Page 68 of State of Ruin

Her jaw drops. “What the fuck? How?”

“That’s amazing,” I say. “How did my sister get picked?”

“Like I said, it’s totally random,” Tracy explains. “We’ve definitely gotten an increase in donations in the run-up to Thanksgiving. From now through to the end of the year we usually get a really nice boost. But it seems like a big donation came through and it all got allocated to Hudson County. Your sister got… Huh.”

I pounce on that. “What’s wrong?” Was that huh, like It’s all a big error and you’re still hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt?

“It’s just funny,” she says. “I can see what percentage your sister’s debts make up of the entire bundle that was allocated, and it was exactly one percent. Isn’t that strange? Like, I’m looking at the percentage and it says one-point-zero-zero.”

I frown. “That is strange.”

“Anyways, don’t mind me. You ladies should go and celebrate! Although, if I might make one suggestion?”

“Please do,” I say, because it feels as though Tracy is the only grownup in this conversation. I’m a small, confused child.

“If you’re struggling to process this,” she says, “you can try calling your healthcare provider. Let’s see—you could call the Jersey City Medical Center and ask to speak to their credit department. They’ll be able to advise what balance they see on your account.”

“That’s a fantastic idea,” I say. I should have thought of that in the first place. Of course the hospital is the right place to start. I guess I’m just used to even the thought of its credit department making me feel sick with fear and dread.

After I have wished Tracy a very gushing and sincere, if still confused, goodbye, I hang up and blow out a huge breath.

Sylvie is staring at me, her hands white-knuckling the edge of the kitchen table. “Well?”

I set my cell down. “She was very helpful. She said it’s legit. She said all our debt has been paid in full as part of a donation that was made to ‘forgive’ Hudson County medical debt—that’s the term, apparently—and that it’s completely random and anonymous. But she said we should call the hospital’s billing team and check with them.”

She clamps a hand over her mouth. “Holy fucking shit,” she mumbles.

“I know.” We stare at each other for a moment. Her eyes are huge. “Want me to call the hospital?”

“Like, yesterday.”

I laugh, and she giggles too. I feel a little unhinged. Drunk, almost. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

This time, I come around to her side of the table and pull up a chair as close to hers as possible. Sensing an increase in the energy level, Jambon rouses himself from his usual place on Dad’s armchair and puts his big, cute head in my lap. While we’re waiting for someone to pick up, I set the phone to speaker and put it on the table so I can pull up Sylvie’s account details from my Notes app. Only then do I take her hand and grip it tight. We’re both practically hyperventilating by the time someone picks up.

Trying to keep my voice as steady as possible, I relay our patient number to Tyrone, our operator. “Could I check the balance of this account, please?”

“Hold for a moment,” Tyrone says. We make faces at each other while we wait, like What in the ever-loving fuck is happening right now? faces.

“I have your account here,” he says after the longest moment ever, and my stomach bottoms out. I feel like someone on death row who’s just been told they might have gotten a stay of execution. Then he says, “The balance on the account is zero. It was settled in full by the Unburdened charity on November sixteenth.”

November sixteenth was four days ago.

“Oh my God,” I whisper, as right next to me, Sylvie lets out a kind of wail and bows her head almost to the table, fisting her hands over her eyes. “Oh my God, oh my God. Shit. I can’t believe it.”

There’s a pause, and then Tyrone says, “Congratulations, ma’am. That’s really somethin’.”

“Yeah,” I manage to say. “This is unbelievable. We got the letter but we thought it was a scam, you know? So we called the charity and they told us to confirm. This is so insane.” I’m gabbling, but I don’t care. I release Sylvie’s hand and get her in a side hug. Her entire body is shaking like crazy.

“We’ve had a few of them come through this week,” Tyrone says. “You guys have had a Thanksgiving miracle, I guess.”

“Yeah. For sure.” I can barely speak. Tears are coursing down my cheeks. Thanksgiving miracle is the understatement of the century.

“Jeez. That is one big-ass bill they paid for you,” he says, and I explode with unhinged laughter.

“Right?”

“Sorry, it’s just… I spend a lot of my day talking to folks who are worried sick, you know? It’s nice to have a conversation like this.”