Lost At Sea

by Erica Boyce

“There was definitely something, like a big thud. You mind checking it out? I’m a little busy here.”

  Indeed she was. A woman stood at her desk, her hand on a little boy’s shoulder, perhaps six, seven years old. “Now, tell the nice librarian your question,” she said.

  “How do people make sex?” he asked. “And how come it’s so loud in the movies when they do it?”

  Addie shot her a wide-eyed, panicked look as the woman smiled sheepishly. Checking the study room for puking kids or homeless adults seemed tame in comparison. Rebecca held her breath against the inevitable smell as she swung open the door.

  Rebecca almost didn’t see her at first. She was halfway across the room before she realized there was a body on the floor. It was coiled under a carrel on the far side of the room. She hurried over. When she saw the face, acid filled the back of her mouth. Lacey Carson. She knew in an instant from the gray of the girl’s face exactly which rumors had been true.

  She ran back to her desk and tried to catch Addie’s eye. She was still talking to the boy, making unsettling motions with her hands. There was nothing for it. She found the lockbox under her desk and spun the combination. It took her four tries for the lock to release. She snatched the plastic bag from it and ran back to the study room. “Call 911, please,” she said through her teeth as she passed Addie’s desk, as discreetly as she could.

  The bag’s seal was difficult to break, and its contents spilled out onto the floor as she shoved her way back into the study room. She knelt down and gathered them into her trembling hands, the vial, the applicator, the cheery yellow cap.

  She could hear the crackling of the walkie-talkie on the paramedic who’d trained her on Narcan use as she jammed the vial into the applicator. They hadn’t ever needed to use the Narcan since they’d gotten it. In Devil’s Purse, people chose other climate-controlled places to nod off, like fast-food restrooms and cars.

  God, she hoped she was doing it right. She tilted Lacey’s forehead back, shuddering at the clamminess of her skin, and shimmied the applicator up one nostril. Impossible to tell how far back to push it. She bit down on the inside of her cheek and squeezed the plastic trigger.

  After one moment, two, Lacey’s eyes fluttered open. One hand rose slowly, as if through a thaw, and pawed at Rebecca’s necklace. “Mom?” she croaked.

  The pendant must have been dangling in Lacey’s face. Rebecca sat back on her heels and tucked it under her collar. “You’re at the library, Lacey,” she said. The paramedic had said something about talking to the patient and asking questions to keep them awake. “I can call her. Do you want me to call her? Should I use your phone?”

  These were things she should’ve said more firmly, in short, clear sentences. She could think of nothing else to ask.

  Lacey shook her head, still slow, the weight of her skull grinding her hair into the tile floor. Her eyes screwed shut, and tears pooled in the inner corners.

  Rebecca found her hand on Lacey’s forehead, brushing the hair back over and over. “It’s going to be okay,” she said. No more questions. “You’re going to be fine.”

  The door slammed against the wall. Rebecca turned, dazed, and there were three or four men there. One of them held a bright orange board. Addie was behind them. Her eyes darted anywhere but the floor, the back of one hand pressed to her mouth. The men shuffled in and, counting down to each other, heaved Lacey onto the board and strapped her in. One of them asked Lacey stern questions to which she nodded or shook her head. Rebecca shrank back against the wall as they carried her past.

  Out in the hall, Addie hadn’t moved. “Is…is she…” Her mouth collapsed.

  “She’s conscious,” Rebecca said. She touched Addie’s arm. “I think she’ll be okay since you called an ambulance.”

  Supplying the library with Narcan had been one of the biggest scandals the town had seen in years. The members of the Friends of the Devil’s Purse Library in particular had been beside themselves. “Pearl clutching” didn’t even begin to cover it. Rebecca had brought it up at their monthly meeting, slipping it in under “other business.”

  “Wait a minute,” one woman had said, smacking the flat of her palm against the table to interrupt Rebecca. “Narcan. Isn’t that that stuff they use to revive junkies? Here, in our library. When there are kids around?”

  “It doesn’t make any sense really,” another one said. “I watched a story on this, on YouTube. It just enables them. They keep overdosing and then going back for more when they wake up.”

