Authors: Katie McGarry
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A nurse appears in the doorway and I
turn from both of them.
“Is there a problem here?” she asks quietly, quickly, and in a tone that indicates she knows everyone in this room is fucked up.
“Everything is fine,” Scott says.
He talks some more, but his voice and the nurse’s become muffled as I stare at the
pathetic creature on the bed. A few hours ago, my entire world was right. Ryan held me in his arms and I convinced myself that everything was going to be okay. This is what happens when you believe in hope. Karma comes
around to destroy it.
I sit on the bed and touch Mom’s cold
fingers. This is what death feels like. “Did she die?”
The chatter behind me stops.
“She stopped breathing,” says the nurse.
“But the paramedics gave her naloxone and it counteracted the affects of the heroin.”
Heroin. My heart stops and my lungs ache.
Heroin.
My fingers follow the line of her IV, but I purposely skip the track marks that dot her arms. “How long has she been using?”
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The blood pressure cuff swooshes as it
releases. The nurse clears her throat. “We don’t know.”
“When can she go home?”
“She’s asleep now. The doctor will check her when she wakes and as long as she’s still fine, they’ll let her go.” She whispers something to Scott. Scott whispers back.
“Elisabeth,” he says. “I’m going to go fill out some paperwork.”
Meaning he’ll pay her bills. For now. How could I have not noticed the marks on her arm before? “Okay.”
The room becomes very still except for the steady beat of Mom’s heart monitor. From the moment my aunt Shirley called Scott, I’ve felt like I’ve been spinning in the Gravitron from the fair. If I could, I’d crawl right into oblivion and disappear. I’m tired and all I want is to get off this damn ride.
“Which one of you punched Trent?” Shirley asks behind me.
“Both of us. Nice job taking care of your sister.” I knot my fingers with Mom’s. Does she know I’m here? Probably not. Mom
doesn’t even notice I’m with her when she’s
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somewhat coherent. “Where have you
been?”
“Smoke break.” Shirley hacks her smoker’s cough and Mom flinches in her sleep. “Who do you think found your mom and dragged her ass into the alley before I called nine-one-one? If the police went into your mom’s apartment we’d be in a bigger shit pile than we are now.”
Mom stirs and I wish she’d wake up and tell me she’s sorry. “Thanks for calling Scott.”
“He’s got money. Make sure he uses it to
pay the bills.” Shirley’s light footsteps come closer to the bed and she rests a hand on my shoulder. I keep my eyes on Mom, terrified if I glance away she’ll disappear.
“Two days ago your mom told me a funny
story. It was the type that could start with once upon a time,” says Shirley. “She said you were coming soon to take her away. Sad part was she also told the whole bar and someone there told Trent. He got a little pissed.”
A little pissed? Fresh bruises cover the right side of Mom’s face. Knowing her, she took the heroin to forget the beating, to relieve the pain.
“You know I don’t believe in fairy tales.” I should never have left Mom. Never. I should
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have found a way to leave weeks ago. This is my fault.
“That’s a shame,” she says. “Because I
would have paid to see that one.”
I jerk my head to look at her.
“Cash,” says Shirley. “She’s not going to last much longer the way she’s been going. The decision is yours. She’s your responsibility.”
Shirley walks out of the room. I try to
inhale, but it’s virtually impossible with the burden weighing me down. Ever since I was eight years old, the responsibility of my mother has been on me. I’ve taken care of her. Moved her. Fed her. Made sure she went to work or helped her find jobs. But right now, what I want more than anything is for my mom to
take care of me. I’m done being the grown-up.
For a few minutes I want to be the kid. I want my mom. I just want my mom.
A light touch moves across my hand. “Don’t be sad, Elisabeth,” my mother mumbles.
I sniff. “I’m not sad.”
“I dreamed of you. You and your daddy. I
miss him.” Her fingers lightly grasp my wrist.
“I miss you. You were a beautiful baby.”
“Why?” A tangle of anger and sadness and
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happiness weaves around my soul and
strangles the scream fighting to leave my throat. She’s alive, but she almost died. “Why do you have to make everything so fucking hard?”
