He looked straight at her.
"Moved by Mrs. Rosenthal. Passed five to four."
"Health benefits at this district begin at thirty hours."
The room didn't breathe.
"On December first, Stan Faulkner lost his health insurance," Mr. Lombardi said. "He was four months into his c*ncer treatment."
"His first bill after that was eleven thousand, four hundred dollars."
A sound came out of me.
It wasn't a word.
My aunt had told me the bills were a mess.
My father had told me the insurance paperwork was a mess.
He had winked, and told me not to worry, and gone back to the hallway with his mop.
"I voted no," Mr. Lombardi said. "I lost. And I did not fight hard enough. That is mine to carry."
He took one more breath.
"But Stan Faulkner did not skip a Friday. He left an envelope on December sixth. On December thirteenth. On the twentieth. He left one the week he went into the hospital for the last time."
