ASMTD Ch. 11

"This isn't Kate," I say without preamble. "My name is Raiqah. Kate's being taken to St. Joseph's hospital; you need to get there fast."

The soft query in her voice disappears, replaced by confusion and suspicion, "Who is this?"

"I'm one of the people that went with Kate to Ireland. I'm on my way to the hospital right now. She's in the ER, I think. I've already packed her a bag, so all you need to do is get in a car."

There's a long pause, long enough that I pull up to the hospital parking lot and navigate into a tight space. "We'll be there in an hour."

The line goes dead and I lean my head against the steering wheel, taking a second to breathe. Blame falls heavy on my shoulders. I should have known, spotted the signs, talked to her more. Why didn't I see it? Why didn't I try harder? Do more?

Slamming my hand onto the dashboard, I scream out all my frustration. Useless I'm fucking useless: a shit friend. For long minutes I let myself wallow in my own pity and self-loathing before pulling myself back together. It's easier this time, to pick up the pieces and glue them back into some semblance of a person.

I look in the rearview mirror and slick my hair back with my hands. Kate needs me, Em needs me, and I have to be strong. There's no choice.

I shoot off a text to my mom and Em's parents letting them know what's happening as I grab Kate's bag and head into the hospital. With every step my skin thickens, transforms. I resolve not to break. I'm titanium and I need to start acting like it.

***

Around noon Kate's parents arrived at St. Joseph's and I get my first clue into my friend's downward spiral. Her mother looked haggard and exhausted as she rolls an older, frail looking man toward us in the waiting room. "Kathleen Davendeer," she gasped when she is within ear shot of the nurse station. "Where is she? We're her parents."

Parents? I looked at the woman closely, seeing the similarities in their skin and hair, but I couldn't reconcile the man with Kate's father. He is horrendously thin, bones sticking through the cotton of his white button down and brown corduroys. Part of his body looks completely paralyzed, left eye and mouth tilting down in permanent sag.

A nurse in bright pink checkered scrubs speaks in calm soothing tones to the woman, gesturing to us every so often. Eventually, the nurse gives Kate's mother a few forms and gestures to the waiting area. After another moment, Kate's mother wheels her husband's chair toward us and takes the three seats across from Em and me.

"Hello," she greeted with a tight smile. "My name is Linda. This is my husband, Patrick. We're Kathleen's parents."

Em extended her hand. "Emmeline Ross-Porter. We're in the Collective with Kate."

Ms. Davendeer's eyes settle on me, a look of contempt flashing across her features. "You must me Raiqah Hussein. We spoke on the phone." She says my name with as much distrust as she can muster. "Would either of you like to explain what happened?"

Em relays the story as I watch the woman. She might not like me, but it's hard not to respect her. Every so often, she leans over and cleans drool from her husband's chin, rearranging his limbs when he moans or groans. It's obvious she does it a lot, that she has dedicated most, if not all, of her time to taking care of the man.

"If you don't mind me asking," I interrupt, "What happened to Mr. Daveendeer?"

Her lips pinch together and she clasps her hands tight in her lap, knuckles turning white. "A few months ago he had a stroke, followed by another stroke while Kathleen was in Ireland."

My eyes widen but I don't say anything. Em nudges me and there's a question in her eyes: Did you know?

I shake my head. No.

The nurse calls Kate's mother and the couple goes into the E.R. Em and I sit for a while longer, but when it becomes obvious we're not needed, we leave. The walk to her car feels longer, the sun a burn against my skin. For long minutes we sit in the car, saying nothing.

Eventually she breaks the silence, "It was alcohol poisoning."

I nod, but an even darker thought settles. "And the..."

"No clue, and I didn't ask. If it was rape... I don't fucking know."

"Have any idea what's going to happen?"

"None," she shakes her head, brunette strands clinging to her eye lashes. "If I had to guess, I'd say they're going to put her in a program or rehab."

Sighing, I take the keys from her shaking hands and climb out of the car. "I'll drive. We need chocolate therapy."

Her laugh is short and hollow, "Gonna need a lot more than that."

"Chocolate and ice cream and 80s' movies."

Climbing in the passenger seat, Em leans over to give me a brief but fierce hug. I return it with equal measure. "It's a start," she whispers as her silent tears soak my shirt.