by Hart Tillett
“We have a problem, Mr. Morrisett,” the finance officer said to him. “It has to do with your insurance,” she continued. “The company has denied your claim!”
“That’s impossible!” It was almost a shout, as Jim felt his gut tighten and his heart pound palpably. Before the start of his treatment, the insurance coverage had been confirmed by this very office, so while he felt there was a chance there was some mistake, he also feared the worst. “Wha…what happened?” he finally was able to say.
“You’ll need to call the company, sir!” she hesitated, then added: “The clinic has decided to terminate your treatment until this matter is resolved. I’m sorry, Mr. Morrisett.” She handed him an envelope. “Your bill,” she said without emotion. Strictly business.
He pocketed the bill and left. Shirley was not at her desk when he passed reception. Seemed they all knew of his loss. When he reached his car, he sat motionless for several minutes before opening the envelope.
$117,000.00. Almost a quarter million in Belize dollars.
Where would he get that kind of money? He owned no real estate, and his savings amounted to less than a third of the bill. The 20-foot Jeanneau outboard he owned was only insured for $9.500.00. He was five years from retirement and knew that no bank would lend him that kind of money with no security and a short remaining work life.
When he bought the medical policy, the agent had assured him that he was covered for this very kind of eventuality. The word he used was “catastrophe,” and this was catastrophic by any measure. If the insurance had indeed declined to pay, he was ruined.
Jim dropped the letter on the seat, leaned forward on the steering wheel, and sobbed loudly.
The insurance company confirmed that there was no cover. Their explanation used technical language he had not heard before; words like “lines,” “excess of loss,” “ceding company,” “retentions,” and on and on. The gist of it was that several companies were involved, and if one was unable to pay, none of the others would. It had happened only a month before to one of the companies located in Germany. The company in Belize that issued him the policy was only liable for BZ$25,000!
His only recourse was legal action, but that would take years and there were no guarantees.
Eileen broke down completely when she heard the news.
“Our boys!” she moaned weakly. “What’s going to happen to them?” she asked.
“It’s the end of the road, seems like,” he said. “For all of us!”
Two agonizing days went by, followed by restless nights. They remembered the helpful Father Nicholas, but couldn’t bring themselves to talk about a play they regarded as pure fancy. Not real life stuff. Their problem was as real as it got. And the Christmas carols playing on the radio lost the magic they once had. Eileen thought of Houston and worried about how he would cope with this tragedy. It was time to go back home, but the joyful return she was anticipating had just dissipated. And this was not something about which she could just call Jesse and tell him.
She did her best not to let Jim see her sorrow, but inside, her world had crumbled. She often thought of the scene from the play when Otto’s children stood transfixed at the sight of their saddened parents. This was their season of suffering.
“Cheer up, big boy,” she said on day three of their misery. “Let’s go to the mall and just mingle with the world for a while. What d’you say, huh?”
And so they did.
For the first time in his life, Jim stopped at the Salvation Army kettle stand where two ladies smiled at them over their hanging kettle and tinkling bell. He gave them a large bill. It was the catharsis they sought, a new start to their changed circumstances.
“Thank you, Mister,” they both said. “And a Merry Christmas and God’s blessing on you both!”
“Merry Christmas to you too,” replied Eileen.
On every floor they went in the mall there was a Santa Claus. Eileen tugged at Jim’s hand, indicating a rather florid one near the men’s department. There were no kids about.
“Hello, Santa,” she greeted him brightly. “Got a question for you. We’re from Belize and we have a young son there.” She nudged Jim discreetly. “Think you’ll get his Christmas gift on time?”
“Ah, Belize,” he said, “I was there two summers ago.” He waved his arms reminiscently. “Nice country but much too hot for Mrs. Claus. Ho! Ho! Ho! What’s your boy’s name?” he asked, and his tone told them he had caught their cynicism.
“Houston,” said Jim, joining the fun of this cut and thrust with ‘Santa.’ “Houston Morrisett,” he finished.
“I’ll make sure he does.” Santa rose and embraced them both. “And you be sure to be back home with him for Christmas. Ho, Ho, Ho!” He patted his ponderous paunch as he sat. “And put out a local beer for me instead of cookies.” He smiled and added, “Great tasting beer you have there.”
