I wake up briefly when Annie comes in to give me a kiss after Julia dropped her home, then sleep the sleep of the dead, until I open my eyes and look at the alarm clock, and it’s 7:43 a.m. After the past two days of waking up at 3 and 4 a.m., this feels like the lie-in of the century. I have missed the morning meeting, but clearly I needed to sleep more.
* * *
I open my eyes again and it’s 10:24 a.m. Oh my God! I went back to sleep. Annie! Sam! Where is everyone? I jump out of bed, completely bleary-eyed, and go to the stairs.
“Annie? Sam? Hello?”
No answer.
I go to Annie’s room and quietly push the door open, and there she is, fast asleep on her bed, her face as relaxed as a baby’s. I smile, then pad down the hallway to Sam’s room, gently push his door as well, and he too is fast asleep.
It seems the jet lag caught up with all of us.
I slip on yesterday’s shorts and T-shirt, slide my feet into the flip-flops by the back door, and jump in the car to go grab croissants and coffee, to bring back to the house.
* * *
“Morning!” Sam is almost ridiculously clichéd in the mornings, stretching his arms up like a great sleepy bear, yawning in the doorway as he stumbles into the kitchen.
I have been dying for him to wake up. The croissants are still warm, on a plate on the kitchen table, and I have made a bowl of berries to have with them. I have been waiting and waiting and waiting for Sam to get up, desperate to do the postmortem on last night, to find out what Sam thought of Eddie, whether he thought there was chemistry, and most important, to find out if Eddie said anything when they went out.
I’m sure he did. He must have done. I am desperate to know but have to pretend to make small talk before I go in for the kill.
“Late night?” I say, passing the plate of croissants over to him and pouring him some coffee.
“So late!” he groans. “God, it was completely wild in there. It’s good you didn’t come, actually. Big, big drinking. Everyone in there, I think. Do we have any painkillers?”
“I think there are some in the kitchen drawer.” I go to the kitchen drawer to find a bottle of Advil. “How many? Three? Four?”
“What? Are you crazy?” Sam looks at me in horror. “Who takes three or four painkillers, for God’s sake? Two!”
I feel a faint flush on my cheeks. I sometimes forget that I am a person of extremes, that other people, normal people, don’t overdo everything in their life. I have to do everything in my life to excess or I can’t feel it: coffee as strong and thick as mud, everything a little harder, faster, more. And then at times like these, I am embarrassed when I realize I have no idea what normal is.
I shake two out into my hand and give them to Sam with a glass of water, watching as he gratefully gulps them down.
“So, was it fun?”
“Oh God. Huge fun. I just wish I hadn’t had so much to drink. Lots of singing.”
“You? Singing? You must have been drunk.”
“It was all Billy Joel and Carole King. Fantastic stuff.”
Enough Billy Joel and Carole King. I have to cut to the chase. “I thought Eddie was gorgeous. Like, really, properly gorgeous. Like, loin-stirringly gorgeous. I think maybe he might have been interested in me. I can’t stand it anymore—please tell me he said something about me.”
Sam stares at me. “What?”
“I know! I’m behaving like a lovestruck teenager. I know it’s ridiculous, but I have this huge crush, and if he liked me he would have said something to you. Come on, Sam, put me out of my misery, did he?”
And Sam stares.
“Sweetie,” he says, slowly, cautiously, and after a sigh, “how do you not realize that he’s gay?”
I shake my head and start to laugh. “Not this time, Sam. You think everyone’s gay, particularly if they’re handsome and in good shape. There’s no way his mother would have set us up if he was gay. And he’s not gay.”
“Cat, he’s gay. His mother doesn’t know.”
“Bullshit. He’s not gay.”
“If I tell you he kissed me last night would you believe me?”
“That’s not funny, Sam.”
“I know. I’m not smiling.”
And he’s not. His face is deadly serious, and worse than that, there’s a look on it that if I didn’t know better I would say was pity.
“Shit!” I jump up from the table, completely and utterly mortified. I know Sam is my best friend, and I know I can tell him anything, and he is probably not looking at me right now thinking I am the biggest idiot in the whole world, but that’s how I’m feeling.
I am the biggest idiot in the whole world.
“Cat?” Sam jumps up after me. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea you didn’t know. You have great gaydar. How could you not tell? I’m so sorry. I can’t believe you didn’t … Oh God. I’m sorry.”
I turn from the stairs, which I am climbing in a bid to crawl back into bed and hide under the covers, never wanting to look Sam in the eye again.
