Chapter 3
In the morning, Gwen got dressed without asking me to choose anything. She picked a soft blue sweater, folded her knitted cap into her coat pocket, and put the clinic papers in her bag.
I held the car door while she climbed in. It was the first time I’d helped her since the night before without asking whether she needed help.
At the clinic, a receptionist found room for her that morning. Gwen gave her name, answered the questions, and kept one hand wrapped around the strap of her bag. I sat beside her, close enough to reach her if she asked, far enough not to crowd her.
When the clinician came in, she greeted Gwen first.
“What would you like us to know before we begin?”
Gwen drew a breath. “I’ve had tests already. I was told I need to see a specialist. I want to know what happens next.”
The clinician nodded, listening without glancing toward me for the rest of the story. She reviewed Gwen’s paperwork, asked about the tests she’d had, and explained that more evaluation was needed before they could discuss a treatment plan. There were questions that couldn’t be answered yet.
No clear timeline. No promises. No way to tell Gwen what the results would mean before the next steps were done.
Gwen took it in quietly. When the clinician asked what she wanted clarified, Gwen asked about the next appointment and what records to bring. She made her own notes in the margin of the clinic papers.
I wanted to interrupt with questions of my own, to demand the kind of certainty no one in the room could give me. I pressed my hands together instead and watched Gwen’s pen move.
The clinician arranged the next steps with Gwen and checked that she understood them. Gwen repeated the instructions back—not because she needed to prove anything to me, but because she wanted them right.
When the clinician left, Gwen closed her folder.
“I can take you home,” I said.
She looked at me. “I want to make the next call from somewhere quiet.”
“Okay.”
My phone began vibrating before we reached the lobby. Margaret’s name filled the screen. I answered because I didn’t want her calling Gwen instead.
“Where are you?” she demanded.
“At the clinic.”
A short pause. “You can’t take her around town like this. People notice. Come back to the house before the neighbors start asking questions.”
I looked at Gwen. She was fastening her coat, her face still pale but steady.
“She has appointments to make,” I said.
“This is a family matter. You don’t need to make a scene in front of everybody.”
“We’re not making a scene.”
“Then bring her home.”
Gwen held out her hand for the phone. I gave it to her.
“I’m not coming home right now,” she said. “I’ll call when I’m ready.”
Margaret’s voice came sharp through the speaker. Gwen ended the call before it could become another argument. She handed the phone back to me and tucked her folder under her arm.
In the lobby, Paige stood beside the row of chairs. She had a sheet of paper folded into quarters, and she smoothed it against her palm as we approached.
“Mom said you were here,” she said.
Her eyes went to Gwen’s face, searching it. Then to the folder in Gwen’s hand.
“What is that?” I asked.
Paige unfolded the paper. It was a list of numbers, headings, and purchases. A truck. A vacation. A note about the house. She had written the supposed compensation at the top, as if the money had already arrived and all that remained was deciding who got what.
“Mom wanted me to bring this,” she said. “So we can talk about what everyone needs.”
Gwen didn’t look at the list. “Everyone?”
Paige’s mouth tightened. “You know what I mean.”
“I do,” Gwen said. “That’s why I asked.”
Paige glanced at me, waiting for me to step in. I felt the old reflex rise—to smooth the moment, to explain Gwen’s tone, to make the room easier for everyone else. I swallowed it.
Paige refolded the list, creasing it hard enough to split one corner.
“Mom said the money was coming.”
“I said it was approved,” I replied.
“And you’re saying now it isn’t?”
“I’m saying we’re here because Gwen needs care.”
For one beat, Paige seemed to look past Gwen, toward the clinic doors, as though she expected someone to come out and settle the argument in her favor.
Then she tucked the list into her purse. “You’re making everything difficult.”
“No,” Gwen said. “It was difficult before I got here.”
Paige’s gaze dropped to Gwen’s hands. They were trembling slightly around the folder. Whatever she saw there, she took as an opening.
“Maybe you should go home and rest,” she said. “Mom can help you.”
Gwen’s fingers tightened on the folder. “I’ll decide where I rest.”
Paige looked at me again. This time, I didn’t answer for Gwen or tell Paige to stop. I waited.
Gwen turned toward the exit. “Let’s go.”
May you like
Outside, the air was cold enough to sting my nose. Margaret stood near the far end of the clinic steps, her gold bracelets bright against her sleeves. She wasn’t looking at me.
She was watching Gwen.