  “Besides, I can’t imagine we’d actually need this. In our town?”

  Addie, sitting beside Rebecca, snorted. All the members’ heads swiveled toward her at the impertinence. “Sorry,” she said, “and no disrespect, Mrs. Loom, but look, I went to high school with your son. If you think the twenty-five-year-old man living in your basement is clean, then you must be on something, too.”

  Mrs. Loom’s face flushed while the others held back snickers, and Rebecca loved Addie in that moment. The board agreed to authorize the Narcan if it was kept hidden and locked away, to be used only when necessary.

  Now, the patrons gathered against the windows, watching the flashing red lights. One of the EMTs came back to ask her questions she couldn’t answer while another lumbered out of the study room. A plastic bag of pills unfurled from the fingers of one hand while the other opened to reveal an ID card and a dollar bill.

  The first man sighed and scrubbed a hand through his crew cut. “You probably saved that girl’s life, you know,” he said, but there was something ambiguous to his voice.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The restaurant supply store was a relief. Maureen wandered through the aisles with her cart, allowing herself to study the things she usually hurried past to get back to Lacey in the van: vats of Crisco, packages of smoked salmon longer than her arm, and liter bottles of red food coloring. She watched other carts roll by and tried to guess if they were for cafeterias or overpriced restaurants.

  It was wrong, she knew, to think of Ella as a good influence on Lacey. That was too much of a burden to load on a little kid’s shoulders. She could only imagine what the townies thought about the two of them hanging out. They didn’t see the look on Lacey’s face when she talked about Ella, though, or the wrinkle between her eyebrows when she learned about John. Lacey cared about that girl even when she didn’t care about much else. Including her own self. Maureen knew that Lacey would not relapse around Ella. It was maybe the only place she knew she wouldn’t.

  So when the phone rang while she was unloading her spoils, Maureen’s first thought was that something had happened to Ella. She cradled a plastic bag of apples in the crook of one arm and tucked the phone to her shoulder.

  “Lacey?” she said. “Honey, is that you? What happened? Did Ella find something bad?”

  “Uh, no,” an unfamiliar voice replied. “This is Rebecca. Rebecca Holmes, at the library?”

  Maureen’s face grew hot thinking of Ophelia. Word must have spread to the rest of the board, and they’d sent the librarian to scold her for accusing one of their members.

  “I hope it’s okay for me to call you,” Rebecca continued. “Lacey’s phone fell on the floor, and I guess she doesn’t keep it locked.”

  At the mention of Lacey, every part of Maureen tensed. “What is it?” she demanded.

  Rebecca’s voice became strange and muffled. She was probably cupping her hand around the phone. “She’s okay, I promise. I found her in the study room here. I believe it was an overdose? The ambulance just came to take her away.”

  And there it was. Every worst-case scenario she’d conjured up over the past few months—hell, every one since she’d first held Lacey in her arms, red-faced and wailing and perfect. She took down the name of the hospital and thanked Rebecca for calling and for offering to meet her there with more details, all while watching herself from somewhere far
away, a kitchen on another planet. When she hung up the phone, an apple fell out of the bag and onto her foot before rolling under the sink, and she was surprised she could feel it. She looked down and saw that her fingers had dug into the bag and her nails had torn the plastic, flimsy and frail.

  * * *

  She made two phone calls from the van, staring at the road as it unspooled before her. The first was to the clinic.

  “Lacey overdosed,” she told Ms. Bray, quickly thankful for the brutal workloads that kept caseworkers at the office on Saturdays. “I don’t know what on. I swear I cleared her room of everything, and I don’t know when she would’ve seen her boyfriend—her dealer.”

  “Goddammit,” Ms. Bray said.

  Maureen winced at the bald anger in the word. She should’ve known better. She should’ve done better. Her daughter.

  “She’s in an ambulance right now. On her way to DP Hospital. Would you—”

  “I’ll meet you there,” Ms. Bray said and hung up.

