Page 95 of Return Billionaire to Sender

“You don’t understand. I was all she had. And it was a weird kind of cancer where I had to fight with the insurance company on getting it classified the way it should’ve. I was on the internet all the time, and I never knew what was reasonable to ask for from them, or what was extreme. It’s complicated, but they pushed back on everything all the time. And she’d get better, and then worse.”

“And it was just you,” I prompt.

“Yeah. Non-entity dad. My mom loved being on her own. She was a banjo player. The bossiest woman ever, and she did a great job of raising me. So fiercely independent. Anyway, I read about this treatment that was accepting people for trials, it was for her exact kind of cancer. It would’ve cost something to get her there, to get her in, but I felt like it would help, and they refused, and they kept refusing. They said she was too far gone.” She wipes her eyes. “But I felt sure they were on the fence. I felt sure they were thinking about saying yes. I had this relationship with one of the people at the headquarters. I mean, I’d been calling for two years for things when she got bad, and I woke up one day and I felt sure that if I took my savings and cashed in part of my 401K, I could fly down to Texas, and maybe fly both of us down if she was having a good week, and they wouldn’t be able to say no—not to her face, and not to my face. I felt sure that if they saw her humanity, they would have to say yes.”

“You have a pretty high opinion of people,” I say. “I don’t think insurance companies operate like that.”

“No, I don’t think my opinion of people is too high,” she says after a bit.

“Okay,” I say dubiously.

She gives me a warning look and I raise my eyebrows. Go on, my raised eyebrows say.

“But then…I just didn’t. I let the window close. I did nothing and then it was too late.”

“They wouldn’t have changed their mind.”

“You don’t know that. If I’d gone the extra mile—going the extra mile makes a difference to people. But part of me wanted her to die. I can’t believe I’m telling you this. But she was so sick.”

“She was suffering,” I say.

“I could’ve kept going. Going the extra mile.”

“It’s normal to want people to stop suffering.”

“Butshedidn’t want to die,” she says.

“Do you know how common that is, what you’re telling me?” I say. “Aside from the crazy idea of the heroic jaunt to Texas where you would’ve used the last of your meager savings for nothing?”

“Part of me wanted her to die. Just to have it over with for myself. It was the easy way out.”

“Look, you get to hold conflicting feelings,” I say. “You get to want to save her and want it to be over with. You get to want her to live and want her to stop suffering, even when she wants to keep on suffering. You get to be messy.”

“The treatment saved other people at her stage,” she says. “I could’ve gone the extra mile. I can be persuasive.”

“You think you should’ve gone the extra mile.”

“Yes,” she says.

I wrap my arms around her, wanting to save her from her guilt, wishing I could. “I’ve never met somebody so fucking conscientious,” I say into her hair.

She sniffs softly. “You won’t change my mind.”

I bury my nose in her hair. I know a black swan when I see one, and this is hers, paddling lazily up the stream. The reason she rejected a million dollars. “Are you going the extra mile to save that building?” I ask.

She pulls back with a wary look.

“Do you think, if you save the building, that will make up for it?”

“Nothing can make up for it,” she says.

“But maybe a little bit?” I try. “Saving the building from destruction won’t change what happened with your mom, but maybe a little bit?”

“I’ve learned from it, that’s all,” she says. “I’ve learned to go the extra mile. I’ve learned that it’s important to do your best. You of all people should understand. You don’t need money. You don’t need to work ever again, yet you go around making your deals and turning companies inside out. Why?”

It’s not lost on me that she’s turning the spotlight back onto me. I allow it. “When I see something that needs to be done, I can’t unsee it. I need to act. It’s almost painful if I don’t. Like an uncompleted melody and you’re waiting for that last note, for that resolution. These companies, these buildings, they’re like square pegs next to square holes, and nobody doing anything about it. It drives me crazy seeing what could be, whatshouldbe. It’s a type of tension, I suppose.”

“Right?” she says. “And when you put things right, the world feels right.”

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