“Come here. I like you better sad. I hate it when you’re angry.” She tugs on my wrist and ignores my question. “I want to hold my baby.”
I feel like I’m five as I crawl on the bed and rest my head between the crook of her arm and her chest. Her fingers weakly pick at my hair.
“You were born on a Tuesday.”
I close my eyes and will the hurt to leave, but it doesn’t go away. It stabs at me over and over again. I’m so tired. So damned tired. I don’t want to think about Trent or heroin or running away or about the responsibility I thought I could abandon.
“It was an awfully hot day. You were so
beautiful, but so tiny. The doctor wouldn’t let me hold you for three weeks because you were early. Your daddy loved you then. He came by the hospital twice before your grandma
brought us home. Scott was excited to hold a baby for the first time.”
Her bony fingers relax against my head and
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I wish she’d tell me she loves me, because I love her. She may be a drug addict and an alcoholic and she’s probably a whore, but she’s my mom. My mom.
“I loved to take you to the mall. People
would stop me and tell me what a beautiful baby you were. I’d let them hold you and
they’d try to guess your name. You were so cute and you never cried. You were my own personal baby doll.”
I wrap my arm around her and cringe when I feel her ribs poking through her skin. Mom sighs and continues, “I named you after my momma, hoping if I did she’d change her mind and love us both. My momma left me,
Elisabeth, but I never left you. Never.”
No, my mother never left me and that is the reason why I owe her. I grew up knowing the sacrifice she made on my behalf. I hold my breath to keep my body from shaking with
sobs. My mom needs me and I can’t be soft any longer. I did this to her. I left her behind.
“You’re still coming for me, right,
Elisabeth? On Monday?”
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IN A WRINKLED POLO and a pair of jeans, Scott leans against the wall at the end of the
emergency room. He raises an eyebrow when he spots me, but then lowers it as if he’s too tired to care. “How did you know she was
here?”
“Your wife told me.” I came straight from the competition to Scott’s house so I could share my news and give Beth the roses. My world came crashing down when Allison said those three words: Beth’s mother overdosed.
I glance into the room and immediately look away. The sight of Beth curled up on the bed with her mother is too intimate for anyone to witness—including me. “How long has she
been in there?”
“A while.” Scott kneads his eyes with his fists, just like Beth does when she’s had all she
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can handle. I see a lot of Beth in Scott.
“How did the writing competition go?”
And just like Beth, he’ll avoid the bleeding elephant in the room. “I won.”
If he weren’t so tired, the smile on his face would appear natural. “Congratulations. How did your team do against Eastwick?”
“They won too.” Just like I knew they
would. They’re a great team and I’m proud to be a part of them.
“Good.”
Difference between me and the Risks? I
have no problems discussing elephants. “How is Beth’s mother?”
“She’s alive.”
I pause. “How’s Beth?”
Scott shakes his head. Silence falls between us, but we both jerk our heads toward the room when we hear a muffled sob. Beth is breaking my heart and from the pain tearing across Scott’s face, she’s doing the same to his. More silence between us. A sniff comes from the room and my fingers itch to hold Beth and somehow right her world. I won’t let her use this as an excuse to run. I’ll talk to her and make her realize that now is the time to involve
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Scott.
“Elisabeth says that you’re trying to decide between college and pro,” he says.
I nod. The choice is harder now that I’ve won the competition.
“Can I give you some unsolicited advice?”
he asks.
I tilt my head up. “I’d love your advice.”
“Decide what baseball means to you,
because if you’re playing to make money, then you’ll be sadly disappointed. Only a small percent of drafted players ever play a day in the majors and you’d make more working at McDonald’s than you will playing in the
minors.”
A nurse passes between us and I let the back of my head hit the wall. “You went pro.”
“When I was eighteen, baseball was my only option. From what Elisabeth says you have several options. If baseball is what you want more than anything, then it will be worth the sacrifice. If going pro is a means to an end, I’m telling you the odds are against you.”
