Mary paused and took a deep breath. “And it’s possible he’ll never wake up,” she said. “Isn’t it?”
Dr. Goli hesitated before she nodded. “That is a possibility, yes. In all likelihood, his recovery to full health would take some time.”
“I see.”
Tad’s phone vibrated in his pocket and he looked at the number of the insurance company.
“I need to take this,” he told his wife.
She nodded as frustration flitted across her face but it was gone in an instant.
He didn’t want her to think he was stepping away for no reason but he also didn’t want her to worry, the way he did, that this call might be the insurance company denying their claim. He left the room wordlessly and answered the call in the hallway. “This is Tad Williams.”
“Mr. Williams.” The voice was warm but brisk. “This is Matthew Heigl with Unity Insurance, calling about your claim.”
“Yes?” He closed his eyes briefly.
“I’m pleased to say that it has been approved,” the agent said. “Your son is covered for up to five hundred thousand dollars and—”
“Oh, thank God.” Tad sank onto a bench that didn’t exist and looked around to see if anyone had noticed. Thankfully, the hallway was empty. He leaned against the wall, shaking. Relief made him light-headed. Five hundred thousand dollars would be more than enough.
“Now, we haven’t yet received the bill for the life flight and the initial surgeries,” the agent continued.
“How much does a life flight normally cost?” Tad asked.
“I can’t give any specific numbers, sir.”
“Ballpark it for me, Heigl.” He looked heavenward and prayed for patience. “What’s the average?”
“Roughly forty-five thousand dollars.” The agent’s voice was subdued.
Tad gripped the phone. “Could you say that again?”
“The average for a life flight is about forty-five thousand dollars,” the agent repeated. “That, of course, does not include the original emergency services response or any of the surgeries. Or the hospital stay.”
“I’m…” Tad looked at the door. Inside that room, a doctor was telling his wife that Justin might be under for an indeterminate amount of time.
“You’ll also want to account for physical therapy after he’s released,” the agent added.
“How long?” he asked.
“It would vary based on what type of physical therapy he needs.”
“No. How long will he be covered in the hospital?” He thought he felt the phone creak in his grip.
“Um.” The agent seemed to guess from his tone—correctly—that a noncommittal answer would be the wrong choice. “About three months, sir. Without accounting for physical therapy.”
“Thank you.” Tad hung up and stared at the blank wall in front of him.
Three months. Three months without counting the rehabilitation. Three months after which…
What was he supposed to do then? He was a junior senator and didn’t have the reserves the older senators did. He didn’t have the connections, either.
Alone in the hallway, Tad squeezed his hands until his nails began to break the skin on his palms.
What the hell was he going to do?
Chapter Five
Today’s work at the office had been done hastily, with aides running in and out of Tad’s sun-drenched office, bringing briefs and chattering message reports and watering the plants until he had to usher them all out of the room simply for a moment of quiet.
He had promised himself he would make coffee when he was done with this call. Unfortunately, after three days of sleeping in hospital chairs, he had begun to fantasize about a nice, big mug of coffee with foam at the edges. It would taste so good. The heat would feel so good.
This was a bad sign and he shook himself to clear the thought. Normally, he didn’t even like coffee.
There was a beep. “Mr. Williams?” The voice on the other end of the line was chipper and pleasant. It was the kind of voice that came from a twenty-two-year-old with no responsibilities and the ability to bounce back from a night without sleep.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Metcalfe is on the line.”
“Senator Williams.” Dru Metcalfe’s voice was easy and affable. “Thank you for calling me back so quickly.”
“Yes, sir.” Tad took a deep breath and tried to keep his eyes from drifting closed. “You wanted to speak to me?”
“Yes. I’m calling on behalf of Raymond White, the CEO at IterNext. He saw a report in the news about your son.”
He tried to make sense of this in his head. “Yes?” he said finally when nothing gelled.
“Now, you may not realize it, but Mr. White has a close relationship with the administrative board at Bay Health Hospital, and he knows that in this kind of