Chapter 2 - THE BILLS ON HER LAP
Lana spent twelve days in the hospital and another nine in inpatient rehabilitation.
During that time, Richard visited once.
For fourteen minutes.
He brought no flowers.
No apology.
Just a styrofoam cup of gas-station coffee and questions about discharge planning.
“So how long until you’re working again?”
Lana stared at him.
“I don’t know.”
He nodded as if she had refused on purpose.
“Doctors should know these things.”
“Doctors know bones,” Lana said. “Not clients.”
He shifted.
“Your mother’s worried.”
“About me?”
Silence.
Then:
“About the costs.”
There it was.
Lana laughed once.
Short.
Sharp.
Painful.
Richard took it badly.
“You think any of this is easy on us?”
Us.
The family that had not sat in the chair.
The family that did not answer the rehab nurse when she called to coordinate home support.
Claire Dawson, Lana’s closest friend from college, visited more than anyone.
She brought moisturizer, soft socks, gossip Lana could half-listen to, and the sort of silence that did not require pretending everything would be fine.
When Lana cried the first time she tried to stand and her left leg failed under her, Claire held the gait belt and did not say “you’re strong.”
She said:
“That was awful.”
Perfect.
After rehab, the social worker tried to place Lana in a short-term accessible apartment.
Richard refused.
“She’ll recover at home.”
Lana almost believed it meant care.
It did not.
It meant control.
So three weeks after the accident, Lana returned to the Merritt house in a wheelchair.
The ramp at the front door was temporary plywood.
The hallway smelled like bleach.
Caleb leaned against the kitchen frame in a denim jacket, smirking as if somebody else’s disaster had at least given the afternoon entertainment.
“Welcome back, miracle girl.”
Lana ignored him.
Ellen adjusted a dish towel over her shoulder.
“You’ll be in the dining room for now. Easier than the stairs.”
No hug.
No kiss on the head.
No “we’re glad you’re home.”
Richard waited by the table.
As soon as Lana wheeled in, he threw a thick stack of bills onto her lap.
Paper slid against the blanket over her knees.
Hospital invoices.
Equipment costs.
Insurance explanations.
“You owe us eighty grand.”
Lana stared at him, stunned.
“What?”
Richard jabbed a finger at the top sheet.
“Out-of-pocket expenses. Travel. Medications. Equipment.”
Lana’s mouth opened.
No sound came out.
Then Ellen slapped another handwritten page onto the table.
“And twenty grand for caring for you.”
Lana looked at it.
Numbers in blue ink.
Meals.
Laundry.
Time.
Transportation.
Home care.
She looked up slowly.
“You never visited me once.”
Caleb laughed.
Richard lifted the stack and slammed it against Lana’s chest.
“Pay us! We kept you alive!”
Pain shot through her shoulder and she recoiled.
Then her phone rang.
A number she did not recognize.
Lana answered with shaking hands.
“Hello?”
A woman’s voice came through, crisp and urgent.
“Lana? This is Caroline Hurst. I’m an attorney. Do not pay your parents a cent.”
Richard instantly froze.
Lana blinked.
“What do you mean?”
Caroline’s voice turned serious.
“The driver’s insurer already paid you six hundred thousand dollars.”
Lana’s face went blank.
Richard stepped backward.
Caleb’s smirk vanished.
Caroline continued:
“And your father signed for it.”
May you like
Lana slowly turned toward Richard.
His face drained of color.
