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SULLY
The sight of Theo is such a relief, I almost feel like crying. My dad has been shaking and vomiting for hours, sweating so heavily that his mattress is drenched.
“We’ve got to call an ambulance,” Reese mutters.
My dad grips Reese’s arm, fingers digging in though his whole hand is shaking. “No,” he grits through his teeth.
“Dad, you’re a mess. We’ve got to?—“
“No.”
Theo takes one look and seems to understand what’s happening.
“Get a bowl of cool water and a clean cloth,” she says to Reese. “Also, some towels. Sully, please bring a jug of ice water. And do we have any sunflower seeds?”
“Uh…maybe?”
“If we do, bring them. Also, some bananas.”
“What for?” Reese says.
“They raise dopamine levels. My dad said it helped, the once or twice he tried to quit.”
Theo doesn’t point out that they obviously didn’t help enough to prevent her dad sliding right back into drinking.
Either way, I’m grateful to have something to do. I run across the dark yard to the kitchen, rummaging in the pantry until I find a pack of mixed nuts that includes sunflower seeds. I sprint back to Theo, arms laden with bananas, ice water, and clean glasses.
She’s already sponging my dad’s face. Reese paces next to the bed.
“We’ve got to get him to a hospital—“ He tries to whisper it, but my dad thrashes, knocking the bowl of water out of Theo’s hand.
“No! No hospital!If I die, I’m dying right here.”
It looks like that’s going to be sooner than later. Waves of tremors wrack his body, shaking him so hard that his teeth chatter. His hands are claws drawn up to his chest, and his feet convulse against the bed, his eyes rolling back.
“Hold him!” Theo cries. “Try to get him to drink some water.”
I hold my dad while he shakes and shakes. His body burns from the inside out, a feverish heat that has me sweating.
“It’s going to be okay…” I hold him until my arms ache. “It’s going to be okay…”
When the tremors ease, Reese lifts a cup of ice water to his lips. My dad swallows a few sips, then vomits all over his pillow.
“Move him to the couch,” Theo says. “I’ll clean it.”
Reese and I carefully lift our dad over to the sofa while Theo strips the bed. There are no spare sheets, so she remakes the bed with fresh blankets, laying a towel over the pillow in case he vomits again.
“What’s happening?” Reese whispers, eyes wide and terrified.
“Alcohol withdrawal,” Theo says.
“Withdrawal?” Reese is confused.
“I think he stopped drinking,” I say. “Or he’s trying to.”
“We really should get him to a hospital,” Theo murmurs. “Withdrawal can be fatal.”
But that’s the one thing my father won’t accept. As Reese and I try to lift him once more, he fights us so violently that it seems like insisting will do more harm than good.
