Page 67 of The Big Easy & Other Lies
“Is she going to die?”
“Not today,” he said, “but if she doesn’t do what she needs to do to manage this illness, she could have less than a year. You have to make sure she follows all the directions the counselor gives her. She’ll be back to the clinic a few times before this is all sorted out.” He held out his hand, and I shook it. “Good luck.”
“Thank you,” I said. It felt like the dumbest response ever.
I waited outside while Delphine dressed with the help of a nurse. By the time she was done, the diabetes counselor had shown up, and what followed was a miserable two hours in Delphine’s hospital room. The first hour was an explanation of diabetes followed by a long list of possible complications if Delphine didn’t change her lifestyle. The rest of the time we spent with an insurance caseworker who told Delphine her insurance was completely inadequate for the medicines she would need. They had a long conversation about Delphine’s finances, most of which I didn’t follow. It didn’t matter; I caught the gist. Insulin would cost more than she could afford right now, even with the Medicare something-or-other the caseworker would help her apply for.
Delphine’s gradual slump as the caseworker droned on made her look exactly like a balloon with a slow leak. I pretended not to notice and stared at the floor, praying I didn’t become the focus of her frustration.
When we finally left, Delphine sat the whole way home in silence, but her face said it all. A mask of misery and fear had settled over her features, carving the canyons in her face even deeper with worry.
We reached the house, and I helped her get situated in her recliner. She accepted my offer to call Pizza Hut to deliver a garden salad, the first real sign I’d seen that the counselor’s warnings had reached her. But she did little more than grunt in reply to my other questions.
“Do you need anything else?” I asked when she had the remote in hand and lunch on the way.
“I need you to leave me alone,” she growled.
So I did, slipping quietly away to school where even physics would be a welcome distraction from the stress that gnawed at my gut.
* * *
In the front office, the secretary didn’t even hassle me for being late, probably because I looked too fragile to harangue. I texted Rhett.
I’m here.
It only took a moment for him to buzz me back.
I’ll see you in a minute. Bell’s abt to ring for lunch.
Sure enough, it beeped as I shoved a couple of notebooks into my locker. Thirty seconds later, Rhett skidded around the corner.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
I nodded. “Delphine’s home. The doctor wanted to keep her. She wouldn’t stay. She was too freaked out by the medical bills.” I slammed the locker shut and collapsed against it. “She’s going to freak worse when she figures out how much the medicine costs.”
“What happens next?” he asked.
“Next? I go home and she makes my life hell.”
“Tell her you have to work tonight. I’ll take you somewhere, and you can go home when she’s asleep.”
I shook my head. “Thanks, but no. I want keep an eye on her.”
He slung his arm over my shoulder and gently urged me toward the exit. “You’re a way better niece than she deserves.”
“What’s the definition of insanity? Doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result? She’s still a hag, so I guess I’m crazy, but I’d rather stay close until I know she’s okay.”
He squeezed me and then dropped his hand to mine and held it until we got to the car. “There’s Livvie,” he said.
She popped her head in my window. “Boudreau’s?”
We nodded and she climbed into the backseat. “Bran’s eating with Chloe on campus.” Her backpack landed with a loud thump on the floor. “I love the leather seats, Rhett. They almost make up for the fact that I don’t get to play deejay in here.”
He smiled and turned up the volume on the Dirty Dozen Brass Band flowing from the speakers. “You’ll be educated on good music with or without your consent.”
She rolled her eyes and leaned over to check on me. “You good?”
“No.”