“I cannot believe what a fool I seem.”
“Sweetie,” he says gently, taking my hand and pulling me back toward the kitchen, “if you knew the number of times I’ve hit on straight men convinced they were interested in me, you would not be feeling a fool. And he’s not swishy. And he’s American, and frankly, even I wasn’t sure. I mean, I kind of thought he was at a certain point in the evening, but I don’t always get it right.”
“But how can his mother not know?”
“Apparently his dad was a huge homophobe, and he just decided it was easier to not tell anyone. It’s why he moved away for so long. He’s planning on telling his mother, just hasn’t found the right time, although she’s constantly trying to fix him up with women, so he’s realizing he’s just going to have to bite the bullet and get it over with soon.”
“How do you live with that kind of secret from your parents?” I say, realizing, as the words come out of my mouth, that my mother lived with a far bigger secret, one that would have blown her life apart.
“His mother would be fine,” I say, knowing that her years in program will have prepared her for this. “Shocked, probably, given that she thinks her son is the most eligible straight single man on the island, but she’ll accept it. She has years of recovery. I can’t believe he wouldn’t tell her.”
“He said on some levels his mother is extraordinary, and accepting, and loving, but she’s also a devout Christian, and has particularly strong views on homosexuals, as she calls them.”
“So he actually kissed you?”
“Are you sure you want to hear about this?” He peers at me dubiously.
“Yes. Now that I am over my utter mortification at fantasizing a future with a gay man, yes, I want to hear all about it.”
“Oh my God, Cat,” Sam burbles, suddenly as giddy as a teenager. “He is gorgeous! We talked about everything, the whole him being gay thing, but I wasn’t sure he was interested in me, and then, when we left the Club Car and were walking down a side street, he just grabbed me, pushed me back against a wall, and started kissing me. It was the craziest, sexiest thing that’s happened to me in years.”
I pull the front of my shirt away from my chest, fanning myself. “Okay, so I’m not supremely jealous. Given that the last person I kissed was Jason, and that was probably a year and a half ago, I could throw up, I’m so jealous. So it was amazing, yes?”
“Out of this world amazing.”
I look closely at Sam. “Did you have sex?”
His hand flies to his chest, a horrified expression on his face. “Cat! What kind of boy do you think I am?”
“A horny one?”
“Well, yes. I certainly was last night, but no, we didn’t have sex. Not on the first date.”
“Are you seeing him again?”
“I bloody well hope so. He apparently has some kind of social tonight and invited us.”
“Both of us?”
“Yes.”
“So I can be the big fat gooseberry?”
“Well, it was nice of him to invite you.”
“There’s no way I’m going to come and be the third wheel in your budding romance. I’ll feel like an idiot.”
“Apparently there’ll be a few single men there. Straight ones. I think we should go.”
“I don’t know whether I’m interested in meeting anyone. Right now I need to stay focused on raising Annie and being a good mum.”
Sam raises an eyebrow. “And that’s why you were all aquiver last night at the possibility of Eddie being straight?”
“Can you please not remind me? Let’s just move on.”
And we do.
* * *
Annie emerges, finally, close to noon, black eyeliner smudged under her eyes, her usual sunny demeanor replaced by one that is surly and distracted, and horrifyingly familiar to me.
My God, I think. It happened, finally. My little girl just became a teenager.
I think back to a comedy sketch I once saw, a sweet little boy sitting with his parents waiting for the clock to strike midnight so he can turn thirteen. On the stroke of midnight he transforms, in a seemingly painful way, into a teenager. His short back and sides grow, werewolflike, to a long, greasy mess. His smile is replaced with a growl, and his response to his parents is a loud bark: I hate you! Oh, Harry Enfield, I think, how right you were. I just didn’t expect it to ever happen to my sweet little girl, and how is it possible that it seems to have happened, literally, in twenty-four hours?
“How was last night?” I say brightly, hoping to pull her out of her funk. “There are chocolate croissants there if you want breakfast, although”—I look at my watch—“it’s almost time for lunch.”
“It was fine,” she says, shrugging, taking a croissant and spraying crumbs everywhere. I resist the urge to reprimand her, instead quietly getting a plate and putting it in front of her.
“What did you do?”
“Went for dinner. Hung out.”
“So what does that mean?” I attempt, with a laugh. “Hang out? What do you actually do?”
“Nothing,” she barks. “That’s the point.”
“Okay. Sorry I asked. How was Julia? Is she fun?”
“Totally!” Annie says, in an almost perfect American accent. “She’s amazing! Oh, and Trudy called. She wants to see me tonight. Can I go?”
