Andy glanced at Ricky. Their eyes met for a brief moment then the boy looked down and stared at his hands. The glass window slid open again. The voice: "He said this time only, Ms. Todd. You must make arrangements to pay your bill in full prior to his next treatment."
"Thank you."
The window slid shut. A side door opened, and a nurse appeared.
"Ricky."
"I'll be right back, honey," Sue Todd said.
The boy stood and walked through the door as if he'd walked through it many times before. The nurse shut the door behind them. Sue slumped into a chair and breathed out as if it were her last breath.
"I try not to cry in front of him."
She cried.
"They give him chemo, but it won't stay in remission… the lymphoma. He had experimental stem cell treatment a few years back, in a clinical trial, but it didn't work. Nothing works."
"How long?"
"Four years."
"No health insurance?"
She shook her head. "I lost my job a year ago. No one will hire me now because his cancer will increase their health insurance rates."
She wiped her face.
"Where's his father?"
"Gone. I picked the wrong man."
"How are you handling things?"
"Credit cards. I owe a hundred thousand now. They send me nasty letters." She gestured at the glass window. "I don't know how I'll pay the doctor."
She ran her sleeve across her face.
"I'm spilling my guts to a complete stranger. That's what it does to you, cancer. It kills you every way possible. Your finances, your pride, your life. It beats you into the dirt."
"What are his chances, your boy?"
"Not good. It's because of all those refineries and chemical plants."
"His cancer?"
She nodded. "Kids in the neighborhood, they cough all the time, get nosebleeds. You live by the ship channel, your kids got a fifty percent better chance of getting cancer, because of the toxic chemicals those plants put out-carcinogens. Twenty times higher level than anywhere else in the country. It was in the paper. The stuff is killing kids, but the government won't stop it."
"Why don't you leave?"
"If we leave here, we live in the car."
Sue Todd appeared twenty years older than her age. Life had beaten her down, stolen her middle age, robbed her of her best years. She must have gone straight from a young woman to an old woman. She wasn't one of those thirty-something "women seeking men" in Lovers Lane; she was just hoping to survive the day.
And save her son.
Three hours later, Andy was sitting in his office across the card table from a billionaire whose son was also dying of leukemia. Cancer was an equal-opportunity killer.
Andy had flown back to Austin and taken a cab to SoCo and the digital camera to a photo shop. The photographs he had taken of Sue Todd and her son were now spread across the card table.
"You recognize her?" Andy said.
Russell Reeves was examining the photos. He shook his head.
"She looks so much older. The boy has cancer?"
Andy nodded. "I trailed them to a cancer clinic, talked to Sue. She doesn't have insurance, so she maxed out her credit cards, owes a hundred grand. The clinic didn't want to give the boy his chemo treatment because she couldn't pay. She begged."
Russell rubbed his temples as if he had a headache.
"I'll wire five hundred thousand to your trust account. Take her a cashier's check." He paused. "No, I'll wire a million. And I'll make a call. Send her over to the children's cancer ward at M.D. Anderson. They'll be expecting her. Her son will have the best care available. For free."
"Have you been there?"
"Yes, Andy, I've been there. And so has my son."
Russell got up and walked out without another word. Andy could swear he had tears in his eyes.
The next morning, Andy flew back to Houston. He didn't drink a beer or flirt with the flight attendant. Instead, he thought of Sue and Ricky Todd and the cashier's check he had in his pocket.
Would the money save the boy's life?
He drove straight to Sue Todd's house. The Honda was in the driveway. He was thinking exactly what he would say to her when the front door opened and she appeared. She walked to the mailbox at the curb and pulled out a stack of thick envelopes. Credit card statements, no doubt. She sat on a bench on the front porch and opened the envelopes; with each one she seemed to become smaller. After the final envelope, she put her face in her hands. Andy got out of the car and walked up to her.
"Sue."
She wiped her face.
"We met yesterday, at the clinic. May I sit?"
She nodded. Andy sat next to her.
"I'm Andy Prescott. I'm a lawyer."
"I can't pay."
"I'm not here to collect your debts, Sue. I'm here to pay them off."
He pulled the envelope out of his pocket and removed the cashier's check for $1 million payable to Sue Todd. His hand was trembling when he handed it to her. She wiped her face again and stared at the check.
"What's this?"
"A cashier's check."
"A million dollars? What's it for?"
"For you. And Ricky."
"Why?"
"To make amends."
"For what?"
"The past."
"Who's it from?"
"I can't reveal that, Sue. But my client has made arrangements for Ricky to be treated at M.D. Anderson."
Andy handed her his business card with a doctor's name and number written on the back.
"They're expecting you. His care will be free."
"Can he go today?"
"Yes. But deposit the check first."
She turned the check over, as if to make sure it was real.
"This isn't a joke?"
"No, Sue, it's not a joke."
Tears rolled down her face, but she smiled and suddenly looked younger. He stood, and she stood.
"Thank you, Andy. And thank your client."
"And Sue… move away from here."
She hugged him and buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed until his shirt was wet. When Andy walked away, he was crying, too.
FOURTEEN
Flying first class to Chicago two days later, Andy Prescott hoped the search for the second woman on Russell Reeves' list would involve only eating a thick steak at Morton's that Friday night, finding a rich woman with healthy kids on Saturday, and then catching a Chicago Bears game on Sunday.
He rented a Lexus, stayed at the Ritz, ate that steak, and found Amanda Pearce the next morning. She was thirty-seven and appeared healthy when she walked out of her house to get the morning paper. He took photos. She lived in a nice suburban neighborhood; a late-model Buick sat in the driveway. They weren't rich, but they weren't poor. A few minutes later, a middle-aged man came out the front door followed by a cute teenage girl in a cheerleader uniform; they both appeared healthy. Andy took more photos. The dossier said Amanda also had a fourteen-year-old boy.
Andy was feeling good about the Pearce family… until the garage door opened. A van backed out and stopped in the driveway. It wasn't a family minivan or a cargo van or a tricked-out travel van. It was a specially-equipped van. Amanda got out and walked back inside the garage. When she returned, she was pushing a boy in a wheelchair.
Damn.
The van had a wheelchair lift. Amanda got the boy and the chair into the van, then backed out and drove off. Andy followed them a few blocks to a junior high school football stadium. Amanda parked the van in a handicapped space. Andy trailed them into the stadium. Amanda stationed the boy and wheelchair at the low chain link fence that surrounded the field. Andy leaned on the fence a few feet away and watched the game. After a few minutes, he smiled at Amanda and the boy.
"Good game," he said.
"Our daughter's a cheerleader." She pointed to the far sideline. "The one on the right. Becky. And this is our son, Carl."