“The truth,” I said.
He stared at the wet circle on the table, his face tightening in a way that made him look exactly like his sister.
“Judith is sixty-three years old, Nora,” he said. “She wouldn’t survive a court case. It would ruin her.”
“She should have thought about that before she pushed me,” I said.
“You don’t know what you are doing to this family,” he said.
He reached out and took the blue check back, folding it twice before stuffing it into his trousers. He slid out of the booth, his coat trailing on the floor for a second before he caught it.
“I hope you have enough saved for the rest of those medical bills,” he said, walking toward the cash register without looking back.
The waitress came over a moment later, holding the small green ticket for the coffees.
I paid the four dollars for the coffee and walked back to Vera’s house, the cold autumn wind pressing my coat against my sore ribs. By four o’clock, I was sitting on the edge of the spare bed, trying to organize my bookkeeping ledgers on my lap. The doorbell rang twice, the sound sharp in the quiet house.
I went to the door and found Graham standing on the porch, a medium-sized cardboard box held against his chest. His hair was damp, and he looked as though he hadn’t slept since Sunday night.
“I brought your things,” he said, his voice soft and placating.
“Thank you,” I said, stepping aside so he could set the box down in the hallway.
He placed it carefully near the umbrella stand, then stood up and pressed his palms together flat. He looked around the small living room, his eyes lingering on Vera’s potted ferns and the neat stack of library books on the side table.
“It is very quiet at home,” he said. “I kept thinking I heard you in the kitchen this morning.”
“I needed my tax reference books,” I said, adjusting my watch strap. “The quarterly filings are due next week.”
“I could help you with them,” he said. “Like we used to do at the kitchen table.”
“I can manage,” I said.
“We could go down to the diner by the mill,” he said, his eyes coming back to my face. “Just the two of us. We can get some dinner and talk about how we fix this.”
“There is nothing to talk about right now, Graham,” I said.
“You can’t stay here forever, Nora,” he said, his voice rising slightly before he caught himself. “This is Vera’s house. It isn’t our home.”
“I am comfortable here,” I said.
He pressed his palms tighter together, his knuckles turning white.
“My mother called me three times today,” he said.
“What did she want?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe to take the weight off my bad side.
“She knows about the medical bills,” Graham said, taking a half-step closer. “She wants to pay them.”
“All of them?” I asked, clearing my throat.
“Yes,” he said, taking another step. “She is willing to cover the entire four thousand eight hundred dollars, but her lawyer says we need to sign a simple release first.”
The room felt suddenly very cold. I looked at his face, searching for some sign of the husband who had promised to protect me.
“A release from what, Graham?” I asked.
“Just a statement for the insurance company,” he said, his voice soft, almost pleading. “Saying it was a slip on the stairs. If the insurance doesn’t fight it, she will cover everything. You won’t have to pay a single penny.”
“You are still doing her work for her,” I said, the words tasting bitter in my mouth.
“I am trying to help you,” he said. “We just want to make sure you are taken care of.”
My stomach turned as the exact phrase Paul had used at the diner came back to me. They had met. They had decided together how much my ribs were worth.
“You talked to Paul this morning,” I said.
Graham’s hands dropped to his sides, his flat palms pressing against his thighs. He didn’t know I had already sat in that vinyl booth, or that I had already turned down the first thousand dollars.
“He called me after he saw you,” Graham admitted, his eyes shifting to the floorboards. “He said you were being difficult.”
“I am not being difficult, Graham,” I said. “I am being honest.”
“Honesty isn’t going to pay those bills, Nora,” he said, his voice growing thin.
“Neither is your mother’s money,” I said.
