Part 9 (1/2)
”Are you her husband?” she said brightly.
”Brother.”
”She was so combative in the emergency room that they had to restrain her. We left them on in case she woke up in the middle of the night and decided to leave.”
Sarah began to stir. She lifted her head and looked at the nurse, then at me.
”Where am I? Where's Gracie?”
”Gracie's fine. You're in the hospital. We'll talk about it after the doctor comes in.”
The nurse took Sarah's vitals, and a couple of minutes later a stodgy-looking redhead wearing a white lab coat walked through the door. A pair of reading gla.s.ses hung from a chain around her neck.
”Ms. Dillard,” she said, ”I'm Doctor Fritz. I see from your chart you had a busy night last night. The paramedics' report says you had a child in the car with you. What happened to the child?” Her tone was unfriendly and judgmental.
”My mouth tastes awful,” Sarah said. ”Do you have any toothpaste or gum or anything?”
”I'm sure the nurse will find you something. What do you remember about last night, Ms. Dillard?”
”Not much.”
”I'm not surprised. You had enough alcohol in your bloodstream to float an aircraft carrier. Was this an isolated incident or do you do this to yourself on a regular basis?”
”That's none of your business.”
”Really? You seem to have made it my business. And who is this?” She pointed at me. ”The lucky husband?”
”The lucky brother,” I said.
”Since your sister doesn't seem to have any manners, I'll talk to you. She's obviously built up some tolerance to alcohol or she would have been comatose last night. The blackout and the rage are symptoms of alcoholism, especially in a woman her age. She's been hydrated with intravenous fluids and given ibuprofen to combat the swelling in her brain. Since there don't seem to be any other medical problems, I'll discharge her immediately. I suggest you get her into an inpatient rehab program for a minimum of thirty days as quickly as possible. Have a nice day.”
Doctor Fritz turned abruptly and walked out the door.
”b.i.t.c.h,” Sarah muttered as soon as the doctor was out of sight.
”We need to talk,” I said. I stood and walked across the room to close the door.
”I don't feel like talking.”
”Fine, then you can just listen.” I stood at the foot of the bed and looked down at her, once again amazed at her remarkable physical appearance. She showed no signs of the abuse she'd heaped on herself the previous night. Her skin was smooth and taut, her eyes clear and bright. She'd folded her arms across her chest and was staring at the wall to her left.
”If I hadn't just happened to stop by the grocery store last night, you'd be in jail right now and Gracie would probably be with Child Protective Services. You were already hammered and you were buying more beer. You'd driven to the store with Gracie in the car, and you were about to leave the store and drive some more. One of the check-out clerks called the police. I'm not going to go through the whole sad story, Sarah, but the police showed up and you made an absolute fool of yourself.”
”Did I embarra.s.s my little brother in front of his cop buddies?” she said sarcastically.
”What's wrong with you?” I snapped. ”Didn't you hear what I said? You had Gracie in the car. That's a crime, Sarah. Thirty days in jail, minimum, and with your record, the judge will give you a lot more.”
”I don't believe you,” she said. ”If that was true, the cops would be sitting here waiting for me to get out of the hospital so they could take me to jail.”
”They're not here because I made a deal. I told them I'd make sure you go into a program and pull yourself together. If you don't go within a week, they get a warrant and arrest you.”
The idea had come to me on the spur of the moment, when the doctor mentioned in-patient rehabilitation. Sarah had been through the twelve steps, she'd been to Narcotics Anonymous, but she'd never gone through an in-patient program. It sounded like a good plan to me, so I lied to her hoping it would be for her own good.
”There's no way I'm going into a nut house for a month,” Sarah said. ”Where are my clothes?”
She threw the blanket back and started looking around the room. She spotted a plastic bag next to the wall beside the bed and picked it up.
”You're either going into a program or I'm calling the cop who wanted to arrest you,” I said. ”I'll call him right now. You'll be in jail by noon and you'll stay there for at least six months, I guarantee it.”
”No you won't,” she said, pulling on her shorts. ”You wouldn't do that to Gracie.”
”I'd do it for Gracie! You're no good to her when you're like this. You're no good to anybody.” I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and wielded it like a weapon. ”So what's it gonna be, Sarah? Rehab or jail?”
She sat back down on the bed and looked at me for the first time since she'd awakened. The stare was cold and contemptuous, a look I'd seen many times before.
”Why are you doing this to me?”
”Because I'm tired of cleaning up after you. Every time something bad happens in your life, you fall right back into the same old patterns. I've always felt sorry for you. I've always felt like your pain was somehow my fault because I didn't stop Raymond from raping you when we were kids, but that was almost forty years ago. When Gracie was born I thought you'd finally put all of that behind you, but now look at you. You're selfish and pathetic, Sarah, and I'm not going to let you dump your baggage on Gracie the same way you've dumped it on everyone who's ever cared about you. You're going into rehab, and you're going to deal with this problem once and for all.”
”Wow,” she said. ”That was quite a speech. I think maybe you missed your calling. You should have been a football coach.”
”Shut up and put your clothes on. Let's get out of here.”
”I'm not going anywhere with you.”
”Yeah, you are. You're going home with me. You're going to stay with us until we find you a good program and you go into the hospital. We'll take care of Gracie while you're gone.”
”I'm taking a cab home. I'll be out to pick up my daughter in a little while.”
I started punching numbers into my cell phone.
”Enjoy jail,” I said, and I walked out the door.
I'd dialed my own number, but I didn't send the call. I kept the phone to my ear as I walked down the hallway. A few seconds later, I heard footsteps behind me. I turned to see Sarah, pulling on her T-s.h.i.+rt and carrying her shoes.
”Alright, I'll go,” she said as she caught up to me. ”But you're paying for it.”
Chapter Eighteen.
When John Lips...o...b..and Andres Pinzon were eighteen, their lives and their destinies changed forever. It all started at a party. Andres was lifting a beer to his lips and looked around the room. Dozens of people were wandering through the house, drinking and laughing. A disc jockey was playing loud music on a large patio out back where dozens more were gyrating on a makes.h.i.+ft dance floor. Andres smiled. Life was good.
At eighteen years old, Andres no longer considered himself a stranger in a strange land. He'd been in America for five years now, and tomorrow he would graduate from prep school. In a few months, he'd be off to college at Harvard University, and from there, on to law school. He'd formed tight bonds with dozens of wealthy students from all over the country, bonds that would no doubt benefit him in the future.
Andres felt something hit him on top of the head and an empty beer can fell into his lap. He looked around, knowing who it was.