“Why’d you do that?” It was a question from Eileen as soon as they were out of earshot. Her surprise arose from the way Jim had chatted with Santa, whom he was usually dismissive of as that big fat fraud.
“Something is happening to us, Eileen.” He sounded contrite, broken but not forlorn. “Like wakening from a dream and suddenly realizing it was just a dream; that there was still life about, and it waited for your participation. Look at us, here in a mall at Christmas time when our world has just imploded, doing things we’ve never done before.” He paused as if to clear his thoughts. “What does it mean?”
“It’s why I asked you to do this mall thing with me, Jim,” she responded. “The trajectory of our life has shifted. We need to adjust, and this outing beats crying, which I’ve been doing when you’re not aware.”
“I’ve heard you,” he confessed, “and it’s been tearing me apart.”
They were silent for a while as they walked about. Busy shoppers swirled around them, and muted sounds of the carols of the yuletide engulfed them. He took her hand and gently squeezed it.
“Coffee?” he asked, as they neared a restaurant.
“Sure! Why not?” she said, smiling.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Eileen broke into his reverie that held him captive as they waited for a waiter.
“Actually, I was thinking of that play at the church, you know, and comparing our situations?”
“I won’t be traded to the slave market, buster,” she giggled. “Not by a long shot!”
“And,” he continued after letting her levity wisp for a moment, “how nice a bag of gold coins from Father Nicholas would be right now.” He smiled wryly to let her know he was joking.
“Of course,” she replied airily. Over coffee they discussed their return travel plans and settled on the Saturday, two weeks before Christmas.
With that settled she asked: “So, what will Santa be bringing Houston?”
“You know,” he scratched a patch of hair, “I’ve been thinking about that too. Problem is we have him believing there’s no Santa Claus. We can’t just hit him with this now! Can we?”
“We could tell him that Santa sent his gift with us.”
Before leaving Chicago, Jim had written the clinic thanking them for their services and requesting time to raise the funds. He also asked whether a payment plan could be worked out. His lawyer in Belize had already begun the lawsuit against the insurers and he promised that monies from that source would be paid to the clinic.
When they arrived in Belize, they said nothing to Jesse and Hazel about their ordeal, but the strain in their eyes didn’t escape their notice. Jesse put it down to perhaps having to do with Jim’s cure and they didn’t want to pry.
Christmas was only two weeks away, and Eileen plunged herself into getting the house ready while Jim had the backlog at the office to catch up on. In the meantime they talked in muted tones when discussing how to break the news to their two boys who would soon be home for the holidays. Preparing Houston for his gift from “Santa” was made easier by the lad himself. It happened at lunch a few days after settling back in Orange Walk.
“So, tell us again about the cutting of the Christmas tree,” urged Jim as they were finishing the meal.
Houston did, but then added something that caught both parents off guard.
“Uncle Jesse said that gifts at Christmas are special.” He had paused, and Jim and Eileen knew he had more to say. “Like the beggar in Ladyville?” he went on. “Know something, Dad? It made me feel good too seeing the way he helped the man.”
“That was kind of him, indeed,” put in Eileen. “And what did the beggar say?”
“He said ‘Thank you, boss-man Santa.’”
Jim felt his face blanch and had a choking cough.
“Sorry, Dad,” pleaded Houston. “I was only answering Eileen’s question.”
“No, no, son. I like what you said. It was just a bit of something in the wrong place.”
“But I thought…,” Houston began, but Jim cut him off.
“Let me tell you of a play, Eileen, and I went to see just before we came back.”
Two days before their boys were due home, Jim got a call from the clinic. They had received his letter and had some good news for him. His case had been submitted to the Mercy Medical Foundation, a charity operated in memory of the clinic’s founder. They couldn’t tell him about it before, as the case did not meet all the guidelines of the trust and they didn’t want to raise expectations that might not materialize. Now they had confirmation. The charges would be paid for from the trust, and the paperwork for his signature was in the mail.
“Merry Christmas, Jim!”
“And the same to you, Shirley!”
Father Christmas had visited the Morrissett’s home for the first time and Christmas there would never be the same again. The next day, Jim and Houston headed south from Orange Walk in search of a real Christmas tree.
END