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“No problem. I’ll take care of the twins.”
Remembering Tim’s advice, she shook her head. “I’m taking them and Becky.”
“Are you crazy? How can you talk business with three little ones fretting around?”
“Just help me dress the kids.”
Her summer wardrobe consisted of scrubs and a limited number of outfits, most of them at least five-years old. She slipped on a short, straight, denim skirt that ended four inches above her knees, a blue t-shirt that stretched over her chest, and brushed her hair back.
Teresa’s mouth turned down at the sight of her. “You can’t go like that. You look like you’re sixteen.”
“For heaven’s sake, Mom, don’t be negative. I did my best with whatever I had. I can’t go in scrubs.”
“At least, the kids look cute.”
“They’re adorable.” The babies in their one-piece rompers and white t-shirts, and Becky in a calf-long pink dress, her blond hair held back by a pink ribbon. “Let’s go. Say a prayer for me, Mom.”
She took a selfie, carrying the babies, with Becky at her side, and texted it to Tim.
On our way to the claims center.
He answered right away.
Charming. Keep a picture of all the kids with you in your wallet to use if needed. Good luck.
She chuckled.Good idea. Thanks.
In the company parking lot, she left her car in the visitors’ area and hooked the two strollers together.
“Becky, sweetie, hold on to the side of Ethan’s stroller.” She pushed the double stroller and entered the claims building. “I need to talk to Mr. Gary Clement.”
“Do you have an appointment?” The receptionist asked, her shocked glance on the children.
“I spoke with him three weeks ago, then two weeks ago and again last week. He assured me my claim was ready. I took a day off to see him. I’ll wait here.”
“With the children?” the young woman opened horrified eyes.
“Would you take care of them while I go inside to meet him?”
“No, no, wait here. I’ll get him.” She returned with a bald, gangly man, wearing gold-rimmed glasses.
“I can’t talk about the claim with anyone but the widow Perkins. Next time, babysit the children at home and let Mrs. Perkins come in herself.”
His arrogant tone erased any shyness she might still have. “Mr. Clement, I am thewidow Perkins. I can’t leave my babies at home. I have no one to babysit them. Their brother and sisters are twelve, ten, and seven, not old enough to stay home alone.” Her voice escalated with each word.
Several people gathered in the lobby, watching her curiously.
“I have six kids to feed, six kids you are depriving of food daily. It’s not my fault if my husband died in the plane crash and left me a widow at a young age. At least he had a life insurance policy to protect his family from such a horrible situation. But you keep delaying and postponing paying his life insurance. Have you no compassion at all?” she screamed and sobbed.
“Quiet, please. Calm down.” The jittery man fiddled with his phone. “Making a scene won’t help you.”
“Should I drop to my knees and beg you to give me my legitimate right? The insurance money that would help feed my children?”
“Gary, what’s going on here?” A grayish man in a suit approached them, his brow furrowed. “What’s this woman saying?”
“Sir, my husband Ben Perkins died in the plane crash in January. I’ve applied for his life insurance. I’ve called every week for the last two months, but this man keeps ignoring me.”
“Gary, what happened with her claim?”