  Maureen breathed. That woman probably saw things like this all the time. She would know what to do. She’d be like a priest in confessional, telling Maureen what came next and meting out justice and blame where it belonged.

  Maureen hesitated before calling the second number. It would lay nuclear waste to what remained of what was once her closest friendship. She dialed anyway.

  “Is Ella with you?” she said as soon as Diane picked up.

  “Yes, she is.”

  Maureen’s hands finally loosened a little.

  “She’s actually asleep in bed right now. Since you sound so worried, I’m guessing you knew what she and your daughter were up to.”

  The chill in her voice made Maureen shiver. “I can explain,” Maureen said with a sigh. “Or maybe I can’t. I don’t know anymore. I thought it was good for Lacey to help Ella through this. It’d been so long since I saw her have a purpose, and I know you think she’s dangerous and she made her bed, but she’s my little girl, Di, and I just—” The words cracked as they left her mouth. “She overdosed. I’m on my way to the hospital.”

  “Oh, no,” Diane said, and it sounded sincere. “Oh, how awful. Was it at home?”

  “At the library. That librarian called me, Rebecca? Half the town must be talking about it by now.” She ran a red light. She blinked at the signal, glaring at her from her rearview mirror.

  “Well, I’m really sorry to hear that. Truly, I am.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You let me know if there’s anything we—I can do, okay? Anything at all.”

  “Sure. Sure, I will.” Maureen hung up.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Ella wasn’t actually sleeping. When she got home, sobbing again, her mom had carried her up to bed like a toddler. Her mom tucked her covers around her just the way Ella always liked them.

  The ringing phone woke her up. Even from upstairs, she could hear it, attuned as she was to the chirping of her mom’s cell. At first, she watched the shadows from the tree outside sway across her ceiling. When she realized her mom was talking about her, she slipped out of bed and toward the doorway. That morning’s revelation—the boots, Lacey—was still too sore to touch, so she focused on listening instead.

  It didn’t take her long to realize what had happened from her mom’s half of the phone call. Ella was good at stuff like that. As soon as she heard her mom hang up and turn on the news, Ella ran down the stairs.

  Her mom was curled up on the couch, clutching at the edge of the blanket thrown across her lap. When she saw Ella, she released the blanket and wiped the worry off her face. “Hi, sleepyhead,” she said in the voice Ella knew she used only with her. “You want to join me? I’ll make you a cup of cocoa.”

  It was tempting. Ella could almost taste the little fake marshmallows. She shook her head. “Was that Lacey’s mom?”

  “It was.” Her mom turned back to the TV. “She wanted to check in and make sure you were doing okay.” Her gaze was steady, but her finger twitched a little on the remote. She knew about Ella’s special eavesdropping abilities.

  “Something happened to Lacey,” Ella said.

  Her mom turned off the TV.

  “She’s sick, right? Like, something’s really wrong with her.”

  Her mom studied Ella for a moment and nodded. “Yes. Yes, unfortunately, Lacey is very sick.” She patted the couch next to her.

  Ella climbed up, grabbing a pillow along the way. She held it to her middle, bracing herself.

  “Do you remember,” her mom began, “when we had to help your dad quit smoking? Just like how he quit drinking a long time ago?”

  Ella squeezed the pillow closer at the mention of him, but she nodded.

  “It was so hard for him, and he felt pretty bad a lot of the time.”

  “He was super cranky. Everyone stayed away from him at the docks.” She giggled at the memory, and her mom smiled.

  “That’s right. Even though the cigarettes were really bad for him, it made him feel sick to give them up. That’s called addiction, and that’s what Lacey has, only it’s not with cigarettes. It’s with other things.”

  “Like drugs?”

  Her mom faced her, startled. “How did you know about that?”

  “I don’t live under a rock, Mom. Don’t worry, though. I signed a pledge online not to take them. Only losers do drugs.” Losers, she thought suddenly, like her best friend.

  “That’s good, Ella-Bella,” her mom said, patting her on her knee. She moved on to say something about peer pressure and what to do if her friends started doing them, but Ella wasn’t listening. She was too busy thinking.

