LEXIE
I’m shaking and nauseous when I arrive at the hospital to take Annie away from her baby. I know it’s going to be ugly, but I also know it needs to be done. The court order states that she needs to be admitted to the inpatient program within seven days of the baby’s birth. Bernie tells me as long as she’s at the rehab clinic and the paperwork is completed by 5:00 p.m., she’ll have met the requirement.
Sam has taken the day off. He didn’t ask before he did, he simply announced his plans at dinner last night.
“I’m going to drive you two up to Auburn,” he said, and I couldn’t even convince myself to protest. I don’t need a chauffeur or a bodyguard—I’m plenty capable of handling this all by myself. But it’s over an hour back to our place, and I can’t bear the thought of saying goodbye to Annie and making that drive back home alone. So I thanked Sam quietly, and now I feel compelled to thank him again before we step inside the NICU.
“I’m so glad you’re going to be here,” I tell him.
“Good,” he says simply. “I have to admit, it was worrying me a bit...the way you kept trying to deal with all of this on your own. We need to be a team in times like this. Right?”
“Right,” I say resolutely, and then Sam links his hand through mine, and we walk through the door into the hospital.
We spend the day wandering in and out of the NICU and Annie’s room. We give her several hours alone with the baby, and then Sam and I sit with her for several more. Annie cries a lot—and I cry, too, because all of it’s unfair. It’s unfair that Daisy is still so sick, it’s unfair that Annie hasn’t been here long enough to see her improve, it’s unfair that Annie has put the baby through all of this in the first place.
And then it’s incredibly unfair when 3:00 p.m. ticks around.
“Come on, love. We need to get going.”
Annie holds Daisy close to her face, and her tears rise again—quickly escalating into heartbreaking sobs that rack her entire body. She shudders and she wails and she weeps so hard that the NICU nurse asks us if we need a doctor to order a sedative.
“She can’t go into rehab sedated,” Sam whispers pointedly to the nurse, who grimaces and shrugs.
“I don’t know how you’re going to get her away from that kid otherwise.”
“Come on, Annie...” I say again, this time with rising urgency. I’m no longer whispering, because Annie is making a racket anyway. I pull on her shoulder, and she shakes me off, so I clutch it again. We have to go. I don’t even know what would happen if we miss that 5:00 p.m. deadline—will police just turn up and drag her there? Will she go straight to prison? “I know it’s hard, Annie. I know. But you have to do this for her.”
Annie’s spine stiffens, and after a long pause, she draws onto some reserve of strength and passes her baby to the nurse. She snatches a handful of Kleenex from a box beside the crib, and she wipes her eyes and blows her nose, and then she stares right at me. Her eyes are bloodshot, and there is such desperation in them...it’s the same look she wears when she is craving a fix.
I can’t even begin to imagine how much she is craving that high right now. I doubt I’ve ever wanted anything in my whole life as much as Annie would like to escape from this moment.
“Let’s go,” she croaks.
She keeps glancing back at Daisy as we walk down the hallway toward the parking lot, even long after we have left the room where Daisy lies, even after we have turned a dozen corners and she can’t possibly see the NICU.
Every now and again, a fresh sob leaves Annie’s mouth. Every now and again, she hesitates just a little—her steps faltering, as if...maybe she can’t do this after all. Every time this happens, I touch her gently—on her upper arm, or her waist, or the small of her back...and then when she finally stops altogether I wrap my arms around her, and I hope that I can somehow transfer some of my strength to her. Annie cries, but then, once again, she straightens and keeps on walking.
Sam follows close behind us. I keep glancing back at him. He wears a constant, guarded expression until I meet his gaze, and then he offers me the same reassuring smile. I’m glad I don’t have to find out what he would do if she turned and tried to run back. I have a feeling he chose that position so he could block her way if he needed to.
By the time we reach the car, Annie seems to have run out of tears. I sit in the back with her, our hands linked on the seat between us. As Sam pulls the car away from the hospital, she clears her throat and says, “Thanks for making me leave, guys.”
“We know it was hard,” Sam says when I stay silent. “We’re proud of you, Annie.”
We drive in silence until we are miles down the road, and Annie turns to me and whispers, “Lexie, you will look after her, won’t you?”
My eyes have been fixed on my lap, but I drag them away long enough to look at her in surprise.
“Of course I will. She’ll be my priority until you can come back and take over.”
Annie nods, then she looks out the window at the passing scenery. We pass stores, homes, parks. This is such a nice area...the kind of area Daisy deserves to grow up in. Will Annie be able to achieve that for her daughter? And if she doesn’t, what will my role be? I can’t consider it, especially not now. It’s too frightening.
“I know she’s on the morphine and they’ll step her down slowly, but...withdrawal is actually terrifying, Lexie. It’s more painful than anything you can imagine, and to think that she’s going to suffer through without me...”
Annie is rambling, and it’s all for nothing, because I do understand exactly what she’s saying. I rub my thumb over the thin skin that lies across the knuckles on the back of her hand, and I murmur, “Remember that time when you asked me to help you detox?”
