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Her eyes flew open, thank God, and I dragged her out of bed, yelling at her.
How many did you take?
When did you take them?
How many?
I pleaded with her as I hauled her into the bathroom, and God help me but I cursed her when I shoved her into the tub and ran the shower on the coldest setting possible. I held her when she clawed at her nightgown and spit out the water that ran down on her face. I made sure she didn’t fall over when she managed to get to her feet, and I held her long hair away from her when she started to whimper.
“Don’t tell your father. Don’t tell your father. Don’t tell your father.” She repeated it over and over and over, until her voice gave out.
She sputtered. She cried. Great big gulping cries that made my heart pound even harder than it already was. Never had I seen my mother like this. Never. I was scared and upset and so mad that I wanted to scream in her face. I wanted to hurt her for doing this to me.
The water was still spilling over her, but she didn’t seem to notice as she regarded me, eyes huge and glassy. We were both wet and shivering from fear and adrenaline and a whole bunch of stuff I couldn’t name.
“Why?” I whispered. “I don’t understand…”
But I did, didn’t I?
She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could get any words out, she doubled over and moaned.
And then she vomited all over my shoes.
• • •
“Where’s Isaac?”
The words were raspy, slow. I glanced up from my chair beside Mom’s bed and tried to push back the anger inside me, but it was hard. The anger was heavy and hot and so damn eager to come out. I thought that maybe I should let it. Just this once. Maybe then it wouldn’t feel as if a hundred-pound weight was pressed into my chest.
“Why?” was all I could get out.
Why. One lonely word, but a word that was bigger than it sounded, because it was packed full of things that would lead to dark places.
“Isaac?” she asked again, this time struggling to sit. She was still pale, still bedraggled from the shower, still pathetic and small and…
“Mrs. Ballantine took him to church.” I tried not to sniffle, but that didn’t work out all that well, so I took a moment to get myself together. See? This was me dealing with stress.
When I thought I could speak without sounding like a bumbling idiot, I continued. “I told her that you weren’t feeling well and she said that she would let Dad know. She also said something about taking Isaac to a picnic in the park afterward, and since they’re not back yet…”
“Oh,” Mom said weakly. “That’s good.” A tear slid down her cheek, and I watched it navigate a zigzag path until she wiped her palm across her face.
I wasn’t sure where to go from here. What to do or say.
“I didn’t mean to,” she said softly.
My eyes darted back to hers, and I struggled to keep my pain from showing. It wasn’t too hard, considering I’d become the queen of masks these last few months. “How many did you take?”
Her bottom lip trembled. “A few…”
“A few.”
“Everly.” There was warning in her voice, like she was trying to tell me not to go there. Her. The woman who’d just had a shower in her nightgown.
“A few,” I repeated. My voice rose as the enormity of what had just happened washed over me. The last hour and a half shot across my brain. Pills. Mom. Pills. Mom’s hair all over the place. Pills. Vomit.
My body trembled. I was so cold. So far from where I’d been when I first woke up. I shot to my feet, teeth chattering even though it was warm and stuffy in her bedroom.
“A few?” I raged. “A few is like two or three. A few is less than four but maybe more than two. A few is…a few doesn’t knock you out. A few…” I shrugged and tried not to cry, but it was no use, and tears stung the corner of my eyes. “Anything more is not an accident.”
