Page 28 of Intoxicating Pursuit

“ Oh my God . Are you flipping out? I knew you would do this. I shouldn’t have called.”

“ Wait, Meghan! Don’t hang up.”

“Well, am I wasting my time?”

“I’m sorry. What do you need? Just tell me again.” Come on, Sammy. Listen.

“The key. Mom, I need the key .”

“A key?” Oh. To the cottage. Where was it? It was so damn hard to breathe. Think, Sammy, please. “There’s a spare on a Temple University keychain in my desk drawer.”

Meghan’s footsteps pounded up the stairs. The stiff wooden slides of the drawer whined, and papers shuffled.

“The center drawer, Mom? Or down in the filing cabinets?”

“The middle drawer. It should be right there.”

I tried to stay present, but images of Mom flooded my mind: alone, red-faced, limp on her bed.

“Mom, there’s nothing here but files and papers and junk.”

Rationally, I knew this wasn’t cause for panic. If Mom was in bad shape, she would have called me, not Meghan. She would have asked for more than ice chips. I clung desperately to that reality, tried to get oxygen.

But my internal alarm system didn’t give one fig about rationality or reason. Panic was screaming bloody murder in my body, and my mind was descending into a muddled, whirring chaos.

What’s real, Sammy? Please think! Is there another spare? Should she call 911?

At the thought of sirens, a tingling rush of blood drained from my face, and a fainting swell of lightheadedness left me wobbling. I grabbed the trellis for support.

Please body. Please chill out .

I tried calming words—tried every trick I'd been trained to use—but my brain’s betrayal raged against me. My heart beat manically, and my stomach retched, burning my throat with bile.

Oh, God. Not that. Not here.

“Meghan, I’ll call you back. Go pound on that door. Wake her up! ”

The firestorm in my body was not backing down, and I knew I had minutes at best.

I ran back to the porch, grabbed my computer, and dashed into my cabin.

A voice called behind me, but I only saw the route to escape.

I tossed clothes and shoes in my bag, grabbed my purse, then looked around in futility—unable to remember what I needed, or what might still be in the cabin.

I couldn’t get air in my lungs, and I knew it would only get worse. I gave up and sprinted out the door.

“Sammy, what the hell’s happening? Slow down .” Gabe suddenly swam into my field of vision. He squeezed my arms gently in his hands. “Slow down so I can help. What’s wrong?”

I couldn’t think clearly to explain— couldn’t breathe—and I was aware of what a ridiculous mess I was.

Acutely embarrassed, I ran to my car and fumbled with the driver’s side door lock, struggling to get in.

Hot tears spilled down my cheeks. This was the worst-case scenario, and I refused to vomit in front of him.

Absolutely refused. But I didn’t have much time.

“Sammy, stop. This is crazy!” He gripped my arm gently.

I needed to respond, but I couldn’t get enough air for words. “Let me go,” I finally gasped.

He did.

My hands shook as I stumbled into the driver's seat. I cranked the engine over, backed away from the cabins, and fled down the dirt road.

One hundred yards past the front gate of the property, I pulled over and threw up, sobbing and spitting sour acid on the roadside.

Why did this keep happening ?

I knew there was nothing wrong. I knew everything had to be fine, but my body didn’t care. Millenniums of primitive instinct were bathing my brain in chemicals that collapsed every bodily function into an overwhelming urge to flee. I was a prisoner to my own stupid chemistry.

I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand, got back in the car, and sped away, turning onto the long curving road that would lead me down the mountain and far away.

***

O ne other driver fueled up at the ancient gas station, but aside from his shuffling footsteps and the comforting sound of the burbling creek, everything was quiet.

After my breathing finally calmed, this was the first pull-off I’d found, and I’d stopped to let my brain unscramble.

The tears and nausea had subsided, and rational thoughts reemerged.

I closed my eyes to concentrate . Take stock, Sammy. What’s actually happening?

I scavenged for facts: Mom has a fever. Meghan’s home with her. Mom needs ice chips. Her cottage is locked.

My daughter needed to get into Mom’s cottage. That had to be the first priority.

I dialed Meghan, and she answered quickly. “Mom. Are you okay? Sorry I was a jerk.”

“I’m fine. Did Grandma answer her door?”

The muffled sound of Mom’s raspy voice carried from the background. “Hand me that phone, Meghan.” After a pause, Mom came through loud and clear. “Sammy, what’s going on? I asked for ice chips, for Pete’s sake, and Meghan says you’re completely out of sorts.”

“I’m calm now.”

She coughed. “Good. You should be.”

“Mom, how high is your fever?”

“Barely over one hundred. Nothing drastic. Sharon’s sick, too. We played tennis this week. I’m sure I caught the same thing she did. It’s not a big deal.”

“Do you wanna call Dr. Hurwitz?”

“No, Sammy. I don’t. I feel a little cruddy, but that’s it. Meghan’s here to help if I need anything.”

“Okay.” It was barely ten a.m. Even with stops, I should be able to get home by sunset. “Listen, I won’t be home ‘til eight or so. I’ll call Tina and get her on standby.”

“ What? . . .” She coughed again. “Sammy, don’t be silly! We’re fine . Stay in Creekside. Find the best piece of property you can. Don’t give up. This is good for you.”

From her perspective, I’m sure it was a reasonable suggestion, but I didn’t think my pride could bear returning to Gabe’s right now. Plus, what if there was another update? What if Mom took a turn for the worse or my brain spiraled into hysteria again.

It wasn’t workable.

“Thanks for the encouragement, but I think coming home is the right thing.”

“Well. . . Sammy. . . don’t do it for my sake.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. Who would I be doing it for? Meghan? Mom? Me? Or would it be the wrong choice for all three of us? I had no idea anymore. All I knew for sure was that I needed to get back to my family—to the people I was responsible for.

