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Desperate Housewife? No, I'm Billion-Dollar Revenge novel · Chapter 3 of 3

Chapter 3: The Invoice

Phyllis bills her for half the crib and Dean pays five hundred dollars with a receipt to sign; at home the lock has been changed and Kelsey is wearing Claire's robe.

Phyllis laid the invoice on my bed tray, on top of the letter from my grandfather.

I moved the letter into my lap before anyone could read it.

"I itemized it," she said proudly. "Half the crib, half the car seat, half the first month of diapers and half of the baby's going-home outfit."

The page was typed. It had a header with her name and a due date.

At the bottom it said: Claire's share, six hundred and twelve dollars and thirty cents.

"Mom," Dean said, not very hard. "Maybe not right now."

"Fair is fair, Dean. I raised you to keep accounts."

Two nurses had stopped at the door. A third came up behind them.

Kelsey stood by the window with her folder and said nothing at all.

Dean turned to the man by my bed.

"I'm sorry, who are you?"

"Rafe Ingram," Rafe said. "I handled the paperwork for Claire's grandfather's estate."

"The lawyer's thing," Dean said.

His voice stayed light. His eyes did not.

"Did it come through? The transfer?"

"It's a small family trust, Dean," I said. "A few thousand dollars."

"Which account did it go into?"

"My own. The way you wanted it."

Dean smiled at me, a wide, warm smile I had not seen in months.

"Good," he said. "That's good, Claire."

I should have heard it then. I only noticed that he asked.

Rafe picked up his folder. He gave me a nod so small that nobody else could have seen it, and left.

Phyllis tapped her invoice.

"Payable at discharge, dear. I'm charging eight percent after thirty days. It's what I charge Dean."

"She does," Dean said, almost apologetic.

"I'm not a monster," he added, to the nurses, who were all still there. "I told Claire I'd pay my half of the epidural, and I will."

He took an envelope from his jacket and counted out five hundred dollars in twenties.

He counted it twice.

Then he took a pen from Kelsey and held out a slip of paper.

"Sign here that you received it. It's for the file."

Kelsey was already holding up her phone.

I signed. I did not look at the nurses.

A woman I had never met, with a name tag that said she was in charge of patient accounts, said quietly, "Ma'am, you don't have to sign that."

"I know," I said. "I want to."

I looked at Phyllis.

"I'll pay the whole invoice," I said. "Every cent, with interest, and I will pay it in front of your friends."

Phyllis blinked.

"Well," she said. "That's not necessary."

"It is," I said. "Fair is fair."

I did not say another word to either of them for two days.

Dean came to the hospital twice and sat in the chair with his laptop. He said he would drive me home.

I let him.

On the second afternoon a nurse in pink scrubs wheeled me out to the curb with Hazel asleep in the car seat on my lap.

Dean packed the car. Phyllis stayed on the curb to wave.

Kelsey had left an hour earlier. Dean said she had gone ahead to get the house ready.

The street looked small. Our house was a white colonial with blue shutters I had painted myself, and the porch light was on in the daytime.

Dean carried Hazel's car seat up the walk without a word.

I followed, slowly, one hand on my stomach.

My own key was on my ring. I had carried it for six years.

It would not turn.

I tried it twice, then a third time, and the lock did not move.

"They changed the lock," I said.

"I had it done on Tuesday," Dean said behind me. "Security. We've got a baby now."

"Where's my key?"

"Kelsey will cut you one. It's two dollars. We'll put it on the ledger."

He knocked.

The door opened.

Kelsey stood inside.

She was wearing my robe.

It was my pale blue robe with the frayed belt, the one I had left on the bathroom hook the night my water broke.

She tied the belt a little tighter and stepped aside to let me in.

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