“I brought the low-sodium soup you asked for, Dad,” I said, walking into the room.
“The store was out of the good brand,” he mumbled, his voice a low grumble that barely carried across the carpet.
“This brand is just as good,” I said.
Miriam set a china cup on the saucer with a soft click. “Your father had a difficult afternoon, Nora. The joint pain has been quite persistent.”
“I need five hundred,” Gerald said suddenly, his eyes still on the television.
“Gerald, please,” Miriam murmured, smoothing her skirt as she sat on the sofa.
“For the heart pills,” my father said, his hand staying on his collar. “The pharmacy said the insurance did not cover the full refill this time. Five hundred dollars.”
I stood between the sideboard and the armchair, looking from the heavy silver pot to my father’s worn slippers. The three thousand six hundred dollars I transferred every month was supposed to cover their mortgage and their basic living expenses, including their supplemental health coverage.
“Did you get the explanation of benefits from the insurer?” I asked. “I can review the claim code. Sometimes they misclassify the tier.”
