Page 33 of As a Last Resort

SAMANTHA

Seven years later, I can still tell how far away someone is by the squeak their shoes make across the linoleum floor.

Seven years later, and my heart still pounds when the machines beep faster.

Seven years later, and the hospital still smells exactly the same.

Seven years later, but this time I was waiting to see if she was going to make it through instead of her praying that I would.

The waiting was always the hardest part.

The clock on the wall ticked louder. The crinkle of the cough drop wrapper from the receptionist sounded like she was duct-taping it to the inner wall of my ear.

Every time a page turned from the 2004 magazine someone was pretending to read, it felt like a jagged saw against the side of my neck.

And her heartbeat could stop at any second.

Any second.

“I’m serious. You really don’t have to stay.

” It was the fourth time I’d told him. The plastic of the waiting room chair kept sticking to my thigh.

Austin had driven us to the hospital straight from the beach.

For once I was having a really nice time until Lexi texted me that Mom had been admitted to the hospital.

She didn’t have many details, but said I needed to head there as soon as I could.

“Patrick’s got the boat. I’m good.”

“You forget this isn’t new to me.” I gave him my best fake smile but I don’t think he bought it. “I’m fine. Really.”

My phone dinged.

ROBBY: AIRBORNE IN 5!

DID YOU BUY A MOSQUITO NET FOR OUR BED YET?

Fabulous. Another headache to layer onto the mounting disaster the day was quickly turning into. I really wasn’t in the mood for exclamation points.

Austin stood up slowly but didn’t turn to go. “She’s been doing really well lately. Don’t be too hard on her.”

“Remind me again of your definition of well ,” I snapped, wondering if he’d already forgotten that he carried her limp body to her bed the other night.

“We all make mistakes sometimes.”

“Like mother, like daughter, right?” The irony hit me—hungover and sitting outside my alcoholic mother’s hospital room.

Austin’s jaw tightened. “You are nothing like your mother.”

“Because you know me so well, right? You have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

He took a breath, steadying himself. “I’m just trying to help.”

“And like I said before, I don’t need your help.”

He recoiled a bit, then nodded, backing away. “Understood. Call me if you change your mind.”

The familiar scenario was playing itself out. My mother brought out this anger in me every time this happened. She’s the one who deserved the arrows, but somehow, someone else took the brunt of it.

I sighed and tried to soften my tone.

“It’s going to be a long time. Really.” I ran a hand through my hair. “I’m just not used to all this again. I’m going to stay until she sleeps it off and take her home. I’ll be fine. And nice. I promise.”

He nodded but hesitated for a second. Part of me wanted him to stay so I wouldn’t face this alone, but a bigger part of me didn’t want a single witness for what was to come.

He finally gave me a small smile with a hint of pity, just like everyone else always gave, then walked out.

I was so tired of people doing things out of obligation or guilt for my mom.

It was bad enough that he took care of me last night.

I felt like a complete idiot and wanted him as far away from me as possible at that moment.

I never had a problem with alcohol before, and here I was, sitting in a hospital completely hungover with my mother checked into the ER because she was found passed out. Great look for both of us.

This is what I’d been missing at home. Endless calls of “we found your mother.” Town gossip about who she was slobbering over at Harpoon’s, or who she stumbled home with.

I needed to get out of here. The promotion was gone. Robby was on his way. Maybe I’d just quit, or look for a new job. Or maybe some other monster project would sign on once wind of the Oakstone Springs project went public and I’d get that one. I just knew I needed to get the heck out of Dodge.

A nurse walked up to me and handed me two Tylenol and a cup of water. “Here you go.”

“Oh, I’m not a patient here. I’m just waiting for my mom.”

“Doctor got pulled into an emergency real quick, but said to let you know she’s up and doing alright. You can go on in and see her. He’ll be back around to talk to you soon.”

I let out a shaky breath but didn’t move.

She paused, then slowly eased herself down into the chair beside me with a soft sigh.

“This old back gets more and more bent over the more weight it’s got to carry.

” Her voice was smooth and steady. She glanced over at me, her smile warm and familiar, as if she’d known me my whole life.

The faint scent of baby powder lingered around her, and the crinkles etched across her face—evidence of a lifetime of joy or pain—deepened when she smiled.

