Chương 6
“All of you?”
“There’s a group chat.”
“Of course there is.”
“She said Aunt Helen is controlling and you’ve always resented her. She asked us not to engage with you because you might twist things.”
Maya stood and walked to the window.
A man in a neon vest was gathering leaves into a pile small enough to hold in both hands.
“What did you say?” Maya asked.
“I asked whether you paid twelve hundred dollars a month.”
“And?”
“She said families help each other.”
“That wasn’t your question.”
“No.”
Maya rested her forehead against the glass.
“Khloe left the chat,” Becca said. “Janet hasn’t answered. Lauren said we should stay out of it.”
“That sounds wise.”
“I don’t want to stay out of it.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve been friends with her for three years and apparently I don’t know her.”
Maya turned from the window.
“That is between you and Victoria.”
“I know.”
“Do not use me to punish her.”
“I’m not.”
“You called me on a Sunday morning to tell me every ugly thing she said about me.”
“I thought you deserved to know.”
“Maybe. But you also wanted someone to confirm that you’re right to be angry.”
Becca was silent.
Maya immediately regretted the sharpness. The old instinct rose in her: soften, reassure, rescue.
She let the silence remain.
Finally Becca said, “That’s fair.”
Maya sat again.
“I’m sorry,” Becca added. “I mean that without asking you to make me feel better.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you okay?”
“No.”
“All right.”
The answer was so simple that Maya nearly cried.
Becca did not offer advice. She did not ask what Maya planned to do. She said goodbye and ended the call.
At noon, Maya took the scrapbook to the hall closet.
She placed it on the highest shelf behind a winter blanket.
Then she took it down again because hiding it felt like preserving it.
She left it on the dining table.
Monday morning, Maya arrived at St. Catherine’s Medical Center twenty minutes early.
She worked in the rehabilitation services office, coordinating insurance authorizations for patients who needed physical and occupational therapy after surgery or injury. The job involved phone calls, codes, scanned forms, and long conversations with people who believed that repeating the phrase medically necessary could transform an insurer’s answer.
Maya was good at it because she could remain calm while other people became frightened or rude.
At eight forty-five, her supervisor, Denise, leaned over the cubicle wall.
“You look tired.”
“Birthday party.”
“Yours?”
“My sister’s.”
“Good party?”
Maya logged into the scheduling system.
“Memorable.”
Denise waited, then accepted the boundary.
“There are donuts in the conference room. Craig brought the ones with too much frosting.”
Maya almost laughed.
At lunch, she took her coffee outside and sat on a bench near the employee parking garage. An ambulance arrived without sirens. Two paramedics pushed an empty stretcher through the sliding doors while arguing about a baseball game.
Her phone showed five missed calls from Victoria.
One voicemail.
Maya listened.
“I need you to call me. The insurance draft is Wednesday. It’s six hundred and eighty-four dollars. If it bounces, they can cancel the policy. You don’t understand how serious that is.”
Maya did understand. She had paid the policy for three years.
Victoria continued.
“I can cover the mortgage this month, but I can’t cover everything at once. I’m not asking you to keep paying forever. I’m asking you not to destroy my finances because your feelings got hurt.”
Maya stopped the message.
She opened the insurance company’s website. Her login information still worked because she had created the account for Victoria.
The policy was set to auto-draft from Maya’s checking account, not Victoria’s.
She had forgotten.
Maya stared at the screen.
Canceling the transfer had not stopped the utilities, insurance, or internet payments. The electric company, water service, and homeowners policy all had her bank information.
She could cancel them. She could also create a lapse that affected the house before Victoria had time to replace the payment method.
Maya called the insurer.
After twenty-three minutes on hold, a representative explained that only the policyholder could change the bank account. Maya could revoke authorization from her bank, but the company would still attempt the draft.
“Can you notify the policyholder?”
“We send an automated notice if payment fails.”
“When?”
“Within one to two business days.”
“And how long before cancellation?”
The representative provided a general answer about state requirements and grace periods, careful not to promise a specific result.
Maya thanked her and hung up.
She called Victoria.
Her sister answered before the first ring completed.
“Finally.”
“The insurance is still connected to my account.”
“I know.”
“Why didn’t you change it?”
“Because you were paying it.”
“You need to call them today and replace the bank information.”
“I just told you I don’t have enough.”
“You said you could cover the mortgage.”
“I can’t cover everything.”
“You got a promotion eighteen months ago.”
Silence.
Maya heard a door close on Victoria’s end.
“Who told you?”
“That’s what you’re asking?”
“Aunt Helen had no right—”
“It wasn’t Aunt Helen.”
“Then Becca.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
“You told me the promotion was only a title change.”
“It mostly was.”
“Did you get a raise?”
“A small one.”
“And a bonus?”
Another pause.
“It was taxed heavily.”
Maya looked across the parking lot. A woman in scrubs stood beside a compact car, eating yogurt with a plastic fork.
“How much was the bonus?”
“That is private.”
“My income stopped being private when you built your budget around it.”
“I didn’t build my budget around you.”
“Then change the insurance account.”
“Maya, can we not do this while I’m at work?”
“You called me five times.”
“Because you were ignoring an emergency.”
“It isn’t an emergency yet.”
“It will be if you keep acting like this.”
May you like
Maya closed her eyes.
The familiar sequence was beginning. Victoria would create urgency, Maya would solve it, and later the solution would be presented as proof that the problem had never been serious.
