day?” I’m trying to keep my voice light, gently curious, as if this isn’t really that important.
“I told you,” Josh says, his voice becoming a little strident, “Ben wanted to.”
“Why?” I feel Josh tense under my hand and I know I’ve asked too many questions. But the realization that Josh pushed Ben from the rocks makes my insides clench with horrified shock and an even worse fear. If Ben fell from the rocks…that feels different than a shove off the slide or swing. It feels… malevolent.
“But it was an accident,” I say, and then curse myself for the note of uncertainty in my voice. “You didn’t mean to push him.”
“I did mean it,” Josh says, and there is an almost savage note in his voice that utterly chills me.
“But, Josh,” I protest, my tone turning pleading, “you didn’t mean for him to
fall.
”
Josh doesn’t answer.
9
MADDIE
I’m at the hospital by seven the next morning, and there is no change. I sit with Ben for a while, and then I attempt to do some work in the waiting room. I finally steel myself to call Alwin’s HR and discuss my length of compassionate leave. I’m dreading this conversation, because no matter how good the policy for leave is, I know instinctively it will not be good enough. It never is.
“Maddie, good to hear from you.” Sheila, the woman I talk to in HR, is someone I’ve smiled at on occasion at the office, and no more. But now her voice is warm with concern, and I realize the news about Ben must have traveled around. I am officially the object of pity.
“I wanted to talk about my compassionate leave,” I say.
“Of course.” I can hear the rustle of papers and the click of a mouse. I realize Sheila must have a file on me, a file that is going to become thick and unwieldy as Ben’s care continues. “I see you are on the fourth day of your ten remaining vacation days in this calendar year,” she begins, all unemotional professionalism now.
“Yes.”
“And after that you have ten further days of extraordinary compassionate leave.”
“Ten days?” I repeat. “That’s it?” In total that will be four weeks of work that I’ll have missed. Ben hasn’t even opened his eyes yet. There’s no way that’s enough.
“Most companies only allow three days,” Sheila answers, and I can tell she is trying not to sound defensive.
“And after the ten days? What happens then?”
“Then you can take up to six months’ unpaid leave, and we will hold your job for you. After that…” She pauses, and I close my eyes.
“After that, I’m out of luck.”
“There are no guarantees,” Sheila corrects. “We cannot hold a position open indefinitely. It’s simply not possible. We’re a business, Maddie.”
“I know.”
“Alwin’s terms are far more generous than those of most corporations.” Now she’s really sounding defensive. But who wants to give the bad news to the mother with the brain damaged kid?
“I know.” That’s only because most corporations’ terms are crap. “Thanks,” I say, and Sheila waffles on for a minute about if there is anything she can do. I’m getting tired of that phrase now. It sounds so insincere. She
knows
there’s nothing she can do. I feel like Spandex Man is the only one who meant what he said, but unfortunately there’s nothing he can do, either.
I end the call and sit there with my phone in my lap. I have three and a half weeks before I’m broke. And I don’t even know what Ben’s medical bills are going to cost. Even with good insurance coverage, we could be talking thousands of dollars. I swallow hard. I have about two thousand dollars in my checking account. There is another eight grand in savings that’s earmarked for Ben’s tuition for next year. But maybe I won’t need that money for Ben’s school. I have no idea if he’ll be able to return to Burgdorf soon, or ever.
I can’t stand to think about money any longer, so I close my computer and go to sit with Ben.
The
“I told you,” Josh says, his voice becoming a little strident, “Ben wanted to.”
“Why?” I feel Josh tense under my hand and I know I’ve asked too many questions. But the realization that Josh pushed Ben from the rocks makes my insides clench with horrified shock and an even worse fear. If Ben fell from the rocks…that feels different than a shove off the slide or swing. It feels… malevolent.
“But it was an accident,” I say, and then curse myself for the note of uncertainty in my voice. “You didn’t mean to push him.”
“I did mean it,” Josh says, and there is an almost savage note in his voice that utterly chills me.
“But, Josh,” I protest, my tone turning pleading, “you didn’t mean for him to
fall.
”
Josh doesn’t answer.
9
MADDIE
I’m at the hospital by seven the next morning, and there is no change. I sit with Ben for a while, and then I attempt to do some work in the waiting room. I finally steel myself to call Alwin’s HR and discuss my length of compassionate leave. I’m dreading this conversation, because no matter how good the policy for leave is, I know instinctively it will not be good enough. It never is.
“Maddie, good to hear from you.” Sheila, the woman I talk to in HR, is someone I’ve smiled at on occasion at the office, and no more. But now her voice is warm with concern, and I realize the news about Ben must have traveled around. I am officially the object of pity.
“I wanted to talk about my compassionate leave,” I say.
“Of course.” I can hear the rustle of papers and the click of a mouse. I realize Sheila must have a file on me, a file that is going to become thick and unwieldy as Ben’s care continues. “I see you are on the fourth day of your ten remaining vacation days in this calendar year,” she begins, all unemotional professionalism now.
“Yes.”
“And after that you have ten further days of extraordinary compassionate leave.”
“Ten days?” I repeat. “That’s it?” In total that will be four weeks of work that I’ll have missed. Ben hasn’t even opened his eyes yet. There’s no way that’s enough.
“Most companies only allow three days,” Sheila answers, and I can tell she is trying not to sound defensive.
“And after the ten days? What happens then?”
“Then you can take up to six months’ unpaid leave, and we will hold your job for you. After that…” She pauses, and I close my eyes.
“After that, I’m out of luck.”
“There are no guarantees,” Sheila corrects. “We cannot hold a position open indefinitely. It’s simply not possible. We’re a business, Maddie.”
“I know.”
“Alwin’s terms are far more generous than those of most corporations.” Now she’s really sounding defensive. But who wants to give the bad news to the mother with the brain damaged kid?
“I know.” That’s only because most corporations’ terms are crap. “Thanks,” I say, and Sheila waffles on for a minute about if there is anything she can do. I’m getting tired of that phrase now. It sounds so insincere. She
knows
there’s nothing she can do. I feel like Spandex Man is the only one who meant what he said, but unfortunately there’s nothing he can do, either.
I end the call and sit there with my phone in my lap. I have three and a half weeks before I’m broke. And I don’t even know what Ben’s medical bills are going to cost. Even with good insurance coverage, we could be talking thousands of dollars. I swallow hard. I have about two thousand dollars in my checking account. There is another eight grand in savings that’s earmarked for Ben’s tuition for next year. But maybe I won’t need that money for Ben’s school. I have no idea if he’ll be able to return to Burgdorf soon, or ever.
I can’t stand to think about money any longer, so I close my computer and go to sit with Ben.
The
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