AFTER PARKING IN the P3 Garage at Christ Hospital, Liz and her father took the skywalk to Level A, whereupon Mr. Bennet asked the young woman at the information desk for the location of the administrative suite.
“The billing department is that way.” Liz pointed.
“We’re going to see Dick Lucas.”
“But we have an appointment with a financial counselor named Chad Thompson.”
Mr. Bennet’s expression was thoughtful. “Men named Chad make me uneasy.”
“Is Dr. Lucas expecting us?” He held, Liz knew, some sort of executive position at the hospital, though Liz wasn’t sure precisely what it was. She wondered if he was aware of Charlotte’s trip to Palo Alto to see Cousin Willie.
“I assure you Dick won’t turn us away,” Mr. Bennet said.
This turned out to be accurate. In the administrative suite, Mr. Bennet gave his name to the woman at the reception desk, and no more than a minute later, Dr. Lucas appeared in the seating area in a gray suit, a yellow tie dotted with a pattern of tiny blue hummingbirds, and a white coat. “Fred and Liz!” he said in a voice that implied he couldn’t imagine a more pleasurable surprise. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“If we might have a word in private.” Mr. Bennet nodded toward the receptionist.
In Dr. Lucas’s office, Liz and her father sat in chairs facing a massive cherry desk on which rested a gold nameplate that read RICHARD G. LUCAS, VICE PRESIDENT AND CHIEF CLINICAL OFFICER.
“Sally and I have gotten ourselves in a bit of a pickle,” Mr. Bennet said. “Apparently, my stay here earlier in the summer wasn’t all-expenses-paid.”
“Would that it had been,” Dr. Lucas said warmly.
“We’re having a liquidity issue, and Liz here is convinced that if we don’t pay up on time, a shady character will find us and break our kneecaps.”
Dr. Lucas chuckled. “We can’t have that, can we?”
Liz cleared her throat and said, “My dad doesn’t have health insurance.”
Dr. Lucas winced, but still somehow affably. “Tsk, tsk, Fred. I’m no more a fan of our president than you are, but when open enrollment starts, I’d urge you to sign up.”
Liz said, “I’m under the impression that sometimes hospitals have flexibility in terms of payment plans.” She’d anticipated marshaling her shaky, Internet-gleaned knowledge to bargain with Chad Thompson, a stranger, and she found it more rather than less uncomfortable to do so with a man who, in her youth, had prepared pancakes that she and Charlotte ate in their pajamas after sleepovers. Still, Liz tried to sound mature and professional as she added, “I know that the cost of procedures can vary from hospital to hospital, and also that lots of medical bills contain mistakes. I’m wondering—”
“Easy there, Liz,” Mr. Bennet interrupted.
“No, she’s quite right,” Dr. Lucas said. “Mistakes happen, and there’s nothing wrong with using a fine-tooth comb to go over the figures. Here’s what I recommend. We have a crackerjack team down in our billing department, and there’s a fellow by the name of Chad Thompson. I’ll call him now, tell him my good friends are on their way, and I’m certain we can figure out a payment plan that works for the Bennet family and for the hospital. How does that sound?”
Although there was some vindication in hearing Chad Thompson’s name, the vagueness of Dr. Lucas’s plan failed to entirely reassure Liz. She blurted out, “My parents are selling their house, so that should help with cash flow.”
Mr. Bennet leaned forward. “Entre nous,” he said to Dr. Lucas.
“Absolutely, Fred, absolutely. Life is complicated. I’m just relieved you’re sitting across from me now looking hale and hearty.” He glanced at Liz. “Your father gave us quite a scare, didn’t he?”
“And thank you for everything you did—everything everyone here did—to take care of him,” Liz said. “I hope it doesn’t seem like I’m not grateful.”
“She shows her gratitude by accusing the people who saved my life of malfeasance,” Mr. Bennet said to Dr. Lucas. “As you can imagine, her mother and I are very proud.”