“I’ve read about it,” Emma said. “You withdraw T-cells from a patient, genetically modify them, and reinject them to identify and attack cancer cells.”

“Yes, it’s been very effective—” Dr. Palmer began.

“Then what’s the holdup?” Nate asked. “When can we start this T-cell thing?”

“This type of treatment is still emerging.” There was a warning note in Dr. Johnson’s voice. “And most insurance companies don’t cover it.”

“Josh and I are both covered by the hospital plan,” Emma said.

“The hospital insurance only covers about ten percent of the total cost of CAR T-cell therapy—” Dr. Palmer said gently.

“It doesn’t matter,” Emma said fiercely.

“—which is five hundred thousand dollars.”

CHAPTER 7

LATER THAT NIGHT, we settled Josh in a private room on the pediatric oncology floor. It was small but clean, decorated in cheerful shades of blue and orange. One wall was covered in a childish mural, leafy trees and a mountain with little rabbits hopping along the bottom. The window looked out in the direction of the waterfall.

Josh smiled shyly at Katie, the nurse who was getting him settled. She chucked him under the chin. “I’m going to call you Captain Smiley,” she declared. Josh giggled.

After she left, I turned a cartoon on for Josh and sat on the couch next to Nate, leaning my head on his shoulder, while Moira settled on a chair next to us. Josh was asleep within a few minutes.

“Oh, Moira!” The door flew open and a woman with short curls dyed brownish red, sagging jowls, and a colorful patterned dress plowed across the room and pulled Moira against her massive bosom. “Thank you for texting me. We’re all just so devastated!”

Moira’s eyes filled with tears. “Thank you, Bertie.”

Bertie handed a handkerchief to Moira, who delicately dabbed at the corners of her eyes.

“This is Bertie.” Moira introduced us. “From my church.”

Anger spiked through me. How dare she. This was personal, and we’d only just found out. It wasn’t her place to be spreading it around.

“Pastor John and I are here to help.” Bertie dabbed at moist eyes. “We’ve set up a GoFundMe account and we’re organizing a bake sale this weekend to help pay for this treatment. We’re all praying for little Josh.”

Thoughts and prayers, I thought bitterly. Like that does any good.

“Thank you,” Nate managed.

He always remembered his manners. But I couldn’t bring myself to answer. I wanted to be grateful, I did. But what was selling a few cookies going to do to save Josh’s life? Her thoughts and prayers weren’t action. They didn’t change a thing.

An awkward silence rang out in the room.

“Thank you so much for coming by, Bertie, it was really lovely of you.” Moira guided the woman toward the door and almost pushed her out.

“What the fuck, Ma?” Nate snapped when she returned.