“Exactly. She prayed for me to make partner.”
“Ha! Anyway, thanks for seeing me on such short notice. Are you sure you have the time?”
“Totally. My first appointment isn’t until ten thirty.” Mary motioned him out of the reception area. “Let’s go to the conference room.”
“Okay.” Simon fell into step beside her, followed by her father, The Tonys, and the pastry box, which gave Mary pause. Simon was a potential client, and she wouldn’t ordinarily have a client consultation with an audience, blood-related or not.
“Simon, did you want to talk alone?” she asked him, stopping in the hallway. “What we say is confidential, and it’s your call whether your dad or anybody else comes in with us. They can wait in—”
Feet interrupted, “No, I wanna be there, Mare. I know what he’s gonna tell you, we all do.”
Tony-From-Down-The-Block snorted. “Of course we’ll be there. Feet’s his father, and I taught him how to ride a bike.”
“I CHANGED HIS DIAPERS!”
Mary looked over, skeptically. “When, Pop?”
“THAT ONE TIME, I FORGET.” Her father held up the pastry box by its cotton string. “PLUS I GOT BREAKFAST.”
Pigeon Tony kept his own counsel, his dark gaze darting from Simon to Mary, and she suspected that he understood more than he let on, regardless of the language.
Simon smiled crookedly. “Mary, you didn’t think we were going to shake them, did you? It’s okay. They can come with us.”
“THIS WAY, I KNOW WHERE IT IS!” Her father lumbered off, down the hallway.
“Of course, we’re all going!” Feet said, at his heels. “We’re family. We’re all family!”
“Andiamo!” said Pigeon Tony.
Mary led them down the hallway and into the conference room, where Thomas Eakins’s rowing prints lined the warm white walls and fresh coffee had been set up on the credenza. The far side of the room was glass, showing an impressive view of the Philadelphia skyline thick with humidity. July was a bad-hair month in Philly, and Mary was already damp under her linen dress.
She closed the conference-room door, glancing at Simon, who perched unhappily on the edge of his chair. He’d always been one of the smartest and nicest kids in the neighborhood, affable enough to make friends even though he was one of the few who didn’t go to parochial school. He’d gone to Central High, and the Pensieras were Italian Jews, but the religious distinction made no difference as far as the neighborhood was concerned. The common denominator was homemade tomato sauce.
“Simon, would you like coffee?” Mary set down her purse and messenger bag while her father and The Tonys surged to the credenza.
“No, thanks. Let’s get started.” Simon sat down catty-corner to the head of the table.
“Agree.” Mary took the seat, slid her laptop from her bag, and powered it up while her father and The Tonys yakked away, pouring coffee and digging into the pastry box.
“MARE, YOU TWO START WITHOUT US. DON’T WAIT ON US.”
Mary pulled her laptop from her bag, fired it up, and opened a file, turning to Simon. “So, tell me what’s going on.”
“Okay.” Simon paused, collecting his thoughts. “Well, you remember, I’m in sales at OpenSpace, and we make office cubicles. We have different designs and price points, though we also customize. We did $9 million in sales last fiscal year and we have forty-five employees, including manufacturing and administrative, in Horsham.”
“How long have you worked for them, again?”
“Twelve years, almost since I graduated Temple, and—” Simon flushed, licking lips that had gone suddenly dry. “Well, I just got fired.”
“Oh, no,” Mary said, surprised. Simon was smart and hard-working, a success from the get-go. “When did this happen?”
“Two days ago, Tuesday. July 11.”
“Why?” Mary caught Feet’s stricken expression, and her father and the others had gone quiet.
“They said it was my performance. But I don’t think that’s the real reason.”
“What do you think?” Mary’s mind was already flipping through the possible illegal reasons, which weren’t many. Pennsylvania was a right-to-work state, which meant that an employee could be fired at will, for any or no reason, as long as it wasn’t discriminatory.
“Honestly, my performance is great. I’m one of the top reps. I’ve gotten great reviews and bonuses for years. Things started to go south after Rachel was diagnosed. The final straw for them was—” Simon hesitated, and Feet came over and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Son, the baby’s going to be fine. We’re all praying, and she’s got good doctors. Great doctors.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Simon returned his attention to Mary, her gaze newly agonized. “I didn’t let people know, but Rachel relapsed and she has to have a bone marrow transplant. That’s why she got moved to CHOP.”
“Oh no, I’m sorry to hear that.” Mary felt her chest tighten with emotion, but she didn’t want to open any floodgates, especially with Feet, her father, and the others. Now she understood why they’d been so upset. Simon was in dire straits, with Rachel so ill and now him out of a job.
“Obviously, I wish the chemo had worked, but I feel great about the BMT Team at CHOP. They specialize in ALL.” Simon caught himself. “Sorry about the lingo. BMT stands for Blood and Marrow Transplant Team and ALL is acute lymphoblastic leukemia, which is what she has.”
“I can’t imagine how hard this is to go through, for all of you.”
“We’re doing the best we can. My dad’s there all the time, so it helps when I have to work.” Simon managed a shaky smile. “It’s just that as a father, you feel so helpless. I mean, it sounds cliché, but it’s true. I know, I live it. You have hope, but no control. None at all. Well, you get it. You know, you see. She has to be okay.”
“She will be,” Feet said quietly, and Mary’s father, Pigeon Tony, and Tony-From-Down-The-Block walked over, their lined faces masks of sorrow and fear. They stood motionless behind him, having forgotten about the coffee and pastries.
“SIMON, WE’LL HELP ANY WAY WE CAN. WON’T WE, MARE?”
“Yes, we will,” Mary answered, meaning it. She patted Simon’s hand again.
Tony-From-Down-The-Block chimed in, “We’re going to get through this together.” He gestured at Pigeon Tony. “He’s gonna make some baked ziti for you, Simon. He’s an excellent cook, like, gourmet. All you gotta do is put it in the microwave.”
“Thanks, guys.” Simon turned around, then faced Mary. “Anyway, I think that’s the reason why they fired me.”
Mary blinked. “How so?”
“Well, when Rachel was first diagnosed, my boss, Todd, was really nice about it. I have decent benefits and they covered Rachel. I took out a second mortgage to cover what it doesn’t. The meds are astronomical.” Simon leaned over, urgent. “But OpenSpace is self-insured up to $250,000, which means that their insurance policy doesn’t reimburse them until their employee medical expenses reach that amount. They have to pay out of pocket until then.”