Part 24 (1/2)

Joanie shakes her head. ”I don't know. I found her slumped over the kitchen sink and tried to take her into the downstairs bathroom, but she wanted to come up here. I don't think she wanted anyone to see her.”

Hannah lays her head on the carpet and peers through the crack beneath the door. She can see Baker's bare legs and feet spread over the tile floor. ”Baker?” she calls again. ”Baker, it's me, it's Hannah. Can you let me in, please?”

”I tried to use a bobby pin,” Joanie says, her eyes wide and frightened, ”but I couldn't get it to work.”

”Let me see it. Where's your phone? Look up how to unlock doors with bobby pins.”

Joanie finds a helpful article and reads it aloud while Hannah works the bobby pin in the keyhole.

”Come on,” Hannah pleads with the bobby bin, ”come on.”

Finally, something clicks, and Hannah rotates the doork.n.o.b until the door pushes open and she falls forward onto her hands.

Baker is slumped against the bathtub with her feet extended toward the toilet. Hannah crawls toward her, calling her name, Joanie right behind her.

”Baker? You okay?” Hannah asks when she reaches her. Baker rolls her head on the edge of the bathtub, moaning and clutching her stomach. She has vomit on the corner of her mouth and in her hair. ”Bake,” Hannah says, wrapping her arms around her, ”are you alright? What happened?”

Baker nestles her head into Hannah's s.h.i.+rt and starts to cry.

”Joanie,” Hannah says, looking up at her sister's anxious face, ”can you wet some toilet paper?”

They wipe Baker's mouth and her hair. Hannah pulls her into her lap and rubs her back, whispering calming things to her and promising that it's going to be all right.

”She needs to throw up more,” Joanie says.

”Baker,” Hannah says softly, tucking her hair back, ”we need you to vomit more, okay? Okay? We'll help you.”

Baker scrunches up her face and cries. ”Can't,” she whispers. ”Hurts.”

”I know,” Hannah coos, pulling Baker's hair back into a ponytail, ”but it's going to make you feel better, okay? I promise. Come on, we'll help you.”

”Come on, Baker,” Joanie says kindly, ”you can do it.”

Baker turns her head away from them; two more tears streak down her face. ”Come on, B,” Hannah says, ”let's sit up.”

She and Joanie guide Baker to the toilet. They stand on either side of her, poised like bodyguards, Joanie gripping Baker's arm and Hannah rubbing Baker's back.

”Doing great,” Hannah coaches her. ”Now try to make yourself vomit, okay?”

”Just stick a couple of fingers down your throat,” Joanie adds, miming the action.

Baker bends forward and heaves. Joanie looks away with her face screwed up in distaste, and Hannah stares at a hand towel near the sink and focuses on drawing circular patterns over Baker's s.h.i.+rt.

They stay that way for several minutes, the sound of Baker's retching echoing around the bathroom, the vibrations from the music downstairs pulsing through their blood. Then Baker stills.

”Feel better?” Hannah asks.

”Yeah,” Baker rasps. Hannah hears the pump of the toilet flus.h.i.+ng.

”Careful,” Hannah guides. ”Sit down slowly. We'll get you some water, okay?”

She sits down and pulls Baker into her arms again. Joanie squats next to them, her eyes still crinkled with worry. ”Do you think you got it all out?” Joanie asks.

Baker nods against Hannah's chest. Hannah strokes through her hair and smoothes a thumb over the light sheen on her forehead.

”Can you get me a wet washcloth, Joanie? Or a wet piece of toilet paper?”

Joanie finds a washcloth under the sink, wets it, wrings it out. Hannah presses the blue cloth against Baker's forehead, then her cheeks, then her collarbone. ”How you feeling, B? Any better?”

”Yeah,” Baker breathes, sounding more like herself even though she keeps her eyes closed. She tucks her head further into Hannah's s.h.i.+rt. ”Thank you.”

”We'll just sit here for a little while, alright?”

The three of them rest in silence for a few minutes, Joanie sitting with her back against the wall, Hannah sitting with her back against the bathtub and Baker tucked into her side. She can feel Baker breathing against her body, and she pulls her fingers through Baker's hair in the same rhythm.

”It's a good thing I called you,” Joanie says.

Hannah looks up. Joanie is wearing an unusual expression: she seems calmer and older somehow.

”Yeah,” Hannah agrees, s.h.i.+fting her eyes to the tile floor. ”I'm glad you did.”

”I'm gonna get her a gla.s.s of water. I'll be back in a minute.”

”Thanks.”

Then Joanie is gone, and Hannah is left with Baker in her arms.

”What the h.e.l.l happened?” Clay yells, bursting into the bathroom. Joanie trails behind him with her mouth open in protest and a gla.s.s of water in her hand. Luke follows last, his usually bright face falling into worry.

”She got sick,” Hannah says, sitting forward. ”Keep your voice down.”

”Why didn't anyone come get me?”

”What?”

”Baker, are you okay?” he says, falling to his knees in front of her. He runs his hands up and down her arms. ”What happened, baby?”

Baby. The word echoes loudly in Hannah's head, then drops into her stomach and pierces her sharply.

”Don't move her, Clay,” Joanie snaps, stepping forward. ”Here, Hannah, give her some water.”

”I'm going to get my keys,” Luke says from the doorway. ”Bring her out to the car in a minute.”

”Thanks, man,” Clay says. He inches closer to Baker and brushes his knuckles down her face. ”You alright, Bake? What were you drinking?”

”She can't talk, Clay,” Joanie says impatiently. ”She just vomited up a whole swimming pool of alcohol. Give her some s.p.a.ce.”