“Any luck, Larry?” Leslie said over the phone, her fingers clenched around the device in hope and anticipation.
"I'm so sorry, Leslie," a voice rang out through the phone. "The gallery owner complained that your art was too avant-garde and not suitable for the theme of her art show, so she wouldn't bother showcasing any of them."
"Really, not even one?" she pressed on, clinging to the last string of hope she had left.
"Not even one. I'm so sorry. Look, I gotta go now. They need me back here."
She closed her eyes in disappointment and whispered, "It's okay. Thanks, Larry. Talk to you soon." She hung up shortly afterwards and sighed heavily, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. This was the fourth time her art was rejected from being showcased in an art show. Disappointment had become a daily phenomenon for her ever since she received devastating news about her father's cancer three months ago. She stood up with her shoulders still slumped and smoothed out the non-existent crease from her pale blue gown, then walked briskly to the doctor's office where he was waiting for her.
"Good day to you, Miss Harrison."
"Hello, doctor. How is my dad's treatment going?"
"Oh, I should be asking you the same, Miss Harrison," the doctor said in a gentle yet firm voice. "You haven't been forthcoming with his bills, and this hospital runs on bills. We can't go further with his treatment without payment."
The tears she fought so hard to keep under control filled her eyes to the brim. "I'm trying, doctor. It's... it's hard, you know. I'm all he has and he's all I have. I don't have any relatives I can ask for the money, so please bear with me for a little while."
The doctor's face softened, and he said kindly, "I know, Miss Harrison, and I commend you for showing up for your dad like this. But this is a message directly from the hospital board. They already found out that I proceeded to treat your father on multiple occasions without proper payment being made, and they threatened to have me arrested for breaking the code of conduct of the hospital. My hands are tied here," he said and sighed sadly.
"It's okay, doctor. I understand you're just doing your duty," she said and wiped the tears from her eyes, sniffling softly. "I'll try my best to raise the money for his next treatment. Thank you so much for your kindness and for bending the rules of the hospital for my dad."
The doctor smiled fondly and said, "I mean, rules are meant to be broken, are they not?"
"Yes," she responded with a sad smile. "Yes, they are. I'll take your leave now." She rose and said goodbye before leaving his office.
---
Gregory Harrison's ward was located in ward 34A at the northwest side of the hospital. It was one of the top wards in the hospital, booked and dedicated to catering to the needs of the elites of New York. Leslie had spent almost all her life savings to secure him a spot here. Leslie walked briskly to her dad's ward, holding a plastic bag containing his favourite chicken soup from his favourite diner downtown. She reached the ward and stopped to look at her dad through the small oval glass of the door. The man that had been a strong pillar of support for her all her life was now a shadow of his former self, with sunken eyes and an even more sunken face. He lay there asleep and tired at the same time.
She entered inside quietly so as not to disturb him and placed the plastic bag on the table, switched on the humidifier, and reduced the temperature of the AC.
"Leslie, my girl," a weak voice sounded across the room.
"Dad," Leslie cried out softly and rushed in for a hug but stopped midway, fearing that she might squash him.
"What's wrong? Don't want to give your old guy a hug?" he asked quizzically.
"It's not that, Dad. I'm afraid I might crush you," she said softly, her eyes filled with love for the man.
"Oh, c'mon. A little huggy hug never hurt anyone. Now come over here before I come to you," he said in an amused tone.
"Fine," she said and rolled her eyes playfully at him while hugging him like her life depended on it.
He hugged her back with the same intensity and said in a grumpy voice, "We haven't seen each other much this week."
"I know, Dad, but it's you who is to be blamed. You're always sleeping anytime I come over," she said and pouted playfully.
"Ahh, that's right. You know what? I think we should blame the doctor for injecting me with so many sleeping pills. I'm sleepy 95% of the time now," he said, raising his voice in exasperation.
"Yes, yes, Dad. It's not your fault. Let's blame it on the doctor," she said with a genuine smile playing at her lips for the first time that day. She was always happy whenever she was with her dad despite the circumstances.
Her dad noticed and said brightly, "There's my happy girl. Always remain happy and not gloomy, okay? Dad's gonna be alright."
The pain, disappointment, and frustration she'd been holding back resurfaced, and she clung to her dad's emaciated body and sobbed loudly for the first time in months. "How can everything be okay, Dad? Just how?" she sobbed.
"Shh, shh, shh, it's okay, my dear. Let it all out," he said in his most gentle voice.
She sniffled loudly and narrated all the bad luck and frustrations she'd been encountering recently.
"It's going to be fine, my dear. Just calm down," he soothed.
She finally calmed down a little and continued, "The deadline for the treatment is in five days, Dad. I can't raise such an amount in so little time, and this treatment is essential for you so that we can take the next step towards your surgery. What can I do, Dad?" she yelled, feeling disgusted with herself for not being able to provide for her dad in his time of need.
A feminine voice tinged with a touch of smug satisfaction rang out, "I believe I can be of assistance.”
