“Seventy-nine.”
“Oh, you’re a spring chicken. I was born in seventy-five. You’re from Seattle, aren’t you?” Ham nodded, and Liz realized that she had just mentioned information she’d learned from her online investigation rather than from Lydia. “So how’d you end up in Cincinnati?” Liz asked.
“The short version is, I followed an ex here.”
“That’s enough interviewing,” Lydia said to Liz. “You can leave now.” Both she and Ham were sitting on the couch by this point, their bodies nestled together.
“Wow, Lydia,” Ham said. “No mincing words for you, huh?” But he set his arm around her as he spoke, and Liz had the bewildering thought that perhaps Lydia had met a nice, normal, down-to-earth guy. What she’d have in common with such a person was difficult to fathom.
“Lydia is known in the family for her subtlety,” Liz said, and in reply, Lydia raised her middle finger. “Nice to meet you, Ham,” Liz said.
IT WAS AGAIN Liz’s turn to drive her father to physical therapy, and no sooner had they pulled out of the driveway of the Tudor than Mr. Bennet said, “The reason your mother wants you to give Cousin Willie a chance is that she thinks his money will save us. Don’t listen to her.”
“Save you how?”
“It turns out my time in the hospital was frightfully expensive.”
“How much?”
“It’s hardly your concern, but since you asked, let’s see. The surgery was a hundred and twenty-two thousand, not counting the anesthesia. It was three thousand a day to stay at that elegant five-star hotel known as Christ Hospital. Then there’s a little something called a doctor fee, and that was another seven thousand. Shall I go on?”
“Isn’t most of it covered by health insurance?”
“Your mother and I don’t have health insurance. Neither of us has had a serious ailment before now.”
“Oh my God, you don’t have health insurance?” Liz was truly astonished, and it occurred to her to pull over, but then what? Nothing would change, and they’d be late for physical therapy.
“Let me be clear,” Mr. Bennet said. “If Willie offered to pay all our bills this instant, it wouldn’t be incentive enough for you to endure his company.” Despite Liz’s growing panic, Mr. Bennet sounded practically nonchalant.
“Lydia and Kitty and Mary must not have health insurance, either, right?” Liz said. “I always assumed they were on yours.” Though, as she considered it, she realized that both Mary and Kitty were probably too old for this to be true. As she merged from Dana Avenue onto Interstate 71, Liz said, “Maybe you should take out a mortgage on the house.”
“My dear, the house is mortgaged.”
“I thought Pop-pop and Granny sold it to you for a dollar.”
“That was thirty years ago, and there are seven of us in this family. I’ve indulged your sisters and mother for far too long.”
“When did you get the mortgage?”
“Eight years? Ten?” Mr. Bennet invoked the number as neutrally as if he were trying to recall how much time had elapsed since he’d last visited Europe.
“Do you and Mom have an investment advisor?”
“I’m our investment advisor.”
“What does Mr. Meyer do?”
“Our taxes, and none too adeptly, but we’ve put up with his incompetence for so long that it seems disloyal to go elsewhere.”
“Then at least you’ve been paying taxes?”
“Through the nose.”
“How much is your mortgage payment each month, and how much do you have in savings?”
“You need not worry about that, Lizzy.”
“Yet Mom thinks I should bail out the family by, like, whoring myself to Willie? Just for the sake of argument, if I called him and said I’d changed my mind, then what? Would I say, ‘And by the way, do you mind transferring a hundred thousand dollars, or four hundred thousand, or however much it is, into my parents’ bank account?’?”
“I’m not sure your mother’s thought it through that clearly. It’s the general proximity to Willie’s money that appeals to her.”
“Is this a plan Mom and Aunt Margo hatched together?”
“Margo doesn’t know about our financial predicament, nor do any of your sisters, and you mustn’t mention it to them. I’m in no mood for histrionics. But, yes, Margo does like the idea of you and Willie. My protests fell on deaf ears.”
“So what will you do about the bills?”
“When you’re as old as I am, you know that situations have a way of sorting themselves out.”
“Wait, when does your Medicare kick in?”
“On my sixty-fifth birthday,” Mr. Bennet said. “It’s a shame I didn’t think to schedule my myocardial infarction for six months from now, isn’t it?”
Liz sighed. “I hate to even suggest this, but you could take out a second mortgage.”
“We have one.” Again, her father delivered the information matter-of-factly; when she looked across the front seat, he appeared less sheepish than she might have anticipated.
“Jesus, Dad,” she said.