Chapter 12: The Second Ask

The clinic's nurse met us at the door with a mug in each hand and a face that was trying very hard not to cry.

"Four of us are paid through Friday," she said. "After that I don't know."

"I'll fix it," Ansel said.

"With what?"

He did not have an answer, and I watched him look for one.

There were a dozen chairs in the waiting room, and most of them were full.

A man in a work vest held a towel around his hand.

A girl of about seven sat on her mother's lap and read a book about a pig.

On the shelf behind the desk stood forty blue and green mugs, with a thumbprint on every one.

I looked at all of it, and I added.

Four nurses and a receptionist.

The pharmacy account, the rent, the light.

"Thirty-one thousand a month," I said. "It's on the budget sheet on your corkboard."

Ansel stared at me.

"I'll ask Margaret," I said.

He opened his mouth to argue, and I put a finger on his chest.

"I'll ask her once," I said. "That's my rule, and I'm good at it."

My grandmother received me in her study, which has a desk the size of a small boat.

She wore a gray cardigan, with her reading glasses pushed up into her hair.

She was going through a pile of letters with a gold pen.

"You've come about money," she said, without looking up.

"How did you know?"

"You walked in with your shoulders back, which means you want something."

She signed a letter.

"Sit," she said.

I stayed on my feet.

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