“Her father owned a hardware store.”
“When she developed rheumatoid arthritis, she spent years fighting for basic medication coverage.”
“Not because we lacked money.”
“We had money by then.”
“Because the system was fragmented.”
“One insurer.”
“One pharmacy.”
“One manufacturer.”
“Everyone saying someone else was responsible.”
Ethan listened.
“She died?”
“Seven years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
Elena looked at receipt.
“After she died, I started buying healthcare companies.”
“That sounds healthy.”
She laughed.
“It was not entirely healthy.”
“Still isn’t, probably.”
“Definitely not.”
A pause.
Then Ethan asked:
“Why wheelchair?”
Elena looked at him.
He immediately added:
“You don't have to answer.”
That mattered.
“A car accident.”
“How long ago?”
“Eleven months.”
“Spinal?”
“Pelvic fracture.”
“Two surgeries.”
“Nerve damage.”
“I can stand.”
“Walk some.”
“Not far without pain yet.”
Ethan nodded.
No inspirational speech.
No “you’re so strong.”
No advice.
Just:
“That sounds miserable.”
Elena laughed.
“It was.”
“Still is sometimes.”
“Probably.”
She looked toward his daughter.
“Your truck is terrible.”
Ethan stared.
“What?”
“We’re sharing personal truths.”
“That truck is excellent.”
“It appears to have survived several wars.”
“It has character.”
“It has rust.”
“Same thing.”
Lucy raised her hand.
“I vote with Elena.”
“Betrayal.”
The executive approached.
“Ms. Sterling.”
Elena looked over.
“Car’s ready.”
She nodded.
Then turned toward Ethan.
“I’m going to repay you.”
“No.”
“Not with money.”
He looked suspicious.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“That sounds worse.”
She smiled.
“Probably.”
Then she rolled toward the sedan.
Lucy called:
“Bye, pharmacy lady!”
Elena turned.
“Bye, truck critic.”
Lucy gasped.
“I liked you!”
“You agreed the truck was terrible.”
“That’s different.”
Ethan laughed.
Elena got into the accessible sedan with help from her driver.
Before the door closed, she looked at Ethan.
He lifted one hand.
She did same.
Then the car pulled away.
Ethan watched until it disappeared around the corner.
Lucy climbed into the pickup.
“Dad.”
“What?”
“She likes you.”
He opened his door.
“No.”
“She does.”
“She owns a hundred pharmacies.”