“Thanks, Mom, but I’m coming home. Have Meghan call Tina if you guys need anything immediate.”

“Are you sure, Sammy?”

I wasn’t. “No. . . But it’s what I’m doing. Love you.” I ended the call.

I took a deep breath and wiped my nose one more time, trying to center myself. What’s next, Sammy? Tina, of course. I need to get Tina on board.

I dialed her number.

She answered after a few rings, sounding haggard. “Hey, Sammy. . . Oh, Noah, honey, no! Icky! Icky! . . . ”

“Everything okay over there?”

“The dog just puked. On the carpet. . . No, Noah! Stop . . . Hold on.” She breathed more heavily, and noises crashed and clicked in the background. “Okay. Thank God for baby gates. Doing alright?”

“Not entirely.”

“Worse than dog barf?”

She could still make me laugh. Even with tears and snot on my face. “Maybe not.”

“That’s what I thought.” She slurped something, almost certainly coffee at this hour. “Listen, kinda nuts right now. Need something?”

“Well, I’m out of town, and Mom has a fever. I was hoping you could be on call ’til I get home.”

“You’re out of town?”

“Yeah.”

“By yourself? Or did you finally go with Marco to check on construction?”

“Construction’s done. I’m not with Marco. It’s just me.”

“Well, Sammy, that’s great! I’m so happy for you!” Cabinets banged and running water shooshed in the background.

“Thanks. But I’m coming home. Can Meghan and Mom call you if they need something? I won’t arrive ’til tonight.”

“Sure. . . Where are you?”

“Um, down near the Smokies.” It pained me to give an incomplete answer, but I wanted to respect Gabe’s wishes. “There’s a good expansion opportunity here.”

“Wow. That’s awesome! And of course I can help.”

“You’re a lifesaver." I really hadn’t been keeping up with her as well as I should. "How are things with Andrew? Any developments?”

“ Ugh , not remotely enough time for that topic. Listen, I’ve gotta go, Noah’s doing the potty dance.”

“Oh, run, run, run! Thanks, Tina.”

She hung up.

Hearing Mom’s voice helped so much. Knowing Tina was available for disaster coverage made a big difference, too.

I realized my mouth tasted horrible, and I rummaged through the car for my water bottle.

No luck.

Great. One more casualty from the trip, likely left back at the cabin.

I went into the gas station and bought some water and a sandwich, too. A little nutrition should help even me out.

I settled back into the driver’s seat, rinsed my mouth, and put the food aside for a moment.

Ok, Sammy. Anything else? What else is real?

Unfortunately, one more big thing loomed. I just had a panic attack in front of Gabe and had run away with no explanation.

Tears of frustration leaked out, and I leaned over the steering wheel in defeat. I took another swig of water and blew my nose, wishing this would all just end.

I tried to comfort myself with the positives.

After all, I’d managed to leave Philadelphia.

In fact, I’d made it nine hours down the coast and another thirty-six hours after that before a minor meltdown that, in all fairness, was triggered by an almost reasonable fear.

This was progress. Maybe not great—but progress.

My phone rang. I swiped my wet eyes and saw it was Charlie calling. Should I let it go to voicemail? It rang again while I hemmed. And again. Tempted as I was to avoid the call, I realized if I wanted any kind of ongoing relationship with Gabe, I had better pick up.

I caved.

“Hi, Charlie.”

But it was Gabe’s deep voice that answered. “Hey, Sammy. Charlie patched me through. Look, I’m worried about you. Can we come pick you up? Seems like you shouldn’t be driving if you’re so upset.”

I prayed I didn’t sound as wretched as I felt. “It’s okay. I pulled over. I’m much calmer now.”

“What happened? Who on earth called?”

I sniffed. “It was Meghan. Mom has a fever and wasn’t answering her door. Meghan couldn’t find the key. I think I have to get home. Sorry for the change in plans.”

“Do you need to call 911? Is it bad?”

“No. Mom woke up. We talked. She’s stable for now.”

He was quiet a moment, and his next comment came out at half-speed. His voice was hard and uncertain—like there was a lot more on his mind than he was saying. “Sammy. . . I don’t understand why you ran off.”

Be careful here.

I knew I hadn’t shared enough to make sense of my behavior, but what could I say?

That Dad had died on the phone with me, begging for help?

That I’d been out of town and unable to save him?

That my brain set off five-alarm fires every time I got too far from my people, especially if there was trouble?

It was way too much, but saying nothing would be worse.

I had to share at least some of the truth.

I didn’t see any choice other than to count on him being a real person who could cope with real human being stuff.

“Listen, I’m fully aware my behavior was unreasonable.

” I paused to muster courage. Gabe seemed to wait patiently.

“The truth is. . . my dad died a few years ago. The circumstances were traumatic, and I was out of town when it happened.” I took one more deep breath then plunged in all the way.

“Anxiety attacks have been a problem for me ever since, especially if I try to travel or if something’s wrong with my family.

I know that’s not good, but it’s just what happens.

” My voice was cracking, and I fought to hold it together.

“I'm embarrassed, and I’m really sorry.” I felt so vulnerable, so raw.

Gabe’s husky voice regained its softness and betrayed no alarm.

“I’m sorry your mom is sick. Sorry about your dad, too.

” He was quiet for a moment, as though he was collecting his thoughts.

“As for the panic, I’m sure it’s awful, but listen.

. . I’m twenty years into parenthood, and I’ve spent a few decades on the road with messy, complicated, human beings.

So, it stinks that you’re dealing with this right now, but please don’t feel embarrassed. ”

It was an unexpected bit of compassion, and I felt new tears coming, but these were the good kind.