I looked at the box.
My hands would not stay still.
“And the necklace?”
“Your mother gave me a short statement,” Ray said. “She said, ‘Ask Ashley who handed it to me.’ Then she hung up.”
For a while neither of us spoke.
“I need you to hear the last thing,” Ray said, more gently.
“Emily’s hosp*tal bill was two hundred twelve thousand dollars. She had no insurance. The divorce ended her coverage under your company plan.”
“On November nineteenth, three days after she delivered, that whole balance was written off. Charity care. Approved by the Tallow Memorial Foundation.”
“Who runs the foundation?” I asked.
“Frank Rourke.”
“Why would anybody forgive two hundred twelve thousand dollars for a woman who couldn’t pay a cent?”
“Maybe somebody was kind,” I said.
Ray shook his head slowly.
“Nobody’s kind for two hundred twelve thousand dollars without getting a receipt.”
