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emergency food stamps and Medicaid.”
    I stared blankly at her.
    “Soonest available appointment.”
    “Yep!” She smiled brightly, utterly convinced that she’d offered me a real, satisfactory solution, that dangling emergency relief in front of me would be enough to keep me from completely losing it in the middle of her office.
    I stood up, shoving the scream building up in me down as far as I could. I couldn’t fuck this up any further, and Lord knew I’d already come close. Mama needed this. She desperately needed this help. I needed this to help her.
    “You made that promise to me before, you know.”
    Annemarie looked confused. Of course she did. She’d said herself that her caseload was big. What was one hopeless, desperate face in a sea of hundreds of them?
    “Almost four months ago, in fact. This has been the soonest I could get back in. She’ll be dead in another four months at this rate. But thanks. Like you said, it’s just a setback. Not the end of the world.” I shook my head and turned to go. “Except, yeah, actually. It is.”
    I left before I gave in to the urge to start throwing things.
    I was in a foul mood by the time I made it back to the apartment. Bri and Jackson were already gone, to work most likely, which was just as well. I wasn’t in the mood to be any semblance of social. I wasn’t in the mood to look at Jackson and worry if he was getting enough to eat or feel that conflicting whisper of resentment that his biggest stress in life was how to get an underage Bri drunk their next night out. I hated when those thoughts made themselves known. I hated knowing I was capable of being that person.
    I hated the reminder that I was.

Chapter Six
    “Ms. Young, we need to talk.”
    The silver-haired doctor approached me with a determined, grim air and I felt my hand tighten on the foam cup I was holding. I wanted to tell him no. I wanted to insist there was no way we could possibly speak because Mama was waiting for me in the examination room. Waiting for me and this water, and I couldn’t possibly stop to chat.
    We need to talk.
Did anything good ever, ever come from those words?
    Dr. Shallaby was a nice enough man and a competent doctor. I normally had only good things to say about him. He’d taken Mama on with no insurance, only my word that we would pay the bills that racked up. Now, however, I found myself mentally ticking off every fault I could find in him. His hands looked dry. His eyes were too close together and his nose was kinda hooked at the end. He sweat a lot and always smelled faintly of chemicals. Like a walking hospital.
    I shook my head and forced a tight-lipped smile on my face. My hands were trembling. I think he saw it. I couldn’t answer him, could not force anything past the egg that was lodged in my throat. Something on my face must have expressed my consent, however, because he continued.
    “Your mother has lost another six pounds since her last appointment with me.”
    Voice still lost, I nodded. I knew that. Well, not the exact number, but I knew she’d lost more weight.
    A nurse came bustling down the hall, and Dr. Shallaby moved us closer to the wall, out of her way, with a dry hand on my elbow. I cringed away from him before I could stop myself. If he noticed, he pretended not to. Instead he watched the nurse until she rounded a corner and disappeared from view. My hands shook harder, threatening to dump the water onto the floor. He wasn’t leering. He was stalling. Stalling because whatever was gonna come out of his mouth next would suck.
    After a minute, he sighed and looked back at me.
    “I’m going to have to recommend that she be admitted. We need to get some weight on her. At the very least, we have to ensure she doesn’t lose any more. Otherwise she will not be okay for her next round.”
    I blinked once at his words, failing to comprehend. I knew what they meant individually, recognized each one, but put together like that didn’t make any