I start in surprise. “Ellie said it was okay?”
Annie shrugs. “I guess.”
Wow, I think. Julia really is that good.
Annie sidles over to me, sliding an arm around me and resting her head on my shoulder in a semblance of old Annie, sweet Annie. “Mummy?” she says, and I know this means she is about to ask for something. “Can I sleep over at Trudy’s tonight? Her mum is off island tonight and said she can have four girlfriends sleep over, and they really, really want me to go.”
“Her mom’s not going to be there and she’s allowing friends to spend the night? Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. Trudy’s completely trustworthy, and they are sixteen.”
“I know. That’s what worries me.”
“Mum! There won’t be any boys, it’s just girls, and she is my cousin. We’re going to hang out at the beach today, then go back to Trudy’s house. Her mum leaves at lunchtime, and I promise we won’t go to bed late.”
“There won’t be any drugs or alcohol?”
Annie looks horrified. “Who do you think I am? Of course not!”
“Okay, I was just checking. I’m just a little nervous about letting you go somewhere with no adult supervision.”
“You let me stay at Emily’s house all the time when her parents are in the country.”
That’s true, but it feels different. I have known Emily since junior school, know her parents, know how she lives. Also, Emily, as lovely as she is, is something of a nerd, a fact I am extremely grateful for. I would far prefer Annie to be hanging out with Emily, trust Emily far more than I trust Trudy. Not that I have any evidence to base it on, but Sam described Trudy as “fast,” and even though she is sweet, and has a lovely smile, and is polite, I have an instinct that all is not as it seems, she is not all she seems.
Years ago, I would override my instincts at every turn. I would meet some woman, and have an intuition that she was a little bit crazy, but she would go out of her way to befriend me, phoning me, inviting me places, so that I would soon decide I was the one with the problem and clearly my instincts were entirely wrong.
Except they never were. We would become instant best friends, until something would inevitably happen to prove me right. I would always look back in regret, wishing I had listened to that inner voice telling me something was wrong.
It isn’t that the voice is telling me there’s something wrong with Trudy, just that perhaps the sweetness isn’t all there is. She’s too sweet. It feels disingenuous.
“Let me think about it,” I say, watching Annie’s smile disappear, the sullen expression take over her face again.
“You can’t say no,” she snaps. “You just can’t. If you say no this will end up being the worst holiday of my life. I finally have the chance to be part of a group of girls, to actually belong somewhere, and you saying no will ruin that for me. If I don’t go tonight, then I will never be part of that group, and everything will be ruined.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. The drama! Instead I nod, as if I am carefully considering everything she is saying, and pull Sam out to the screen porch to see what he thinks.
“I think she should go,” he says, before I have a chance to say anything.
“There’s something I don’t feel right about,” I admit reluctantly. “I know Trudy is family, kind of, but you saying you thought she was fast has really made me uncomfortable. I think you’re right. And I worry about what they’ll get up to.”
“Fast doesn’t mean bad, it just means she’s a little more worldly. Frankly I think you’re incredibly lucky that Annie’s had such an innocent ride up until now. What were you doing at that age? I was smoking pot like it was going out of fashion, and I’m pretty damn sure you were drinking your way into oblivion.”
“Maybe. But this is Annie! Sweet, innocent Annie. I don’t want her corrupted.”
“Sweetie, it’s going to happen, whether you like it or not. If she’s going to experiment with something, surely it’s better it happens here rather than London? It’s not only safer, it’s contained. We’re leaving in less than two weeks and then it’s over. Plus, this is part of growing up. You can’t protect her forever.”
I sigh. “I really don’t want to say yes, but I know she will never get over it. Also, I do see your point. If she’s going to get stoned, let it happen on a beach on Nantucket.”
“I’m sure their shit is better anyway,” says Sam. “I spent my teenage years rolling joints out of hash. Horrible stuff. Half the time it just made me throw up. At least here you’ve got to presume they’re getting good grass.”
“You do realize you’re talking to a recovering alcoholic?” I say. “And you’re not exactly alcohol-free. Maybe we’re the ones who are fucked up? Maybe what you and I think is normal isn’t normal at all and we should be saying no?”
And I realize it’s true. For a very long time I presumed that all teenagers did what I did, got drunk, were wild, had nights they couldn’t remember. I thought it was absolutely normal to drink, to get stoned, it was part of being a teenager, and I fully expected that when I grew up and had children of my own, they would do exactly the same thing.
