Chapter 2 - The Price of Keeping Someone Alive
Penelope did not remember the elevator ride.
She remembered Lorenzo’s hand at her elbow.
She remembered Marco clearing a path through the restaurant.
She remembered someone calling after her about her shift.
Everything else blurred.
By the time they reached the street, Lorenzo’s car was already waiting.
Penelope climbed inside without asking where it was going.
“Northwestern,” Lorenzo told Marco.
The car moved.
Penelope pressed the phone to her ear.
“Yes. I’m coming. Please tell him I’m coming.”
The nurse said something.
“I understand.”
Another pause.
“Please.”
She ended the call.
Lorenzo watched her.
“What happened?”
“His fever spiked.”
“How bad?”
“They moved him to intensive care.”
Lorenzo’s face remained controlled.
Penelope envied him for that.
She felt as if her skin barely contained her panic.
“He developed an infection after the last round of chemo. They thought the antibiotics were working.”
She pressed both hands against her knees.
“They said his blood pressure dropped.”
“Is he conscious?”
“I don’t know.”
Lorenzo reached for his phone.
Penelope looked over.
“Who are you calling?”
“A doctor.”
“No.”
He paused.
“No?”
“I don’t want your people showing up.”
“My people?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I know specialists.”
“So does the hospital.”
“Penelope—”
“No.”
Her voice sharpened.
“I already told you. Owen is not one of your problems to solve.”
Lorenzo stared at her.
Then placed the phone face down.
“Fine.”
She looked surprised.
“You’re listening?”
“For the next thirty seconds.”
Despite everything, a shaky laugh escaped her.
It disappeared almost immediately.
They reached the hospital twelve minutes later.
Lorenzo came inside.
Penelope noticed but did not argue.
She ran through the lobby, into the elevator, then down the seventh-floor corridor.
A nurse stopped her outside the ICU.
“Ms. Gallagher?”
“Yes.”
“Your brother is stable for the moment.”
Penelope sagged against the wall.
The nurse continued.
“We’ve started medications to support his blood pressure and changed antibiotics. His oncologist is on the way.”
“Can I see him?”
“Give us a few minutes.”
Penelope nodded.
Only then did she remember Lorenzo was behind her.
He stood several feet away.
Not intruding.
Not speaking.
Just there.
She sank into a chair.
Lorenzo sat beside her.
For a long time, neither spoke.
Finally Penelope said, “He used to be afraid of thunderstorms.”
Lorenzo looked over.
“When he was little. Our mother would make him count between lightning and thunder. She told him if he got to five, the storm was far enough away not to hurt him.”
A sad smile touched her face.
“He believed her until he was twelve.”
“Where are your parents?”
“Dead.”
Lorenzo’s expression changed.
“My father died when I was seventeen. Heart attack. Mom died six years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
He said nothing.
She rubbed her hands together.
“Owen was sixteen when Mom got sick. I became everything after that. Sister. Parent. Emergency contact. Person who signs the forms.”
“And who takes the second job.”
She nodded.
Lorenzo leaned back.
“What does the $187,400 cover?”
Penelope looked at him sharply.
“You read my bill.”
“It was visible.”
“You always notice too much.”
“Yes.”
“The treatment program is expensive.”
“I asked what the number covers.”
She exhaled.
“CAR-T therapy if he qualifies, specialized testing, hospital costs, some things insurance won’t authorize until after appeals. I’ve been paying down other bills too.”
“How much have you saved?”
“Enough that I’m not discussing it.”
“Penelope.”
“Lorenzo.”
Their eyes met.
He almost smiled.
The ICU doors opened.
A physician walked out.
“Penelope?”
She stood instantly.
“Dr. Shah.”
Lorenzo remained seated.
The doctor spoke quietly.
“Owen’s responding to the medications. His pressure is improving.”
“Can I see him?”
“Yes. But there’s something else.”
Penelope stiffened.
Dr. Shah glanced toward Lorenzo.
“He’s with me,” Penelope said before thinking.
Lorenzo noticed.
The doctor continued.
“The trial coordinator contacted us this afternoon.”
Penelope stopped breathing.
“They reviewed Owen’s latest results.”
“And?”
“He qualifies.”
Her knees nearly gave out.
She covered her mouth.
“They accepted him?”
“Yes.”
A sound escaped her that was half laugh, half sob.
Lorenzo stood.
Dr. Shah’s expression remained serious.
“The timing is complicated. The infection has to be controlled first. Then there are financial authorizations and enrollment requirements.”
“How long?”
“We have a narrow treatment window.”
“How narrow?”
“Possibly two weeks.”
Penelope’s relief disappeared.
“And if the financial approval isn’t done?”
Dr. Shah hesitated.
“The program cannot reserve the manufacturing slot indefinitely.”
She understood.
“How much?”
The doctor gave her a number.
Penelope stared at him.
“Up front?”
“A portion of it.”
“How much?”
He told her.
Lorenzo watched her face.
$126,000.
Penelope closed her eyes.
She had $41,700.
Everything she had earned.
Everything she had saved.
Her mother’s jewelry.
Her retirement account.
The second job.
The credit cards.
