I found out a few weeks later that David paid it. Every dollar. He took it out of the line of credit on his house in Kirkland.
He also sent me something in the mail. A cashier’s check for five thousand dollars, and a promissory note, signed and notarized, agreeing to pay the remaining fifty-five thousand dollars he owed me at one thousand dollars a month.
There was no letter. Just the check and the note in a plain envelope.
On the memo line of the check, he’d written: 1 of 56.
Chapter Eleven: What Malcolm Did Next
I went home from the hospital the following Monday.
Joyce drove me. When we pulled up in front of my little green house in Ballard, there was a white van in the driveway with a logo on the side. Puget Sound Home Care.
A woman in blue scrubs was sitting on my porch swing.