Then I got sober. And I started to hear other people talk about their childhoods, and they didn’t have the kind of teenage years I had. Of course there were fights with their parents, and discord, and hard times, but most people didn’t lose their teenage years to a sea of drugs and alcohol. Most people didn’t accept that as normal behavior.
It wasn’t what everyone did.
“We’re not fucked up,” says Sam. “Maybe just a bit, but in the best possible way. And despite all of it, neither you or I is doing so badly. Let’s not turn this into something bigger. Just let her have fun. It’s a holiday, and it’s her cousin. Who knows when they’ll see each other again, and she’ll love you much more for saying yes.”
“You’re right, you’re right.” I sigh, and go back into the kitchen to tell Annie she can go.
“I love you!” She jumps up from the table, literally shrieking with joy, flinging her arms around me and covering my face with kisses, the surly teenager just sitting at the kitchen table now replaced by my sweet little girl. “You’re the best mum in the whole world!” And even though I know this isn’t real, even though I know this is temporary and will only last about two more minutes, I put my arms around her and sink into this moment of joy.
* * *
Sam and I walk up and down the docks in Nantucket Harbor, trying to peer into all the boats, amazed at the luxury and beauty of some of them, the size. Every now and then he pauses, whipping out his phone and furiously texting, and I glance over to see Eddie’s name. Each time a text arrives, Sam starts smiling like a lovestruck teenager.
“Apparently it’s a fund-raiser for the firemen,” he says at one point, his eyes lighting up. “Now you have to come.”
“Since when has firefighting been a cause close to your heart?”
He stops in his tracks. “Have you ever seen an American firefighter? I have no idea how they do it, but they make them differently over here. They are quite the most gorgeous things you’ve ever seen. Turns out”—he grins smugly—“Eddie’s a volunteer.”
“Well, of course he is. Is there anything Eddie can’t do?” I say grumpily.
“I’m not sure he can knit,” Sam says eventually, after appearing to think about it very hard.
* * *
I have often thought that you know instantly when something very bad happens.
I have heard stories of people waking up in the middle of the night at the precise time that, on the other side of the world, their mother died. Or the phone will ring, and as you pick it up, you get a wave of premonition, a sense of dread about what it is that you are about to hear.
I am sitting at a trestle table, at the firemen’s fund-raiser, moving pasta salad around my paper plate with a plastic fork, when a couple of policemen walk into the room.
I notice them because they’re in uniform, and they seem to know everyone here, which is unsurprising, and I wonder if this is a fund-raiser for the police too, and if not, why they might be here.
They seem to be looking for someone, but everyone they ask seems to shrug and shake their heads, until a guy we were talking to earlier looks over in our direction and points, at least I think he points, to me.
And my blood runs cold.
“Are you the mother of Annie Halliwell?” I realize my mouth is filled with pasta salad that will not go down my throat, and I pick up my napkin and expel the salad into it as I start to shake. Whatever they are about to say, this cannot be real. This isn’t for me. This has to be a mistake.
“There’s been an accident,” they say. “You need to come with us.”
“Where is she?” My voice comes out as a shriek as Sam and Eddie jump to their feet, although I don’t see them, don’t see anything, the room closing in to a pinprick of black. “Is she okay?”
“She’s in the hospital,” one of them says gently, taking my arm. “We’re going to take you to see her now.”
* * *
I don’t want to ask. I sit in the back of the police car, Sam at my side, holding my hand, stroking my arm, and I can’t ask the question that’s whirring round and round in my head, waves of nausea each time I think of it.
They would have told me, I think. If she was dead they would have told me. They would have said something like I’m so sorry but she didn’t make it. They didn’t say that. She must be alive. And if she’s alive, there must be hope.
Nothing makes sense. A scooter accident? She doesn’t have a scooter. She knows she’s not allowed to go on a scooter. We’re here on holiday, for God’s sake, and she is thirteen years old. Where is she going to get a scooter from?
And why? Didn’t she text just an hour ago to say they were renting a movie and making popcorn? How did a movie and popcorn turn into a scooter? How did a movie and popcorn turn into police turning up at a firemen’s fund-raiser? How did a movie and popcorn turn into me sitting in a police car, about to throw up, more terrified than I have ever been in my life?
I am not, was not, a woman of faith. Religion was never part of my life when I was a child, although I always had a belief in God, in someone looking out for me. When I first went to AA, all those years ago, I thought everyone was crazy, talking about a Higher Power. I had no idea of the power of prayer, or of trusting that there is someone, something bigger, who is looking out for us. It seemed like a load of nonsense.
