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I remember someone’s voice, saying words that didn’t make sense. “She’s gone, sweetie.”
She wasn’t. She was right there. Covered by those awful sheets. Smelling of those horrible meds. She was tired, too tired to open her eyes again. And that awful monotonous sound—God, she needed peace and sunlight.
“Mom?”
But she didn’t respond.
Nor would she ever.
And I stood by her bed like a statue, ice cream melting down my hand, mixed with the tears that dripped from my face.
1
KAT
“Archer? Archer, sweetheart?”
I tap his cheek with my palm, but there’s no response.
Everything is wrong.Thisis wrong. He barely has a pulse. And the memory of that awful monotonous heart monitor from the past starts fading in and out in my mind.
My heart beats for the two of us, so fast I have to take deep breaths to figure out what I’m doing as I sit on my knees on the floor next to him.
I dial Marlow.
“Marlow!” I shout into the phone when he picks up. “Archer overdosed! I need a doctor at his house! Now!”
Then I dial Dr. Hodges’s private number and shout into the phone.
“Archer, baby,” I murmur, patting his cheek, his head bobbing.
It’s an awful moment—me next to him, my red party dress in pretty contrast with his black clothes, like blood and ashes, the air suddenly sucked out of the room, the piano tunes of Billy Joel’s song softly filtering through the room.
I hate feeling helpless. I always know what to do in emergency situations. But this is different because it’s not just anyone. It’shim.
“Archer.” I cup his face and rub his cheeks with my thumbs, trying to wake him up.
His eyelids flutter, and my heart lurches in my chest with momentary relief.
“Archer, baby, look at me,” I plead just as the front door slams, and Marlow darts into the living room, falls to his knees, and slides across the floor toward me and Archer.
“Fuck-fuck-fuck.” He pushes my hands away and slaps Archer on the face too hard, again and again, as I watch in trance.
Suddenly, there are more people. Marlow pulls me away as I register Dr. Hodges getting down on his knees next to Archer and barking something about Narcan and an IV.
Maddy—she’s right behind him, on the floor, on her knees, quickly pulling equipment and tubes and packages out of a big tote.
We are all on our knees for Archer, and I want to weep. I did it again—lashed out and ran my mouth minutes after Archer found out about his dad’s death.
The quick conversations don’t fully register in my head.
“What did he have?”
“Black heroine.”
“Shit.”
“Pass me Narcan.”
