I didn’t have time to worry about any of this, but how I could I possibly think straight knowing that Mercedes could be in trouble? I picked up the phone and called Larry.
“Nicos, buy-one-get-one beef tacos.”
“How are you, Larry?”
“Good, good. Everything work out okay?”
“Yes, thank you. I wanted you to go a bit deeper. Get everything.”
“You got it,” he said.
Two hours later, Larry sent an email containing a dossier filled with old addresses, vital documents, and personal information. It included medical and school records. I went over her father’s charts.
He was progressing well, but he’d been on the chemo for so long that it was starting to cause health issues. The doctors were well aware that there could be damage to his organs, but instead of doing something about it, they just pumped more chemo into his bloodstream.
The doctors weren’t making a mistake. They were just being efficient. They had other patients to see and the cost of his care to worry about. Pumping him with chemo was easy and effective. All they had to do was write a script and send him down the hall.
Aside from treatment for his sleep apnea, there were no other signs of care. It was depressing. Mercedes told me not to pay. She’d probably get mad at me for doing it. But I couldn’t let her watch her father die, even if she got so mad she never wanted to see me again.
They made payments to the hospital and the insurance company regularly. As I expected, it was more than they would ever be able to pay, which was probably what pushed Mercedes to take the job with Tony.
These bills were the only thing that Mercedes and her mother could think of. It was why her mother worked three jobs and why Mercedes signed up for an escort service. She was willing to give anything, even her dignity to save those bills. All I had to do was go to my bank’s website and transfer the funds. It was that simple. Not helping her family when it was this easy wracked me with guilt.
I couldn’t leave it at that, and I knew it, but I couldn’t keep delving into her life. I finished my summaries, kept my eye off the phone, and moved on to a simple lunch. Mercedes was always a paycheck away from death. Anything could happen, and there was nothing I could do to protect her, not fully.
I opened the email Larry sent me and pulled up her academic records. She graduated with a
master’s in business two years prior, and she hadn’t had a decent job since. Her employment history was abysmal. Most of her work history was when she was in her early 20s. They were basic jobs like clerk and cashier. Her first job was as a salad artist at a restaurant called Lettuce and Pickles. She started when she was 15 and stayed for more than a year.
I shook my head. I was starting to miss my normal life, before all the money. I liked that world better than this. It made me feel nice knowing that she was a bridge back to normalcy.
She started at the university when she was 18, right on time, and managed to graduate with a steady GPA, a nearly impossible feat at her school. She stopped working during her after-graduate program, and she hadn’t had a stable job since.
I couldn’t imagine her being trapped in that house, waiting for somebody to call and give her a job. She wasn’t lazy or making excuses. She simply didn’t have very many options for work. The city’s economy never fully recovered, and people were still scrambling to find anything they could. Mercedes got lost in the cracks.
A new tax form had been filed. I clicked on the pink sheet. It was for new employees, and it was dated from two days ago. I couldn’t believe it. She didn’t tell me that she got a job. Would that cut into our time together? What if she stopped seeing me altogether?
I researched her position. It was at Hands of Love, which sounded like a rub and tug massage parlor. But it was actually a charity.
I thought about calling her to say congratulations, but I hesitated. If she’d wanted me to know about her job, she would have told me. Besides, I’d have to explain to her how I found out, and I couldn’t tell her the truth. I decided to wait to see if she told me herself.
Late that afternoon, I was certain that I had lost my mind. I was writing incoherent financial summaries and trying not to go back into Mercedes’ file. I stayed away from most of it, only pulling out the most relevant information; not that it mattered. I was committing one felony and about to commit another.
I reset the password on Mercedes’ financial aid account and entered it myself, a federal crime. Then I downloaded her loan documents. There were hundreds of pages of tiny legal script, binding her to years of impossible payments. I balked when I saw the numbers. I had no idea that they charged so much for tuition.
I wasn’t going to pay her loans off, not automatically. I didn’t want to stress her out even more. I’d be lucky if she stayed with me after I paid off her father’s doctor bills, but I had to do something.
That was an eventuality, even with decent pay. She wouldn’t have been able to pay for her school loans and pay her bills. She certainly couldn’t do it if she ended up having to take care of her mother. They wouldn’t make it at all if she had to take on the role of breadwinner.
Their house would crumble, her mother would deteriorate, and Mercedes would start to fade away just like her family. The extra money she’d save would give her enough to live independently and gain some freedom.
When I ultimately made the decision to pay her student loans, it was because I knew that Mercedes might never have a chance to leave her parents’ house if I didn’t. I wanted to get her out of that world where everything was waiting to die, and put her in a place where she could have hope.
When I got off work, the second I hopped in the limo, I called Mercedes.
She answered. “Hello?” The TV blared in the background.
“Hey,” I said.