For a while, I talked about the group being my Higher Power. I had heard other people say this, and I felt less ridiculous, less “woo-woo,” having something substantive rather than a great bearded man in the sky.
But something shifted this last time I got sober, the last time, I hope, I get sober. I was at rock bottom, had lost my marriage, my child. When I started to pray, I really did feel that I wasn’t alone, that I would be okay, and even though I never thought of myself as religious, I have come to find enormous solace in prayer.
So I pray now. The prayers I know. The Serenity Prayer: God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
The Third Step Prayer: God, I offer myself to thee, to build with me and to do with me as thou wilt. Relieve me of the bondage of self that I may better do thy will. Take away my difficulties that victory over them may bear witness to those I would help of thy power, thy love, and thy way of life. May I do thy will always.
And then simply God, help her. Help her, God. Help her be okay.
I say them over and over, my eyes squeezed shut, my lips moving, my hand clutching Sam’s. Over and over.
We pull up, and I jump out of the car, edgy, jittery, desperate to see my daughter, terrified of what I will find. I am forced to slow down, to not burst in through the doors of the emergency room of this tiny cottage hospital, flanked as I am by the two police officers.
We are led to a room, a curtain is pulled aside, and there is Annie, alive, and I burst into tears.
“Ow!” she cries when I gather her in my arms, shocked at how scratched she is, her arms and legs covered in blood, her face, thankfully, unscathed.
“A broken arm,” says a doctor who suddenly appears in the room. “And a nasty gash on her head. We think she may have a concussion, so we’d like to keep her in for observation overnight. She’s remarkably lucky. Other than that, scratches and bruises. Her friend just got out of the operating room. We think we’ve saved the eye. We won’t know for sure for a few days. They’re both lucky girls. We can’t get hold of the other girl’s mom.”
“Friend?” I look at Annie, who starts to cry, the hiccupping, sobbing, hysterical crying of a child.
“Trudy,” she says. “She was driving the scooter.”
* * *
The story doesn’t come out until later. Their neighbor, who was away, has a scooter, and the movie was boring, and someone came up with the brilliant idea of “borrowing” the scooter and going for a ride around the island. Of course there was alcohol involved. I didn’t know that then, that both girls had blood drawn when they got to the hospital, that the police had the results, that there might be further action.
The keys were right there. Of course they were. This is Nantucket, not London. Trudy said she knew how to drive, and Annie climbed on behind her.
The car came out of nowhere. Sailed out of India Street and knocked the bike flying, Trudy diving face-first into a car, Annie on the cobblestones.
My little girl. My little girl buried in books, quiet, nerdy, painfully shy, now stealing scooters and getting into car accidents.
I think about my instincts that morning, how I knew it wasn’t a good idea, and I wonder, at what point will I start to listen? At what point will I trust my own voice?
* * *
Trudy has a bandage over half her face, is fast asleep. Oddly, she isn’t nearly as bloody as Annie, but her wound is more serious. We think we’ve saved the eye. Please God, let them have saved the eye, let this night, tonight, be nothing more than a bump in the road, something from which they will learn, something that will change them, but only for the better.
I pull a chair up to the side of her bed, astonished at how young she is when asleep. This little girl, who could have been Annie. I take her hand in mine and lean over to kiss her cheek, the one that is bandagefree. I stroke her hand and I stay there a while, knowing that if this were Annie, I would want someone, a mother, to sit with her, to stroke her hand, to kiss her cheek and whisper that she is going to be okay. I have no idea if she will ever know, but it is what I would want for my own child.
I go out to the waiting room and call Julia. Where is Julia? Did the hospital just not know to call Julia? There is no response; her phone rings and rings before going to voicemail. I leave a message. “Julia, this is Cat. It’s very important that you call me. Please. As soon as you get this. It’s about the girls.”
I try texting.
No response.
I have to try to reach Ellie. However furious she may be at having to speak to me, she has to know. I call Abigail, who says she will get hold of Ellie’s cell for me, and rings me back two minutes later with her number.
I phone, my blood running cold as the phone switches to the machine and I listen to Ellie’s voice. I don’t leave a message, knowing she will never call back, knowing she probably wouldn’t even listen if she knew it was me.
I try again ten minutes later, and again ten minutes after that. And on my fourth time, Ellie picks up, and I know, before she even says hello, that she is out somewhere drinking, and I suddenly realize that however perfect her image, however much she relays a cool, imperious, impervious persona, there are cracks, and weaknesses, and vulnerabilities, and maybe going to a bar and having a few drinks is her way to ease her pain.
