“He asked me how much.”

“Emily.” Denise sat down, which she never does. “That man’s insurance is a nine-thousand-dollar deductible off a marketplace bronze plan and he’s four months into the year. I ran his card at intake for the visit fee and it declined and he paid cash out of an envelope. Twenty-two dollars in ones and fives.”

I looked at my desk.

“He wasn’t asking whether she’s worth it,” Denise said. “He was asking what he has to sell.”

Here is the thing I had never once had to do in eighteen years.

My father was asked how much, and he had a hundred and eighty thousand dollars in a college fund and a rented yacht in his near future, and he said no.