Annie snorts derisively.
“Which time are you talking about? I’ve done that to you twice.” The self-loathing in her tone is hard to hear.
“Annie, this time is going to be different. And I was talking about the first time, when you first came to live with me in Montgomery but you didn’t make it through the rehab program we found.”
“I remember the first day or so.”
“I actually thought you were going to die,” I admit weakly. “You were so out of it, and you were so, so sick... I didn’t think you’d make it, and I thought I’d killed you.”
We drive in silence for a moment, before Annie turns to me again.
“It feels like the life is being pulled out of you. It feels like whatever it is that makes us more than stone, whatever it is that makes us conscious, whatever it is that makes us human—detoxing feels like that’s being pulled out of your body. My baby is seven days old, and she’s feeling like that today. I know that the nurses are looking after her, and I know that they understand it as well as anybody, but Daisy needs me and because I’ve fucked this all up so badly, I can’t be there for her. I know that I’ve asked a lot of you, Lexie, and that I have messed up your life more times than we can both count. But I have never needed anything from you like I need you to be there for Daisy in the next few weeks. So firstly, thank you. And secondly, I’ll never forget this—I’ll always be grateful to you for this. And I’ll make sure that I find a way to make this right.”
Something warm opens in my chest, like the first rays of the sunrise are hitting my face or like the moment you’re rousing from sleep and realize that you’re in bed with someone that you really, truly love. I suddenly feel lighter—like maybe it’s all going to be okay after all. Annie has never expressed herself so well to me before. In spite of all of her skill with words, she’s never managed to thank me like this. I feel the smile on my face—really feel it—because I’m feeling hopeful, and it feels amazing.
“You have made a perfect little girl, Annie. You’re right—she does need you—and I can’t be Daisy’s mother, but I’m going to be the best temporary substitute I can. I promise you. If she has a rough night, I’ll sleep over at the hospital. If she has a good day, I’ll take her outside for fresh air. If she needs new clothes, I’ll find them, and if she needs formula, I’ll give it to her. Until you are back, she’ll want for nothing. I promise you. Okay?”
“I know, Lex,” Annie whispers. “I don’t even know why I had to say it.” We travel in silence again for a while, until she clears her throat. “There’s one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“It’s just...it’s just that if Mom comes, and if...if she tries to bring... I mean, if for some reason Robert comes... I—” Annie is struggling so hard that I begin to worry, and as we reach the highway toward the rehab center, Sam meets my gaze in the rearview mirror. I shrug at him, because I have no idea where Annie is going with this or why it’s so hard for her to say. When I look back at her, she’s pale again; even her lips are pale, and she’s picking at her fingernails with visible anxiety.
“What is it, Annie?”
“If he comes, don’t let him near my baby.”
The plea is impassioned and desperate. I feel an odd, uncomfortable shiver run down my spine—and I’m confused.
“I don’t think he’d come here—but even if he did, I could try to keep him away, but it would be a bit strange—” I break off, and I try to picture what that would look like. In the unlikely event that Mom did come, and if Robert somehow came with her, how could I possibly explain why I didn’t want him near the baby? “Why, Annie?”
Annie is fidgeting frantically now, and her uncertainty is completely bewildering. Robert is a horrible man, but he’s not a bad man—much like Mom, he’s just stuck within the narrow mind-set of his ideology.
“Lex, I can’t tell you why, but please promise me—if for some reason he comes here, you have to promise me he won’t ever be alone with her—no.” She shudders, and then from the corner of my eye I see that she waves her fist in frustration. “Promise me that you’d never let him in the room with her. You have to protect her.”
I stare at Annie—wishing fervently that I could read her mind. I need to understand where this is coming from. And then it hits me.
“Annie...did...” I draw in a sharp breath, and then force the words out, “Did something happen with Robert? After I left?”
This thought is so startling that it’s like a punch to my gut. Is she hinting at something? Is it more drama—everything about Annie is always wrapped up in layers of drama—is this just some new game I can’t see through yet? Is she trying to hurt Mom?
Annie exhales in a rush and says hastily, “You don’t need to worry, Lexie, he won’t come anyway. I just don’t trust him, and I never have. Please, it will help me relax so much if I know that you’ll protect her from him. I’m probably being silly, but I don’t want to get distracted by worrying about this.”
“Okay,” I breathe, and I’m so relieved. I know Robert hurt her—he hurt her by dragging her to that place, he hurt her by constantly targeting her, trying to break her spirit, by inflicting the soul-crushing physical abuse when she broke the rules—and that was all horrible, but for a moment I wondered if she was suggesting something even worse. I’m weak with relief that this is not the case. I flash a smile toward Annie and I squeeze her hand. “I promise, Annie. I’ll take care of her like she’s my own daughter.”
“Or like she’s your sister,” Annie whispers, and I smile at her sadly.
“Exactly. I’ll care for her like she’s my sister.”