away? Knowing I’m a match is the worst kind of torture because it doesn’t do either of us any good. I still can’t help her. She’s still going to die without that operation.”
Despite everything, the gun, and the threats, and my son in the enemy’s house across the street, and my daughter strapped to the chair, sympathy rises in my chest for this man. For a sick girl I’ve never met.
“I’m sorry. That must be so hard.”
I mean every word, too, just like I meant them the first time I said them—in this very same room even, after I brought him coffee and a muffin so he could take a break from installing the nanny cams. Sebastian—Bas—came highly recommended by none other than Tanya across the street. The neighbor who’s always picking up our mail. Bills, junk, bank account statements. What we’ve always assumed was a friendly gesture was her way of keeping tabs.
But the more pressing point is, Sebastian knows about the cameras. He’s known it all along.
Not only that.
He spent an entire day up here, banging around the playroom, drilling holes in the ceiling and walls, pointing out the best placement for maximum visibility, upselling me on products that were top-of-the-line, quizzing me on my security system because “maybe it’s time for an upgrade.” He even installed the nanny cam app on my phone, then dragged it onto the third page, so it would be with all the other house stuff.
And today, he chose this room. He brought us here on purpose. Strapping the kids to the couch, questioning me about Cam, ordering me around. Even where he’s standing now, one foot planted on the corner of the rug, his body pointed into the room, puts his uncovered face in all three shots. Everything about this seems intentional.
He wants Cam to see. He wants him to watch what’s about to happen on his little screen while he’s rushing to get here with the ransom.
“But that won’t help you with your hospital bill. A pile of cash that big will be a red flag. You’ll get caught. What happens when the police show up at your door? They’ll confiscate the money, and then where will you be? Who will help Gigi then?”
“She’ll be fine. At home with a new set of lungs.”
“But how? You just told me her insurance won’t pay for the transplant unless you can pay for the antirejection drugs.”
“It’s taken care of. I’ve taken care of it. And we’re getting off track. Let’s not forget that I wouldn’t be standing here if Cam had kept up his end of the deal. He owes me this money.”
Frustration rises, hot and choking in my chest. “You’ll get arrested! There’s got to be a better way.”
Sebastian’s brows shift into a sharp V. “You don’t think I’ve tried everything? I’ve written letters, I’ve filed a million appeals, I even showed up at Channel 7 and begged that reporter Juanita Moore to do one of those investigative deep dives. She said the story wasn’t ‘fresh’ enough to be interesting to the public. I’m out of options. This right here is the very last one, and I’m prepared to see it to the end in order to save my baby girl. You’d do the same if you were in my position.”
I look at Beatrix, then think of Baxter across the street, and my eyes water. I’d tear my lungs out for them, rip out my still-beating heart. “You’re right. I would. In a heartbeat.”
“So get in the chair.”
I shake my head, planting myself deeper into the one next to Beatrix. “Let me help. Let me call Gordon. Maybe he can help you and Gigi.”
My offer straightens his spine with anger, with indignation. “It’s too late! This isn’t some silly story where you can slap on a happy ending. This is my life, and you can’t even imagine the shit I have to go through. Have you ever stuck your card in an ATM and have it not spit out cash?”
Not since college, I think dully, but it seems like an answer I shouldn’t admit out loud.
I think about where he left the gun, on the table to my right, but there’s no way I could get there first. Not with Beatrix in the way, with Sebastian’s body parked a good three feet closer. Better to keep quiet and wait.