Chapter 152: Poverty
While Frank and Marie were entangled in a passionate affair in the bathroom, Walter and Hank were drinking together in the living room.
"Look, I hate to say this, Walt, but no matter what happens, I want you to know—I'll take care of your family. You're all family to me," Hank said, echoing the words of Cao Cao: "I'll raise your wife and child, so worry not."
Walter nodded heavily, clinking bottles with him in silence.
From the bathroom came muffled noises—Marie bit down on a towel to stifle her moans as her body collided against the cold bathroom tiles over and over.
Her sister and husband were just in the adjacent room, less than ten meters away. The proximity, the taboo nature of the act, ignited a thrill in Marie far beyond any petty shoplifting. This kind of forbidden high was addictive.
When they were done, the two emerged from the bathroom one after another. Frank, acting as though nothing had happened, returned to the living room to drink with Walter and Hank. Marie, meanwhile, fixed her makeup, adjusted her wrinkled dress and messy hair, and reapplied some foundation.
"How's Skyler?" Hank asked when he saw Marie, assuming she had been tending to her.
"She's resting now," Marie answered, quickly averting her eyes.
The three of them continued drinking. As it got late, Hank and his wife said their goodbyes, along with Frank.
"Frank, let's get together sometime. I've got a full brewing setup in my garage. We could make our own beer," Hank said, giving Frank a pat on the shoulder.
Though they had just met that day, Hank felt a strong kinship with Frank. A beer enthusiast for decades, Frank had knowledge and stories that Hank immediately appreciated. For the first time, Hank felt like he had found someone who shared his passion.
"Take care," they said their goodbyes, going their separate ways. Just before getting into the car, Marie discreetly pressed something into Frank's hand. It was dark, so Hank didn't notice.
"What an interesting woman," Frank muttered to himself after watching them leave. He opened his hand and found a piece of purple lingerie.
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The next day, Frank accompanied Walter and the others to the hospital to see the doctor who had diagnosed Walter with lung cancer.
They were told the harsh truth: the cancer was inoperable and only chemotherapy could prolong his life.
In short—Walter couldn't be saved.
Skyler refused to accept this and continued calling around, trying to contact medical experts.
"Friday works perfectly—thank you so much for fitting us in. Can we charge it to our credit card? Great, we'll see you Friday morning. Thanks again," Skyler said over the phone, jotting down notes in her planner.
"Honey, there's a top specialist—not just in New Mexico, but one of the top ten in the entire country. He agreed to see us Friday."
"Marie really helped us a lot. Her boss made a bunch of calls for us," Skyler added.
Marie worked at a hospital and had some useful connections in the medical field.
"You mentioned something about putting it on the credit card?" Walter asked.
"Oh, just a sort of deposit," Skyler replied.
"How much?"
"About five thousand dollars."
"Five thousand!?" Walter's voice rose sharply.
Skyler, clearly uncomfortable, gave him a helpless look.
"Five grand just to tell us what we already know?" Walter snapped.
The five thousand was just a consultation fee for the specialist—not even treatment costs.
Skyler had already taken Walter to multiple specialists, all of whom said the same thing: surgery was impossible; only chemotherapy could extend his life.
Walter understood her hope—that maybe, just maybe, some doctor out there might offer a different answer, a sliver of hope that could save him.
But five thousand dollars was an outrageous amount. To Walter, it felt like flushing money down the drain.
"It's outside the insurance network. We'll figure it out. Don't get hung up on the money—your life is worth more. If we really need to, we can borrow from Hank. He'd help us," Skyler said.
Walter wasn't well-off. He was a public high school chemistry teacher with modest pay. To make ends meet, he worked part-time at a car wash on his days off—often enduring the humiliation of being recognized by his students.
It was at the car wash, during one of these shifts, that he collapsed and was rushed to the hospital—where he learned he had cancer.
He was the family's sole breadwinner. Skyler didn't work—she was a stay-at-home wife and aspiring writer, though none of her work had ever been published.
The household was living paycheck to paycheck. Any savings they had were already spent on medical consultations.
"Borrow money from Hank? No. Absolutely not!" Walter said firmly.
Skyler flinched in shock.
"No—I just mean… we can't burden them like that again," Walter softened his tone.
"Then what about your mother? Have you called her? Have you told her what's going on?" Skyler asked.
Walter fell silent.
---
Meanwhile, Frank was at Jesse Pinkman's house.
Jesse sat at the table with his parents and Frank. On the table lay a joint of marijuana.
The housekeeper had found it hidden in a flower vase—clearly stashed there on purpose.
"Jesse, what do you have to say for yourself? We've said this over and over again—this stuff is absolutely forbidden in this house!" his parents said angrily.
"I don't know anything about it—it's not mine," Jesse said.
"Don't even try that again. We've been through this so many times—how many times have we sat at this very table having this exact conversation?"
"You always look at us with those innocent eyes," Jesse's father said, his voice full of disappointment.
"Maybe you're wrong about Jesse. If he says it's not his…" Frank interjected.
"No, it is his," Jesse's father insisted.
"Sorry, Professor Erick. We're just upset. It's just that every time, Jesse finds an excuse, sweet-talks us, makes us believe he's changed… only to let us down again," his mother added.