Still not enough.
“I’ll handle it,” she said.
Dr. Shah nodded gently.
“Talk to financial services tomorrow. There may be additional options.”
There were always additional options.
Loans.
Appeals.
Applications.
Forms.
Words designed to make desperation sound administrative.
Penelope entered Owen’s room.
He looked smaller than twenty-two.
His head was shaved.
Lines ran into both arms.
Monitors surrounded him.
His eyes opened when she approached.
“Hey,” he whispered.
She smiled.
“Hey.”
“You look terrible.”
“So do you.”
He smiled weakly.
Then noticed Lorenzo through the glass.
“Who’s Batman?”
Penelope turned.
Lorenzo stood outside the room in his black suit.
She almost laughed.
“My boss.”
Owen’s eyebrows lifted.
“The terrifying one?”
“He’s not terrifying.”
Lorenzo raised one eyebrow through the glass.
Owen whispered, “He heard that.”
“Probably.”
“Why is he here?”
Penelope hesitated.
Owen noticed everything.
He always had.
She sat beside him.
“Long story.”
“Is he your boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Your face did a thing.”
“My face did nothing.”
“It did the lying thing.”
“Owen.”
He smiled again.
Then winced.
Penelope immediately leaned closer.
“You okay?”
“Tired.”
“Sleep.”
He closed his eyes.
Before drifting off, he whispered, “Don’t sell the apartment.”
Penelope froze.
“You heard me.”
“I’m not selling anything.”
“You already talked to a realtor.”
Her throat tightened.
“Sleep.”
“Penny.”
“I said sleep.”
His breathing eventually slowed.
She stayed beside him until almost midnight.
When she stepped into the corridor, Lorenzo was still there.
“You waited?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He looked at her as though the question were pointless.
“Because you’re alone.”
She looked away.
“I’m used to it.”
“That doesn’t mean you should be.”
They walked toward the elevator.
Penelope pressed the button.
“I need to go home.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“I can take a cab.”
“You can let someone help you once without signing away your soul.”
She looked at him.
“That was dramatic.”
“I’ve been told I have a flair for it.”
The elevator arrived.
They entered.
Penelope leaned against the mirrored wall.
“You really carry a ring around?”
Lorenzo looked at her.
“I did.”
“Why?”
“It belonged to my grandmother.”
Her expression softened.
“And you almost lost it under a restaurant cart because you decided to invent an engagement.”
“I recovered it.”
“That wasn’t the important part of what I said.”
“I know.”
“What exactly were you thinking?”
“That I wanted them to stop looking at you like you were beneath them.”
“And your solution was marriage?”
“It was effective.”
She stared.
“You’re insane.”
“Possibly.”
The elevator doors opened.
Marco waited in the lobby.
During the ride to Penelope’s apartment, she fell asleep.
Lorenzo noticed after seven minutes.
Her head tilted toward the window.
Her hands were still clenched.
He looked at her for a long moment.
Then at Marco.
“Find out everything about the treatment program.”
Marco nodded.
Penelope’s eyes opened.
“I heard that.”
Lorenzo did not react.
“I told you not to interfere.”
“I said I’d listen for thirty seconds.”
“You are impossible.”
“So I’ve been told.”
When they reached her building, Lorenzo walked her upstairs.
She protested.
He ignored her.
The apartment was small but clean.
Family photographs covered one wall.
Penelope unlocked the door.
“You can go.”
Lorenzo glanced inside.
A stack of unopened envelopes sat on the kitchen counter.
Hospital.
Insurance.
Collections.
He looked away before she saw him seeing them.
“Get some sleep.”
“I need to be at work at six.”
“No.”
She blinked.
“No?”
“You’re taking tomorrow off.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“I’m your boss.”
“You were apparently my fiancé twenty minutes ago. Pick a role.”
That made him smile.
Penelope stared.
She had rarely seen Lorenzo smile fully.
It changed his face.
Made him look younger.
Less dangerous.
More dangerous.
She opened the door wider.
“Goodnight.”
He stepped toward the hallway.
“Penelope.”
“What?”
“If Owen’s treatment requires the money, take it.”
She stiffened.
“No.”
“Consider it an advance.”
“No.”
“A loan.”
“No.”
“Then consider it compensation for the two years you’ve spent keeping my company functional.”
“That company was functional before me.”
“Debatable.”
She almost smiled.
Then shook her head.
“I can’t owe you that much.”
“Why?”
“Because owing someone like you is not the same as owing a bank.”
His eyes hardened slightly.
“That reputation again.”
“It didn’t come from nowhere.”
“No.”
The answer was quiet.
“Goodnight, Penelope.”
He walked away.
She shut the door.
For several minutes, she stood with her back against it.
Then her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
She assumed hospital.
She opened the message.
A photograph filled the screen.
It showed Lorenzo walking her out of Bellavista.
Another showed them entering the hospital.
A third showed him outside her apartment.
Below the photographs was one sentence.
YOU SHOULD HAVE KEPT MORETTI OUT OF THIS.
Penelope’s breath stopped.
May you like
A second message appeared.
WE KNOW ABOUT OWEN.
