Dad stayed with us for a little while after we got home.
He wanted to make sure his clothes had dried before driving back.
I made him something to eat.
He sat at our kitchen table while I moved around the room, checking whether he needed anything.
Without his hearing aids, even ordinary conversation was difficult.
I had to face him when I spoke.
Sometimes I wrote things down.
Sometimes I repeated myself until he understood.
He kept apologizing for the inconvenience.
That bothered me.
He hadn't caused any inconvenience.
He had been pushed into a pond.
There was a difference.
When he finally left, I stood at the door and watched his car disappear down the road.
Josh was inside.
He hadn't said much since we returned.
I knew he was thinking about his mother.
I was thinking about the hearing aids.
The next morning, I called the audiologist's office.
I explained what had happened.
The woman on the phone asked for the model and purchase date.
I gave her the information.
She checked the records.
Then she explained that the original loss coverage had lasted three years.
Dad had bought the pair three and a half years earlier.
The coverage had ended six months before the accident.
I asked whether there was any exception.
She said she could check with the office manager, but she didn't want to give me false hope.
I understood.
The answer was already clear.
The warranty wouldn't cover the loss.
I thanked her and hung up.
Then I sat at the kitchen counter for a long time.
Four thousand one hundred dollars.
That was what Dad had paid.
And now we needed another pair.
I called the office again later to ask about replacement costs.
The woman explained that a new set would depend on the model and fitting.
I wrote down the information on a legal pad.
I kept the pad beside the telephone.
The numbers looked worse each time I read them.
That afternoon, Dad called.
He asked whether the office had found anything.
I told him the warranty had expired.
There was a pause.
Then he said he would manage.
He could get by for a while.
He had lived with hearing problems before.
He didn't want me spending money.
I knew what he meant.
But I also knew how much he depended on those devices.
He couldn't easily follow conversations.
He couldn't hear someone calling from another room.
Even crossing a busy parking lot would be more difficult.
I didn't want him adjusting his entire life around something that could be replaced.
Still, I didn't have the money sitting in my checking account.
Not that much.
And that was when I remembered the savings account Josh and I had been building.
We had started putting money away eighteen months earlier.
Two hundred and fifty dollars every month.
We were careful with it.
We didn't spend from it for birthdays, repairs, or unexpected shopping.
We wanted it to be there when the time came.
The total was $4,500.
It had a purpose.
Cindy's sixtieth birthday.
Josh and I had planned to surprise her with a cruise leaving from Galveston the following spring.
It was something she had talked about for years.
She loved the idea of traveling.
She loved telling people about places she might visit.
And she had mentioned more than once that she had never been on a proper cruise.
We thought it would make a memorable birthday present.
So we saved.
Month after month.
Two hundred and fifty dollars at a time.
Cindy had been talking about the possibility of a cruise since Christmas.
She didn't know we had already planned it.
But she seemed certain something special was coming.
At the beauty shop, she told people she hoped Josh would finally take her somewhere nice for her birthday.
I had heard about those conversations.
I had even smiled when she mentioned them to me.
At the time, I thought it was sweet.
Now the money had a different meaning.
I opened the banking app and looked at the balance.
Four thousand five hundred dollars.
Enough for a substantial part of the cruise.
Enough to give Cindy something she would talk about for years.
Enough to replace Dad's hearing aids.
I closed the app.
Then I opened it again.
The number hadn't changed.
That evening, Josh came into the kitchen while I was writing down the replacement information.
He looked at the legal pad.
"Still trying to figure it out?"
I nodded.
He pulled out a chair.
I showed him the estimated amount.
He read it carefully.
Then he leaned back.
I could tell he was thinking about the same savings account.
I didn't want to bring it up too quickly.
It was his money too.
And it was his mother.
But there was no point pretending I hadn't already considered it.
I put the pen down.
"We have the money."
He looked at me.
"For the cruise?"
I nodded.
Neither of us spoke for a few seconds.
The kitchen was quiet except for the refrigerator running.
I looked at the legal pad.
Then at Josh.
"I don't think I can let Dad go without hearing aids just so your mother can take a vacation."
Josh lowered his eyes.
I waited.
I wasn't asking him to hate his mother.
I wasn't asking him to choose sides in some permanent family argument.
I was asking him to understand what had happened.
And I needed to know whether we were going to handle it together.
Click here to continue reading: PART 4: My Husband Didn’t Answer Right Away, and the Silence Between Us Told Me How Difficult This Decision Would Be
The Afternoon Everyone Watched My Father Fall Into the Water, and Nobody Knew What to Say
Part 3 of 20
