The School on Heart's Content Road Read Online Free PDF Page A

here like you might be eligible for fuel assistance and winterization next winter . . . oh, and I think maybe . . .” She is running a finger over thesmall chart. “Family counseling services. You could get that. The services coordinator can—”
    Erika interrupts. “I just want pain medicine. Just that.”
    The clerk goes on studying the charts on her desk, snapping her pen. Her tongue makes a soft deep-thinking sound against her teeth. She sighs. “There
was
a pretty good state program for prescriptions, but the legislature gutted it last term. The waiting list on that one was impossible anyway.” She sighs again. “I can see you aren’t eligible for MaineCare. The second house will be a problem with them too. And your husband makes a little too much. It’s iffy. You could try. It depends on what your expenses are, although they don’t give you much leeway for expenses anymore. Maybe if
he
moved out! Your husband.” She says this jokingly.
    Erika looks down at her hands. “It goes like this. We get his pay. We buy the medicine first. Usually after the medicine and bills, there’s just a little bit for groceries. We get the medicine
first
and pay the lights, and gas for the car, and everything like that . . . groceries last. We lost the phone. There’s just so much!” Her voice rises, childlike, not a shriek exactly, but a little thrilled thin edge to it. “It’s those doctors! And tests! When Jesse was first sick, I couldn’t believe how much they ask for those tests. Just the few times we went . . . it’ll take us forever to catch up! Then also Elizabeth, my husband’s oldest, she has trouble with her feet and legs: special shoes ’n’ stuff. Gas for Donnie to get to work is wicked. My mother-in-law’s youngest had some infected mosquito bites. Made her sick. That salve and antibiotic was wicked expensive. And this spring all the kids needed sneakers. Except Mickey. He just goes around like a bum. And then the roof leaked! It was only in one little spot, but even that was four hundred dollars to fix! Everything is just so much! Liability insurance is more this year. And my driver’s license had to be renewed last month, for the picture and everything . . . and then you know our property taxes; we’ve stayed right up with those . . . and then propane; we ran out of that but got some last week . . . and toilet paper and wax paper and a new can opener ’cause the other busted and we can’t open cans with anything else, and the—”
    The clerk has put up her hand. “I’m sorry! The state guidelines determine most of this, even for the towns. At town meetin’, we only vote on the total recommended amount for the year. But the guidelines for eligibility are set. It’s not up to me. I hear you, Erika, but it’s not up to me. I’m sorry.”
    She has used Erika’s name. The warm sound of her name. This woman’s voice, the family resemblance of her mouth and eyes to so many others in town. The sweet humid summer air that has oozed in the open windows, mixed with the imposing woody old smell of the building, these things that are permanent and emollient and too beautiful. For the first time since Jesse’s cancer, Erika breaks down in front of someone. So unpretty. Her crying is like snorting.
    The clerk shoots up out of her own seat and gets Erika a box of tissues, one thing she, as a human being, can do for another human being, a simple gesture, unencumbered, unprohibited, not too costly.
    Not far across town (yes, in the town of Egypt), at the St. Onge Settlement, six-and-a-half-year-old Jane Meserve speaks again.
    Somebody pleeeze help! You will not believe this horridable place!
    Britta at home.
    Her name is Britta Gammon. Her head and face are small. Her lips press together with self-conscious indignation against the toothless, rootless mouth, the dentures never filling