I walked slowly back toward the small family room down the corridor, feeling every step pull at the fresh incision under my waistband.

Kevin was standing by the narrow window in the family room when I pushed the door open.

He held his phone in his left hand, his jaw working steadily as he stared out at the parking ramp.

“Was that the insurance company?” I asked.

“The agent said the out-of-network charge for the surgery doctor is four thousand dollars,” Kevin said slowly.

His voice was flat, the controlled tone he used when he was trying not to throw something.