I entered the code and listened to the recording. "Emma? Emma, you there?" Her words were slow and barely audible. "You with him? Fuckin'... You are." Then there was silence. She was a mess. My stomach flipped and my jaw tightened. I wasn't sure if I wanted to scream or cry. Instead, I took a breath and shut it off.
After I dressed, I went back out onto the deck to find Sara. "Are you going to stay here tonight?"
"I think so," Sara replied. "Why?"
"I was going to take my car," I explained. I had driven so that Sara could drink.
"No problem," she shrugged and then smiled, "Details."
I forced a smile, knowing there wouldn't be any details to share tonight.
I found Evan at the front door holding our jackets.
"Change of plans," I told him, more crushed than I could stand.
"What's wrong?" Evan questioned in concern.
"Umm, I'm not feeling all that great," I explained, my pulse quickened with my fabrication. "I think I'm going to head home instead."
Evan's eyes tightened in uncertainty. "What?"
"Uh," I faltered, recognizing he wasn't buying my illness. "I think I need to go to bed. Maybe the lack of sleep is getting to me."
"You were fine a couple minutes ago," he countered skeptically. "I don't understand. Did something happen?"
"No," I said, a little too adamantly. Evan arched his eyebrows. "I'm sorry. I'm tired. Okay?"
"No, it's not okay," Evan returned. "I know there's something going on. But if you're not going to tell me―"
"Evan, I swear, I just really need to go home," I explained softly, my eyes large and pleading.
Evan nodded with his lips pressed in a straight line.
"Talk to you tomorrow?" My stomach clenched as the disappointment resonated on his face.
"Text me before you go to sleep," he requested, leaning down to barely brush my lips.
He stood at the door, watching me rush to my car. My stomach was nauseous with the lies I'd spewed, especially since I knew he'd seen right through them. I'd have to deal with that tomorrow.
I gripped the steering wheel tightly, now focused on finding my mother. I tried calling her, but it went to voicemail. I decided to start at home and then go from there. I didn't have Sharon's number, but maybe I could find it in my mother's room. I wasn't sure where else to look after that. Maybe Jonathan would know.
I didn't call him. It was eleven o'clock; it wasn't late. But I didn't want to involve him if I didn't have to. If I could fix this myself, then I would.
My thoughts continued to race, and my stomach churned with worry all the way to my house. When I saw her car in the driveway, I released an anxious breath. I pulled in behind her and noticed the driver's door was still open and the front tire was on the lawn. When I got out of the car, I could hear chiming, indicating the key was still in the ignition. That's when I realized, the car was still running.
I looked around the car, confused. My heart stammered. I shut off the car and closed the door. Then I spotted her, sprawled motionless on the top of the steps with her head and arms splayed on the porch. I rushed to help her.
She didn't have any shoes on, or a jacket for that matter. I knelt down beside her to see if she was hurt. Her knees were scraped and bloody from the fall, and there was a bump on the top of her forehead where it was pressed against the porch. But she was breathing―and her breath was saturated with alcohol. It had been obvious she was drunk from three feet away, the liquor drifting toward me in the breeze.
"Mom." I sat on the top step and lifted her head up. "Mom, you need to get up." I tried to roll her so I could prop her up to sit. She groaned, but otherwise she wasn't moving. I leaned her into me in a seated position. "Mom. Rachel." I raised my voice to sound more commanding. "Wake up. Let's go. You need to go inside, then you can sleep all you want." I shook her shoulder, but nothing.
I tilted her head toward me. And she threw up. Before I could turn her away, the warm liquid was running down the front of me and soaking into my jeans.
"Shit!" I exclaimed, leaning her toward the side of the stairs as she heaved again. She didn't wake up, even after vomiting all over me, herself, and the stairs. I looked down at the sour, potent mess. My throat tightened in disgust and my stomach rolled.
There was no way I was going to be able to carry her. She was dead weight. I could've dragged her in, but then what? I couldn't leave her covered in puke in the foyer. It appeared I'd come to my last resort.
28. To the Extreme
I sat on the steps and waited for him to arrive. I was tempted to unroll the hose to spray us and the stairs down before he got there, but I had no idea where it was. I was afraid to leave her alone long enough to change and get cleaned up, so I just waited.