More than Exist(25)

“After the police called us and told us they’d rushed you to the hospital, I started making calls,” my mother began. I could tell that she was upset. Not just worried about me, but angry with me. “I talked to your boss, who told me that you never actually went back to work, even though you told me you had. I talked to Ricky’s mom, who told me about finding you passed out in your car the morning after you got to Shreveport. I knew you’d been drinking and that you’d been closing yourself off since Ricky died, but it’s so much worse than I thought, Mirabelle. You could have died today…”

She broke off on a sob, and I felt the tears spill over and begin to fall down my face. I hated seeing my mother like this, especially knowing I was the cause.

“Belle,” my dad cut in, his arms wrapping around my mother to hold her close while she cried. “You need help.” When I opened my mouth to argue, he stopped me with a stern look and help up his hand. “You may be a grown woman, but you aren’t acting like it. Your mother and I know how hard losing Ricky has been for you, but hurting yourself isn’t the answer. He wouldn’t want that, baby. He wouldn’t want this.” He waved his hand around the room for effect, and I shrunk down into the bed, feeling about two feet tall. “We’re going to help you, and you’re going to let us … It’s time, Mirabelle, before you kill yourself, or someone else.”

I turned my head and closed my eyes, tears streaming down my face. I was feeling so much pain. Physically, emotionally, mentally … I didn’t know what to do with it all, so I tried to shut it out.

I felt my parents surround me, each on one side of the bed, and they lowered in tandem to put their arms around me. Holding me as the three of us cried together. I don’t know how long we stayed that way, or how long the doctor waited and watched, before he cleared his throat to announce his presence.

“Well, Mirabelle,” the doctor said as my parents let me go and moved away to give him access to me. “I hope this was the wake-up call that you needed to get yourself well. I’ll fix you up and give you the tools you need to get better, and then I never want to see you in my hospital for something like this again. Your parents have asked me for some referrals to facilities that can help you on your road to recovery, but what I need to know from you is, are you ready to recover?”

I looked from my mother to my father, then back to the doctor, and knew that I had to do this. I couldn’t be a burden to them, and I couldn’t live the way I’d been living any longer. It was time for me to face the pain, deal with it, and to begin to build my life without Ricky. It wasn’t going to be easy, but I knew my parents were right. Ricky would hate to see me like this.

“Yes,” I replied with false confidence, having no idea just how hard my recovery was going to be.





Part II





The Ranch





Chapter 18





“I think you’ll be a great fit, don’t worry,” Patricia, one of the counselors at the rehabilitation center I was preparing to leave, assured me. “Hope Heals Ranch has a fantastic relationship with us, often allowing us to use the ranch for Adventure Therapy.”

Patricia had told me all of this before, and I knew she was trying to calm my nerves, but there was no helping them.

I’d felt a myriad of emotions since I first came to the rehab center, but now that it was time for me to move on, I found that I was terrified. What if I couldn’t cut it on my own? What if the need for a drink was too great, and without the support of the people here, I didn’t have the strength to fight it?

The owner of the Ranch would be here any minute to interview me for a job. It wasn’t normal practice, but because he knew Patricia, and she vouched for me, he’d agreed to stop by while he was in town. Apparently his live-in cook and housekeeper was taking time off to help out her granddaughter, who’d just had a baby, and he needed to temporarily fill the position.

It couldn’t have come at a better time, or been a better fit for me, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t having a mild panic attack over the thought of interviewing with someone who knew I was just getting out of rehab.

A sharp knock at the door had me coming to my feet in a flash. I swung my gaze to the closed door and felt my body began to tremble.

“He’s a nice guy,” Patricia promised as she rose from behind her desk and walked to the door.

I sat back down, not wanting to seem like I was hovering, and placed my hands in my lap, keeping my eyes downcast. When I heard the rough timber of his voice greeting Patricia, I forgot about my nerves and brought my head up.