Liz said, “I’m under the impression that sometimes hospitals have flexibility in terms of payment plans.” She’d anticipated marshaling her shaky, Internet-gleaned knowledge to bargain with Chad Thompson, a stranger, and she found it more rather than less uncomfortable to do so with a man who, in her youth, had prepared pancakes that she and Charlotte ate in their pajamas after sleepovers. Still, Liz tried to sound mature and professional as she added, “I know that the cost of procedures can vary from hospital to hospital, and also that lots of medical bills contain mistakes. I’m wondering—”
“Easy there, Liz,” Mr. Bennet interrupted.
“No, she’s quite right,” Dr. Lucas said. “Mistakes happen, and there’s nothing wrong with using a fine-tooth comb to go over the figures. Here’s what I recommend. We have a crackerjack team down in our billing department, and there’s a fellow by the name of Chad Thompson. I’ll call him now, tell him my good friends are on their way, and I’m certain we can figure out a payment plan that works for the Bennet family and for the hospital. How does that sound?”
Although there was some vindication in hearing Chad Thompson’s name, the vagueness of Dr. Lucas’s plan failed to entirely reassure Liz. She blurted out, “My parents are selling their house, so that should help with cash flow.”
Mr. Bennet leaned forward. “Entre nous,” he said to Dr. Lucas.
“Absolutely, Fred, absolutely. Life is complicated. I’m just relieved you’re sitting across from me now looking hale and hearty.” He glanced at Liz. “Your father gave us quite a scare, didn’t he?”
“And thank you for everything you did—everything everyone here did—to take care of him,” Liz said. “I hope it doesn’t seem like I’m not grateful.”
“She shows her gratitude by accusing the people who saved my life of malfeasance,” Mr. Bennet said to Dr. Lucas. “As you can imagine, her mother and I are very proud.”
LIZ WOULD HAVE estimated that there were twenty boxes in Jane’s former bedroom; when she counted, there were sixty-one. She looked at the dates of the packing receipts for the boxes she’d already opened, and the pineapple throw pillow was from 2008.
Online, she had found a so-called eBay valet, a woman who lived ten miles away in Terrace Park and would resell these items and return to Liz 70 percent of their sale price. Kathy de Bourgh was a believer that it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission—in Revolutions and Rebellions, she had described learning this lesson during the 1970 Women’s Strike for Equality—and it was in a de Bourghian spirit that, after taking inventory of all of the boxes’ contents, Liz loaded up her father’s Cadillac and made two trips to the valet’s house. Fortuitously, Liz didn’t encounter anyone while carrying boxes from the third floor to the driveway. One of the virtues of the Tudor was the privacy offered by its capacious dimensions, and though Liz suspected that this fact reflected poorly on her, she was at times most able to enjoy her family members when she could sense their presence nearby without actually interacting with them.
At the conclusion of her second round trip to Terrace Park, Liz called the number for a general contractor, whose receptionist scheduled a water-stain evaluation for two days hence. After the call, Liz felt a sense of achievement that she realized wasn’t commensurate with the day’s modest progress. The meetings with Dr. Lucas and Chad Thompson, the drop-offs to the valet, and the appointment with the contractor were steps in the right direction; but to see them as true resolution could only be folly.
“I’VE BEEN OFFERED a position as a private yoga instructor by some friends in upstate New York,” Jane said at dinner. “It’s been wonderful being home, but I’m moving there next week.”
“Bravo,” Mr. Bennet said, just as Mrs. Bennet, with great distress, asked, “But what about my luncheon? And for God’s sake, Jane, what about Chip? He’ll be devastated.”
“As a matter of fact,” Jane said, “Chip is in Los Angeles now, shooting an Eligible reunion.”
A silence followed, then several family members spoke at once.
“When did this happen?” said Mrs. Bennet.
“Is he hanging out in hot tubs with other girls?” said Kitty.
“Why would he sign on for that all over again?” said Mary.
“Hmm,” said Lydia. “Maybe so he can hang out in hot tubs with other girls?”
“How long will he be gone?” Mrs. Bennet asked Jane. “You’ll have to get back here by the time he returns.”
Jane’s eyes met Liz’s, and Liz was tempted to announce herself that Jane and Chip had broken up. What did postponing the news achieve?
“I don’t know if Chip is coming back,” Jane said.
“But the hospital must be counting on him,” Mrs. Bennet said.
“It’s obvious he’s always been torn between Hollywood and medicine,” Liz said.
Mrs. Bennet looked suspiciously at Jane. “Are the friends you’re staying with those ladies?” Those ladies was how Mrs. Bennet had referred to Amanda and Prisha ever since Jane had told her mother of their marriage years earlier. Having met Amanda during Jane’s undergraduate years, Mrs. Bennet had said, “I did always think she had very manly posture.”
“Yes,” Jane said. “And I’m really looking forward to working with them.”