Andy nodded. 'I trailed them to a cancer clinic, talked to Sue. She doesn't have insurance, so she maxed out her credit cards, owes a hundred grand. The clinic didn't want to give the boy his chemo treatment because she couldn't pay. She begged.'
Russell rubbed his temples as if he had a headache.
'I'll wire five hundred thousand to your trust account. Take her a cashier's check.' He paused. 'No, I'll wire a million. And I'll make a call. Send her over to the children's cancer ward at M.D. Anderson. They'll be expecting her. Her son will have the best care available. For free.'
'Have you been there?'
'Yes, Andy, I've been there. And so has my son.'
Russell got up and walked out without another word. Andy could swear he had tears in his eyes.
The next morning, Andy flew back to Houston. He didn't drink a beer or flirt with the flight attendant. Instead, he thought of Sue and Ricky Todd and the cashier's check he had in his pocket.
Would the money save the boy's life?
He drove straight to Sue Todd's house. The Honda was in the driveway. He was thinking exactly what he would say to her when the front door opened and she appeared. She walked to the mailbox at the curb and pulled out a stack of thick envelopes. Credit card statements, no doubt. She sat on a bench on the front porch and opened the envelopes; with each one she seemed to become smaller. After the final envelope, she put her face in her hands. Andy got out of the car and walked up to her.
'Sue.'
She wiped her face.
'We met yesterday, at the clinic. May I sit?'
She nodded. Andy sat next to her.
'I'm Andy Prescott. I'm a lawyer.'
'I can't pay.'
'I'm not here to collect your debts, Sue. I'm here to pay them off.'
He pulled the envelope out of his pocket and removed the cashier's check for $1 million payable to Sue Todd. His hand was trembling when he handed it to her. She wiped her face again and stared at the check.
'What's this?'
'A cashier's check.'
'A million dollars? What's it for?'
'For you. And Ricky.'
'Why?'
'To make amends.'
'For what?'
'The past.'
'Who's it from?'
'I can't reveal that, Sue. But my client has made arrangements for Ricky to be treated at M.D. Anderson.'
Andy handed her his business card with a doctor's name and number written on the back.
'They're expecting you. His care will be free.'
'Can he go today?'
'Yes. But deposit the check first.'
She turned the check over, as if to make sure it was real.
'This isn't a joke?'
'No, Sue, it's not a joke.'
Tears rolled down her face, but she smiled and suddenly looked younger. He stood, and she stood.
'Thank you, Andy. And thank your client.'
'And Sue… move away from here.'
She hugged him and buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed until his shirt was wet. When Andy walked away, he was crying, too.
FOURTEEN
Flying first class to Chicago two days later, Andy Prescott hoped the search for the second woman on Russell Reeves' list would involve only eating a thick steak at Morton's that Friday night, finding a rich woman with healthy kids on Saturday, and then catching a Chicago Bears game on Sunday.
He rented a Lexus, stayed at the Ritz, ate that steak, and found Amanda Pearce the next morning. She was thirty-seven and appeared healthy when she walked out of her house to get the morning paper. He took photos. She lived in a nice suburban neighborhood; a late-model Buick sat in the driveway. They weren't rich, but they weren't poor. A few minutes later, a middle-aged man came out the front door followed by a cute teenage girl in a cheerleader uniform; they both appeared healthy. Andy took more photos. The dossier said Amanda also had a fourteen-year-old boy.
Andy was feeling good about the Pearce family… until the garage door opened. A van backed out and stopped in the driveway. It wasn't a family minivan or a cargo van or a tricked-out travel van. It was a specially-equipped van. Amanda got out and walked back inside the garage. When she returned, she was pushing a boy in a wheelchair.
Damn.
The van had a wheelchair lift. Amanda got the boy and the chair into the van, then backed out and drove off. Andy followed them a few blocks to a junior high school football stadium. Amanda parked the van in a handicapped space. Andy trailed them into the stadium. Amanda stationed the boy and wheelchair at the low chain link fence that surrounded the field. Andy leaned on the fence a few feet away and watched the game. After a few minutes, he smiled at Amanda and the boy.
'Good game,' he said.
'Our daughter's a cheerleader.' She pointed to the far sideline. 'The one on the right. Becky. And this is our son, Carl.'
'Hi, Carl.'
The boy suffered tremors. He tried to say 'hello,' but he couldn't get the whole word out. Amanda leaned toward Andy.
'CP. Cerebral palsy. He can't walk on his own anymore. Bilateral spastic paraparesis.' She was quiet for a moment then said, 'I look at all those strong healthy boys running out there on the field, and I can't help but wonder, Why Carl?'
Andy returned to Austin the next morning and met with Russell Reeves that afternoon. Russell read the dossier and studied the photos of Amanda Pearce and her son. Andy sat quietly until his client spoke.
'Why's he in a wheelchair?'
'Cerebral palsy. Bilateral spastic parapa… parapara…'
'Paraparesis. Partial paralysis.'
Russell Reeves rested his elbows on the card table and sat with his head in his hands for the longest time. Andy said nothing, but his client hadn't seemed surprised to learn that Amanda Pearce also had a sick child.
'They're a normal middle-class family,' Andy said. 'They've got health insurance, but his care is still a big financial burden. When I asked Amanda about that, she just smiled and said, 'He's worth it.' '
'A mother's love.'
The next morning, Andy flew back to Chicago and drove to Amanda Pearce's house. He knocked on the front door and handed her a cashier's check for $1 million and sent Carl to Children's Memorial Hospital for treatment, all expenses paid. She cried.
The day after that, Andy flew first class to New Orleans. He prayed he wouldn't find another sick child. He didn't.
He found something worse.
