It's Never too Late - By Tara Taylor Quinn Page 0,23
I need. ’Cept someone to chat with.”
Addy had work to do. She wrestled with silent thoughts, searching for words to excuse herself without hurting the older woman’s feelings.
“Door’s open. Come in.”
Addy pulled on the handle.
Fifteen minutes later, she was pouring iced tea for herself and her elderly neighbor.
“I told Mark he didn’t have to stop off at home between school and work at the plant,” Nonnie said as Addy carried the cold glass into the living room. “I’m fine here. But he insists. At home in Bierly, folks were always stopping by to see me, and Doris, next door, I’ve known her since she was born. She came in every morning whether I wanted her to or not.” Nonnie’s diatribe stopped long enough for her to sip.
“I did something this morning,” she continued shortly. “I don’t want Mark to know.” She lowered her voice, leaning toward Addy. “Not yet. But I have to tell someone.”
“What did you do?” The older woman appeared to be fine. The kitchen looked normal.
“I sold my house.”
“Your house?”
“Was my grandparents’ place to begin with. Grandpa built it on a piece of land his daddy gave him when he married Grandma. My daddy was born there. And so was I.”
“And you sold it?” Was Nonnie getting senile? She didn’t seem to be, but it wasn’t like Addy had had multiple conversations with the woman.
“Yep. This morning.” She named a price that sounded decent to Addy, but not knowing the area, or the size of the home or land, she couldn’t be sure.
This wasn’t her business.
“You said Mark doesn’t know?”
“Nope.”
“Don’t you think you should tell him?”
“Nope.”
“I really think you should.”
“Can’t.”
“Why not?”
“He’d have a fit.”
“Maybe he has reason to.”
“No, he don’t.”
“The house has been in your family for generations.”
“Yep. And now it isn’t.”
Alarmed at Nonnie’s pragmatic manner, at the possible mistake being made, she asked, “But you haven’t closed on it yet, right?”
“Wrong. It was a cash deal. Closed this morning.”
Oh, God.
“Medicare doesn’t cover my most expensive meds.”
“Do you have supplemental insurance?”
Nonnie shook her head. “Canceled me a few years back.”
“Canceled you? Did you miss a premium?”
“Nope.”
“Did you omit key medical information on your application?” She was a lawyer. The question just slipped out.
“No. They said I did, though.”
“What was the basis for their claim?”
“I disclosed the multiple sclerosis. I said I wasn’t in a chair.” She motioned toward her chair. “Because I wasn’t at the time. Then I fell again and was sentenced to the damn thing. I put in a claim for it and they denied the claim and then canceled the insurance.”
Addy didn’t know a lot about insurance law, but she knew enough to know that insurance companies had done some unethical things regarding policy cancellations.
“Did you talk to an attorney?”
“Found one on the internet. But he wasn’t sure I’d win and I couldn’t afford to pay all the money it would cost me to go to court on a chance I’d lose.”
“What did Mark say about all of this?”
“Nothing. I didn’t tell him about it.”
“Don’t you think you should have?”
“Sometimes. But mostly, no. That boy has sacrificed too much of his life because of me. He was already working two jobs and getting nowhere. I got by using my Social Security.” Nonnie’s words were raspy and growing more so, as though she was out of breath. Hands shaking, she picked up her glass of tea and took a sip, sloshing the liquid over her top lip and onto the lap of her cotton short-sleeved dress.
Got by. Past tense?
Addy had to get back to her work. The Hebers’ problems were not hers. Nothing in Shelter Valley belonged to her. With the exception of Will’s problem. That she’d agreed to take on.
Still, Nonnie Heber was new to town. By her own admission the woman was used to having people stop in and see her every day. People who likely heard the same stories Addy was hearing. Or renditions thereof.
The woman was lonely. Addy thought of Gran, those last years after she’d left for college. And of the neighborhood women who’d kept her grandmother company.
“I take more meds now.” Nonnie’s voice was fading. “Didn’t expect to live so long.”
Addy understood. “Social Security isn’t enough to cover the difference.”
The response earned her a self-deprecating smile. “Who knew I’d outlast Doc’s predictions?”
“You have to tell Mark. He’ll help you.”
“No!” Nonnie sat upright and winced. “My grandson has this scholarship. This chance. The house was just a building. A piece of property. In a town that won’t give him nothing