A Year on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [98]
There were three birthday cards, which made her smile and went a long way toward soothing the tension of the previous confrontation. She felt rather foolish, in fact, and thought she probably should try again to apologize to Ida Mae. And then she opened the statement from her health insurance company, which was routine this time of year, and she forgot about Ida Mae entirely. Because there was nothing routine about this statement at all.
She dialed her insurance agent in Maryland.
“You can’t be serious,” she said, after her agent had patiently explained to her—twice, in fact—that there had been no mistake. “You can’t just suddenly double my premium for no reason.”
Computer keys clacked in the background. “I’m showing here you have a birthday coming up.”
“So? Everyone has birthdays. That’s a good thing, right?”
“Well, you’re moving into a new age bracket. The rates are different.”
“I’ve been a customer of yours for almost thirty years!”
“And you did have significant claims last year.”
“That wasn’t me, that was my husband.”
“I understand. But you were on the same policy.”
She took a breath, lowered her voice, and clutched the phone tightly. “Listen, Reggie, you’ve got to do something. I can’t afford this. I’m a widow, I don’t have a job, I haven’t budgeted for this. There’s got to be something . . .”
He said sympathetically, “This is the most economical plan we carry. I wish I could help, but I really don’t know what to say. A woman your age can’t afford to be without health insurance. Would it help if we broke down the payments into monthly installments?”
She told him she would have to think about that and let him know, thanked him for his time, and hung up, feeling shell-shocked. And then she picked up the telephone again.
She didn’t know why her fingers dialed Kevin’s office number. Perhaps she was simply conditioned, after all those years of marriage, to turn to a man when things went wrong. And her son was the only man she had left.
The thought humiliated her, and she almost hung up. But then it was too late. “Kevin, hi!” she exclaimed brightly. “It’s Mom. How are you?”
He was fine, working hard, had just gotten a big case, was glad to hear from her, and how were things going with the house?
“Oh, great,” she assured him, and hoped her voice was convincing. “I love it here. You should see the colors of the mountains. It’s like something out of a painting. Of course, things are a lot more expensive than we thought they would be . . .”
“They always are.” He sounded preoccupied, and she thought she heard him murmur something to someone while his hand covered the phone. “Listen, Mom, is there something in particular you called about? Because I’ve got a meeting in a few minutes, and—”
“I don’t mean to keep you,” she apologized quickly. “Gosh, I guess I’d forgotten how quickly things move in the outside world.” She laughed, a little falsely, and then said, “Thank you for the birthday card, darling, it was so sweet of you. I wish you could be here.”
“Me, too, Mom, I really do. Listen, I’m going to have to—”
“Actually, I just wanted to ask you . . .” Her heart started pounding as she looked at the numbers on the paper. “Well, it’s about this health insurance premium I just got in the mail. It’s twice as much as the last one. And I could barely afford that! Are they allowed to do that? Just double your payments like that without any warning?” She hoped her voice didn’t sound too stressed, but she couldn’t help it. She was stressed.
“I guess they’re allowed to do whatever they want, Mom. Did you talk to your agent?”
“He said he couldn’t do anything. Do you think I could get a cheaper policy?”
“Probably not. Listen, you’re about to turn sixty, right? Premiums go up at that age. But the good news is you only have five years until you’re eligible for Medicare.”
Medicare. She smiled weakly. “Well, that is good news. All I have to do is hold on for five more years.”
He hesitated.