  She remembered helping her dad quit, it was true. She also remembered how, on some days, when he was stressed out or upset about something, she would find him at the docks after school, smoking alone in the shadow of his boat. He always flung the cigarette into the water before she got to him and waved his hand in front of his face, as if that did anything to get rid of the smell. She never told her mom. Secretly, the scent of tobacco smoke and diesel fuel always reminded her of him.

  And today. When she threw that stick at Lacey. Lacey seemed upset. When she ran away, maybe it was to do drugs.

  “Can I go see her?” Ella interrupted her mom.

  Her mom sighed and stretched one arm across the back of the couch. “I don’t think that’s a great idea. We need to give her some space and let her recover.”

  Ella brought her legs up under her and turned to face her. “No, Mom, please? You don’t understand. It’s my fault. I need to tell her I love her.” Her eyes welled up, and she wiped at them angrily before she realized the tears might help her cause.

  Sure enough, her mom smiled sadly and reached out to touch her cheek. “You’re such a sweet girl. Have I told you that before?”

  Only about a million times, but Ella said nothing and waited.

  “All right,” her mom said finally. “Let’s go. But we’re only staying ten minutes, max, you hear?” She held up one scolding finger.

  Ella nodded before springing to her feet. Another thing to fill the day.

  * * *

  The automatic doors to the hospital always took exactly five seconds to open. Even in Rebecca’s high school volunteering days, it had been this way. She counted to five under her breath, then waited for an old woman on a walker to inch out. She smiled at the woman as she passed her on the way in.

  A curmudgeonly woman sat at the reception desk, glasses on a beaded chain made of plastic suns and clouds around her neck.

  “Hi, Martha,” Rebecca said.

  “Rebecca!” Martha’s face broke along the smile lines that didn’t show when she was grimacing at her computer screen. “How long’s it been, six months, a year?”

  “Something like that,” Rebecca admitted.

  “I can’t believe what a lov
ely young woman you’re growing into. How’s Mack? And the library?”

  “They’re good, both good. I’m actually here to see a patient. Lacey Carson?” She leaned into the counter while Martha squinted at her screen.

  “Ah, yes.” She glanced up at Rebecca, then back. “She’s in the ICU, room 224. If you go—well, you know where it is.” Martha winked.

  “I sure do. Thank you. I’ll come by and chat on my way out, okay?” Rebecca stood straight and touched her locket, still under her sweater. No more delaying it. She’d told Maureen she’d be there.

  Nevertheless, she took the long way there, winding her way through stale-aired halls and pretending to be lost. When she got to room 224, Maureen wasn’t there yet. It was just Lacey, unconscious, pale, and very small under the thin hospital-issue blanket. Rebecca stepped closer and dug through her pocketbook for the tube of lotion she kept there. Using just the tips of her fingers, she rubbed a bit onto the backs of Lacey’s hands. She knew how the ventilation system in here could dry out your skin in an instant. Many patients left the hospital with cracked knuckles and stinging palms.

  “Rebecca?”

  She moved away from Lacey’s bed quickly. “Hi, Maureen.”

  Maureen bent to one side to catch a glimpse of Lacey. “Oh, honey,” she murmured and hurried over to the bed. She laid her fingers on Lacey’s forehead, and Rebecca looked away.

  Another woman had entered the room, unnoticed. “I’m Ms. Bray,” she said with a tiny wave. “Lacey’s caseworker.”

  “Hello.” There was something so familiar, unplaceable about her blue-gray eyes and sweep of brown hair. Perhaps she’d been at the library recently.

  Ms. Bray raised her eyebrows and Rebecca realized she’d been asked something. “I’m sorry, what?” she said, flushing.

  “I said, do you know how long she was out for?” Ms. Bray said. “Or what she took?”

  “Oh. A few minutes, maybe? And I don’t know. Pills?” Rebecca fumbled.

  Ms. Bray nodded and pushed her glasses up on top of her head. She moved closer to the bed, next to Maureen. There was no longer a place for Rebecca—almost literally, the room was so tiny. She backed out the doorway and walked away, wishing her shoes were quieter on the linoleum.