God knows if that is the case, I understand it.
I am not judging. I feel compassion. As terrifying as I have found her, this is a woman who has discovered her husband is not who she thought, who has lost the life that was so important to her, who was humiliated in public. Drinking isn’t going to solve anything, but I understand why she might think it will.
But of all the nights to choose to leave the island, to be in the bar, to possibly be drinking, could it not have been any night other than this?
“Ellie, it’s Cat. I’m really sorry to be phoning you, but Trudy has been in an accident. I’m with her at the hospital. She’s going to be okay, but you need to get back as soon as you can.”
“What? I can’t hear you. Who is this?” I can hear the slurring in her voice. Perfect Ellie, not so perfect after all, and instead of feeling smug, I just feel sad.
“Ellie!” Now I am shouting. “Take the phone outside.”
“Okay, okay. Hang on.” I hear her shout to people, then the quiet as she walks out the door. “Who’s this?”
“This is Cat.”
“What the fuck do you want?” The hostility in her voice, in her real feelings coming out when drunk, is almost enough to send me reeling, but I keep going, willing myself to ignore it.
“The girls were in an accident. They borrowed a scooter and got hit by a car. They’re going to be okay, but you need to get back on the island as soon as possible. I’m at the hospital with them.”
There is a silence, and I know she is trying to digest it, know what a shock this is.
“What girls?” she says eventually, slurring.
“Our daughters. They were together. At Julia’s house. Trudy. Trudy has had an operation on her eye.”
And now she starts to shriek. “What? What? Oh my fucking God! My baby!” She starts to wail, and there is absolutely no point in continuing talking to her because I can hear the alcohol in her voice. Her wailing is getting louder, so I click off the phone, praying not only that she gets here, but that she is sober by the time that she does.
I go back in to see Trudy, and as I stroke her good cheek, she opens her eyes and stares at me, not quite registering who I am.
“It’s Annie’s mother,” I say. “You’re okay. You’re in the hospital. They did some surgery on your eye, but you’re going to be fine.”
“Where’s my mom?” she croaks, her one unbandaged eye darting round the room.
“She’s making her way back,” I say. “Remember she was off island tonight? I just spoke to her, and she’s coming back. Don’t worry about anything. I’ll look after you until she gets here.” Trudy nods and closes her eyes, and I stay until she falls asleep again, when I go back to see Annie.
Sam goes home to get me a toothbrush. The hospital sets up a cot in the room for me, and I go out to the corridor, still feeling dazed, grateful the girls are basically okay when it could have been so much worse, but furious with myself for letting Annie go.
Jason.
I have to tell Jason. It is now almost 4 a.m. in England. The last thing I want to do is disturb him in the middle of the night. Surely it can wait a few more hours, until morning.
And yet, if Annie was with Jason and something happened to her, even if she was going to be fine, as she is going to be fine, I would want to know. I would be furious if Jason didn’t tell me until the next day. I might never forgive him.
I go out to the car park and dial Jason’s home, praying the poison dwarf won’t pick up, taking a deep breath when I hear Jason’s familiar, sleepy voice.
“Jason? I’m so sorry I’m calling in the middle of the night. Annie was in a scooter accident today. She’s okay,” I say quickly, knowing adrenaline will be flooding through his body at the mention of the word “accident.” “I’m in the hospital with her now. She has a broken arm and possible concussion, but she’s going to be fine.”
“Oh my God. Scooter accident? What the hell was she doing on a scooter? She’s thirteen.”
“I know. I didn’t know.” Now is not the time to tell him she was also drinking, and the scooter was stolen. Keep It Simple. That’s what I learned in the rooms.
“Where are you exactly?”
“Nantucket Cottage Hospital.”
“I’m coming. I’ll start looking into flights now.”
“Jason, that’s silly. It’s really not serious enough to warrant you coming over here. She’ll be fine.”
“This is my daughter,” he says. “There’s absolutely no way I’m not going to be there.”
After I finish telling him the different methods of getting here, after I put the phone down knowing he is fully awake and will spend the next few hours organizing flights, organizing his life so he can leave it behind and come out to join us, I have to admit, I am glad he is coming.
Sam is an amazing friend, but no one loves Annie like I do other than Jason. No one understands how awful it is to see your child in pain, in a hospital bed, other than Jason. And even though she’ll probably be out of hospital by the time he gets here, even though she will be absolutely fine, there’s a part of me that simply wants him here by my side.