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“Damn it, Mom. Wake up!” I shook her hard. “Wake up! How many pills did you take?”
God, what was I supposed to do? This was my mother. She wasn’t perfect, but she was mine, and I couldn’t lose her.
Keep your head, Daphne. Call an ambulance. She needs help.
I’d read about the new 9-1-1 service to call in an emergency. Did we have it in Colorado yet? I had no idea. I kept the bottle in my hand and picked up the princess phone on her nightstand. I dialed zero.
“Operator? I need an ambulance.”
“I’ll connect you.”
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Finally someone came on the line.
“I need an ambulance. My mother’s passed out. She took Valium.”
“Yes, ma’am. Address please.”
I hastily gave our address.
“Thank you. Dispatching now. How much did she take, ma’am?”
“I don’t know.”
“How many pills were in the bottle?”
“I don’t know.”
“The bottle will say how many were prescribed.”
I couldn’t read the small print in the dark. Why hadn’t I turned on a light? I hit the lamp and read the bottle. “Thirty pills.”
“How many milligrams per pill?”
“Can you please just get the ambulance here?”
“I’ve already called for the paramedics, ma’am. I’m getting information from you that I can dispatch to them while they’re on their way.”
“Oh.” That was good. Very good. “Five milligrams.”
“And when was the prescription filled?”
“What?”
“The date on the bottle, ma’am.”
“Right, okay.” I quickly scanned the small print. “Oh, shit. Yesterday.”
“How many pills are left in the bottle, ma’am?”
Tears fell from my eyes. “Three. Only three,” I sobbed.
“Thank you, ma’am. Help is on the way.”
I hung up the phone.
“Brad!” I cried. “Daddy! Where are you?”
I had to find them, tell them what was going on.
Nightcap. My father had asked Brad to go for a nightcap. What was the name of the bar he went to sometimes? It was an Irish pub. An Irish name.
I shook my mother once more. “Mommy, please wake up!”
Her pulse was still visible on her neck. I placed my hand on her flesh. She was cold. So cold, but at least her heart was beating. I lay down next to her and snuggled into her. Please, Mama. Please, don’t leave me.
Be strong.
The words cut into my mind. Dr. Payne’s words. My father’s words. My mother’s words—words she hadn’t heeded herself.
My own words.
Be strong, Daphne.
I had to find my father. What was the name of that pub? I rose. I hated leaving my mother, but I had to find the phone book. Where was it? If I could only remember the name, I could call information.
McFall’s Pub. The memory hurled itself into my mind.
That was it!
Lucy, I’m meeting Bud for a drink at McFall’s.
How many times had my father said those words?
He drank a lot at McFall’s.
My mom drank a lot at home.
I knew this, and I’d never given it much thought.
They were drinking too much.
Most likely because of me.
And now my beautiful mother had taken pills.
Because I’d come home pregnant.
I quickly dialed information and got the number for the pub.
Chapter Five
Brad
What kind of story did Jonathan have to tell me? I already knew everything, except for why Daphne didn’t know the truth about her best friend.
Was that what had sent her into anxiety and depression? But how could it have if she didn’t even know?
“I’m listening,” I said. “But nothing you tell me will make me love Daphne any less.”
“I hope that’s true, son. I sincerely hope that’s true.” Jonathan cleared his throat. “It’s not an easy story to tell. Not for anyone, and especially not for me.”
“I can’t imagine it’s easy for anyone to talk about the death of a young girl,” I agreed.
“If only that were all there was to it.” He took a sip of his second Irish whiskey.
I wished, then, that I’d let the barkeep make me a second as well.
No. Better to stay focused. Whatever Jonathan had to tell me, I’d remain calm.
Nothing would sway my love for Daphne and my unborn child.
“You know Daphne was hospitalized. What you don’t know is why.”
“It wasn’t anxiety and depression?”
“Son, most cases of anxiety and depression don’t require hospitalization.”
“But my mother…”
“From what you’ve described, your mother most likely had a mental breakdown brought on by your father’s emotional and physical abuse.”
“But I stopped it. She was hospitalized after I stopped it.”
“You may have stopped the physical abuse. That doesn’t mean it ended for her. I’m not a doctor, Brad. I’m not going to try to diagnose your mother. But I do know this, from experience. Most anxiety and depression can be treated with therapy, medication, or both. Rarely is hospitalization necessary, and certainly not hospitalization for an entire year.”
“So Daphne wasn’t anxious and depressed? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Oh, she was, but there was much more to it than that.”
Again, I wished for that second drink. Was I ready to hear this?
Didn’t matter. I loved this man’s daughter. She was carrying my child. I’d made a commitment to her—a commitment I’d stand by, no matter what.