She held out the Tylenol again. “Austin said you might need this.”

“Oh, um, okay. Thank you.”

“Patrick’s my son.” She patted my knee as she leaned her head back on the wall and closed her eyes. Her name tag— MABEL —pulled against her snug cotton scrubs.

“Oh, I see,” I said, the realization of where the familiar smile came from finally dawning on me. “Gotta love small towns.”

“It had just been me and my boy our whole lives, then this little boy with shaggy blond hair comes home one day with Patrick like a lost puppy. He says to me, ‘His name’s Austin, can we keep him?’ Haven’t been able to separate them since.”

I smiled, thinking of Austin as a kid. I knew that shaggy mop of hair she was talking about.

“So I heard Patrick changed his name?”

“Oh Lord, don’t get me started, catering to those tourists with that silly accent. He’s a closet comedian, that one, always thinking he can make a buck with his jokes and his acting skills.”

“He is pretty funny.”

“He is, isn’t he? But don’t you go and tell him that. You’ll just encourage it. But he’s a hard worker too, even if he drives me crazy.” She looked at me again, and I noticed her smile didn’t have a single trace of pity in it. “She’s up if you want to see her.”

I looked toward the door and exhaled slowly.

“Family ain’t who you choose,” she continued. “They’re who God gave you to love. There’s a big difference.”

“Well, I have no idea what I did to deserve this, then.”

“She lucked out getting you as a daughter. Lots of people don’t have someone who’d sit outside their hospital room after so long.”

“I haven’t been here in a long time.” Even though it felt like only yesterday I was in these halls.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re here now.”

“Does it count even when I don’t want to be?” I asked, guilt gripping my throat.

“That’s when it counts the most,” she said, easing herself up. “Take that Tylenol and stop by the desk and see me on your way out.” She shuffled down the hall as I stood up.

The smell of cleaner stung my nose as I walked into the small room. The curtain was drawn back, letting far too much light in, and she was lying back on the bed with her hands clasped in her lap.

She waited until I closed the door to speak.

“I know you’re angry.” Her voice carried that familiar grit from the friction of a tube being shoved down her throat. The bed swallowed her tiny frame. “I was doing so good.”

“Yeah, until a guest called 911 because they thought you were dead after finding you topless on the dock barely breathing.”

“Don’t exaggerate.”

“I’m being factual.”

“I messed up.”

“I’m aware of that.” I braced myself for what would come.

The litany of justifications, all the reasons why it wasn’t her fault she lost control and she’d never do it again.

All words that had been so familiar for so long played through my head.

But being so far removed from it softened my calluses toward the excuses.

My anger bubbled under the surface. I didn’t have as much of a wall as I normally did.

My patience had already run out and I was only thirty seconds into the conversation.

“It’s been a really long time since something this bad has happened.”

I held my tongue. The less words I spoke the better.

“I really thought I had a handle on it. And I have been good, I swear. But after I found that article laying right out on your desk like you—”

“Are you really going to blame this on me?”

“I just needed to get my mind off it, that’s all.

I’m not blaming you. But a couple of the younger girls went out after work and I thought I could go and just hang out.

It was so nice to be invited and I needed a distraction.

” The blame sat there heavy in the room, whether she pointed it at me or not.

“You should see what they’re wearing out these days.

Nothing is left to the imagination anymore.

They look ridiculous, and that’s what I told them too.

When they came back with pink shots, I didn’t think it’d hurt since I was the grown-up. ”

“What exactly is your definition of a grown-up?”

She took a breath. “It was just a little vodka and tons of pink lemonade. It wasn’t anything hard and I thought I could handle it.”

“Right, because a shot’s totally doable for an alcoholic,” I spat.

“Don’t mock me.”

“I don’t understand how you think because you’re sober for a minute, you all of a sudden don’t have to play by the rules anymore. You don’t get to drink. Period.”

“I realize that, Samantha.” She picked at a nonexistent thread on the bedsheet. “You look awful by the way.”

“This isn’t about me.”

“Were you drinking last night?”

“Oh, this is golden, you asking me if I was drinking.”

“You’re prone to alcoholism. It’s genetic. You need to get help.”

“Are you kidding me? I need help?”

“No, I am not kidding. This is not something to joke around about.”