Then Scott gets that crazy gleam in his eye.
The gleam I understand. “If baseball is what you live by, breathe in, and die for, I’m telling
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you that you’ll need the rush of running out onto that field. I’ve never experienced anything else like it.”
“Thanks,” I tell him. His comments are well received, but not helpful. I’m nowhere closer to making a decision. Out of the corner of my eye I peek into the room. Beth’s eyes meet mine.
“Spend time with her,” says Scott. “But
Elisabeth goes home with me.”
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SCOTT’S HAND ON MY BACK urges me forward
as I watch my aunt Shirley drive away with my mom. It’s late, I guess. The sun has set. Stars twinkle in the sky. Ryan has come and gone, though I could tell he didn’t want to leave. He loves me. I know that. I somehow wonder if his love is the only thing that’s kept me from losing my mind.
“Let’s go home,” Scott says.
Home. My room with my clothes and my
box of Lucky Charms in the pantry. Home. It can be my home if Scott will help my mom.
The red taillights of Shirley’s car disappear as she turns left onto the main street.
I exhale all the air out of my body and turn to Scott. “We need to talk.”
He nods in agreement as he hooks an arm
around my shoulder. Three months ago, I
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would have decked him for touching me.
Now, I welcome the embrace. With exhaustion weakening my knees, I lean into my uncle.
“We’ll talk tomorrow.” Scott continues to lead me to his car. “You’re dead on your feet.”
We’re halfway to his car when a moment of déjà vu hits me. Like I’m seeing something that I’ve seen before—a memory in slow
motion. I jerk my head to the right and realize that it’s not a memory, but reality.
I flinch to a stop and Scott halts along with me. “What’s wrong?”
“Isaiah,” I say not to Scott, but to myself.
My best friend is here.
Leaning against the hood of his black
Mustang, Isaiah watches Scott and me from a distance. He dips his head when he spots me looking at him. I step toward him and Scott grabs my arm. “No, Elisabeth.”
My head whips. “Just for a second. Just one second. Please.”
His grip loosens at the word
please
. When he finally releases me, I sway. I’m worn out—
physically, emotionally, but I dig for strength. I have to talk to Isaiah.
Isaiah stays where he is, not even bothering
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to me meet me halfway, and speaks before I reach him. “Shirley told me about your mom.
Are you okay?”
His question stops me about a car’s distance from him. Hurt pours out of his eyes, and every muscle in my abdomen clenches. My close
proximity actually causes him pain and that fact slaps me in the face.
“Yes,” I answer, then think about it. “No.
She’s addicted to heroin.”
Isaiah glances away and a lead ball drops into my stomach. “You knew.”
He meets my eyes again. “She’s bad news,
Beth. You’re not going to change her.”
She will change. Scott will help me. I know it. “How are you?”
“I’m surviving.” Isaiah surveys the night sky, then pushes away from his car. “Have a nice life.”
“Isaiah…” I say, unsure of how to make us better. “This isn’t goodbye.”
“Yeah,” he answers as he unlocks his
driver’s-side door. “It is.”
“If you believed that you wouldn’t be here now.” I’m energized by a second wind as my words sink in. “We’re friends. For life.”
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He rubs a hand over his face before
sliding into his car, shutting the door, and turning over his engine with an angry growl.
The brief burst of energy drains from me, starting in my head and seeping out through my toes. It hurts to know that I’ve caused Isaiah pain, but someday he’ll really fall in love and discover that all we’ve ever been is friends.
I OPEN MY EYES AND CURSE. This is twice
I’ve gone pathetic, fallen asleep, and Scott has had to carry me in. Just like the first night in this house, the blanket is tucked around me and my shoes are neatly placed near the bed. It’s dark and I don’t bother looking at the clock. I toss aside the blanket, climb out of bed, and head into the foyer.
In the kitchen, Scott sits at the island and stares at the countertop. I flop onto the cushy leather couch. I’ve lived in this house for three months and I’ve never sat here. “Nice couch.”