“Thanks.” I didn’t know how to tell her I didn’t eat sugar, so I took the coffee and the oil-splattered bag. “I’m going to run home,” I said. “I need to have a shower and get changed. Can you watch Josh? Moira should be here soon.”

“Of course.”

“Dr. Palmer…” I wanted to say more, to ask more, but I didn’t have the words, and anyway, I’d learned that sometimes strategic inaction is better than action. “Thanks.”

I left quickly, dropping the cinnamon roll in a trash can outside the front of the hospital.

A bitter, coppery taste filled my mouth as I thought about the poker chip in my pocket. Sorrow and also fear, because I knew this wasn’t over yet.

THE HOUSE was still and quiet. Oppressively so. I’d barely been back since Nate died. Moira had been the one to come back, bring us clothes, feed Charlie.

Everything was where I’d left it: clothes still unfolded, toys scattered across the floor, a half-filled cup of coffee Nate had left on the dining room table, a pile of mail on the coffee table. Charlie came loping over to me. I bent to hug him, and he dragged a tongue across my cheek.

I shook dog food into his bowl and topped up his water as he crunched the kibble. On the dining room table I noticed an unopened bill. I slit the envelope open. It was from the hospital. My stomach clenched painfully as I read the amount due.

I moved to the laptop in the living room and opened the GoFundMe account that had been set up for Josh. Charlie flopped onto my feet.

I scrolled through the recent donations. There had been a number from the people in our community since Nate had died, but the total in the account was still too low. I scrolled back, but there were no large donations.

Gabe hadn’t made a payment for at least a week before he’d died.

I felt sick.

I had no money, and no way to get access to the bank account Gabe had set up to donate from. Since the investigation was ongoing, it would be months, maybe years, before Nate’s life insurance paid out.

I looked again at the total amount due printed on the bill. And that wasn’t even factoring in the chemo or any of the emergency treatments Josh had needed this last week. Nor everything he would need going forward. But at least he would live. I was grateful for that.

The police had already searched Gabe’s apartment and gas station, but I’d heard nothing about cash being found.

I showered quickly and dressed in navy slacks and a matching blazer, carefully applying makeup to cover eyes that were swollen from a week’s worth of crying. I’d lost so much weight I looked skeletal, my cheekbones sharp, my lips tattered.