Before I Fall

by Jessica Scott

  She won't meet my eyes.

  "Do you live in a van down by the river or something?"

  She blinks - once, twice - then laughs out loud. "I used to watch old episodes of Saturday Night Live with my dad. I love that Chris Farley skit." She sucks in a trembling breath. I can feel her shake beneath my touch. "You're not mad?"

  "Unless you're living in a crack house, in which case I'm going to be mad because you're not living somewhere safe. No I'm not mad. Why would I be?"

  "Because I've been lying to you. Pretending to be something I'm not."

  I cup her face then because I can feel the fear in her and I hate it. "I'm not mad. If this is the worst lie you've told me, then I think you're off to a pretty good start. You're not selling drugs to pay for school or anything illegal or otherwise?"

  She gives a choked laugh. "I won't tell you I didn't think about it once or twice with my dad's bills. But he needs the medicine, so I can't really sell it."

  "I thought about pretending to have ADHD once and selling the pills."

  "Really?" She's mildly horrified and smiling at the same time.

  "No, not really. I just wanted to make you laugh."

  Because if this is the worst lie she's told, then my sins are that much worse. I think of the little sentries in my pantry, the formation of orange bottles in a regimented row. I should show her what my life is like. Show her what I hide from everyone.

  But I can't. Because I'm a coward. I'm afraid to show her what the war has really done to me. How I've let a single incident take over my life. It has burned away everything, leaving me with a shadow of what was.

  But I leave the pantry closed.

  Because I cannot bear to lose her.

  Chapter 24

  Beth

  "You can come in if you want."

  We're sitting in front of the tiny house I share with my dad. I see it now through his eyes, and the burning shame I feel is hot on my neck. The gate to the wire fence is hanging off one hinge. The grass died a long time ago, and I don't have the time, effort or energy to put into fixing the yard. The porch needed a new coat of paint like fifteen years ago.

  I've never been embarrassed to be flat-ass broke until right now. My eyes burn with the shame of not having worked hard enough. That maybe if I'd fought with the VA more, my dad would be fixed instead of having to use the emergency room for routine care they should have provided him.

  Noah's fingers slide over the back of my neck. They're warm and strong and offer instant comfort against the shame burning on my skin.

  "I can practically hear you thinking over there," he says. He nudges my cheek until I’m forced to meet his gaze. "This is nothing you have to hide. Nothing to be ashamed of."

  I offer a weak smile. "Get out of my head." But there's no bite to my words. I can't summon the energy. The shame is pushing me down, like an elephant sitting on my chest.

  "I've done plenty of things to be ashamed of in my life. Living in a place you can afford, making sure your dad is taken care of while you work your ass off to get through a top twenty program isn't one of them."

  I blink rapidly, fighting the burn. "When you put it that way, you make me sound like Superwoman."

  He brushes his lips against mine. "Maybe you are."

  I shake my head. "I'm not."

  He strokes my cheek with his thumb. His words have soothed the burn a little, but it's still there. Still an oppressive thing sitting on my shoulders.

  "I think I'd like to meet your dad."

  I am embarrassed to be wearing his clothing. My dad isn't a prude by any stretch of the imagination. He's always taught me to be responsible when it comes to sex. Still, it feels somewhat wrong to walk into the house in Noah's clothing with Noah in tow.

  "I guess there's no time like the present." Because it's true. I was going to tell my dad about Noah at some point. Like today, maybe. "If he's home."

  "Still not okay with the idea of your dad dating?"

  "It's not that," I say. "He's done this kind of thing before. He goes all bonkers over a woman and ends up doing something stupid that sets him back."

  "You have had an interesting life." He sighs. "He doesn't own any guns, does he?"

  I smile at his feigned nervousness. "No. I sold them after I found him sitting up one night with a beer in one hand and his nine millimeter in the other."

  "Jesus, Beth."

  I shrug. "It was a long time ago. Right after my mom left us."

  "Wasn't selling it illegal for you?"

  "I had a friend of his from work do it."

  "Shit."

  I climb out of the car and wait for Noah to round the vehicle. I'm more nervous than I realized. My hands are shaking beneath the neatly folded dress draped across my arm.

  I unlock the front door. The lights are off.

  I slip in something wet. My heart starts pounding. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I have the foresight to put the dress down before I fall, stumbling toward my dad in the middle of the kitchen floor.

  "Call 911."

  But I think Noah is already on the phone.

  "Dad? Dad?" There's blood beneath his face. I check for a pulse. It's there. Faint but there.

  I manage to roll him over. Noah is there, helping me. "Stabilize his head and neck," he says.

  I can barely see through the tears. I'm blinking and swiping at my eyes, trying to see. I slap his cheeks, trying to wake him up.

  I'm vaguely aware of kneeling in broken glass. He moans and his eyes roll back in his head. From somewhere far off, I hear the wail of the sirens.

  Noah pulls me away as the paramedics rush into the kitchen.

  "What happened?" the short woman EMT asks as she barks commands at her partner.

  "I don't know. I came home and he was face down on the kitchen floor."

  "Does he have a history of alcohol or substance abuse?"

  The shame is back, burning over my face. "Yes."

  "Which one?"

  "Both. He suffers from severe back pain, and when we run out of medication, he self-medicates with alcohol."

  Such a sterile explanation for the chaos that is my life.

  "What was he taking before this episode?"

  "He was recently prescribed Tramadol and Flexeril instead of the Oxycodone he normally takes. He was supposed to have an appointment early next week. The ER docs refused to prescribe him Oxy."

  It is in that moment that I realize his medications are all missing. They are not lined up on the counter like neat little soldiers.

  Goddamn it.

  The paramedic says nothing as she and her partner roll my dad onto the stretcher. He's not responding to anything they've attempted. "Are you riding with us or following?"

  "Riding with you."

  "No." Noah's hand on my shoulder stops me. "You're bleeding," he points out. Somehow he's managed to find me a pair of yoga pants and a sweater, along with a first aid kit. "We'll follow you."

  In the car, I shrug out of his bloodied sweatpants. "I bled all over your pants."

  "It's just blood. It'll come out." There's a resignation in his voice, something dark and troubled. "Make sure you've got the glass out."

  My knees aren't nearly as bad as the blood suggested. There's no glass.

  I change quickly because we are at the emergency room moments behind the ambulance.

  I know this drill.

  And I am terrified that this time, it might end differently.

  Noah

  I shouldn't have come here, but I couldn't leave her to face this alone. In some rational part of my brain, I know she's done this sort of thing without me before. But I couldn't leave her alone.

  Instead, I'm useless and frozen in the emergency room while she talks to the admitting personnel. If I'd found a way to stay busy, I might not have noticed the smell. The underlying latent fear. Hospitals and churches are where most people confront their mortality, and it is generally an unpleasant experience.

  We're not very good at
facing the ends our lives.

  I've already done that once before, and I'm not too keen on doing it again. But I can't leave her alone.

  "He's in triage. Once he's stable, we'll send someone out for you."

  "Can you at least tell me what the initial assessment is?"

  "Accidental overdose."

  Beth's hand covers her mouth. I'm there, supporting her as she staggers beneath the news. Supporting her is enough to keep me from falling apart myself. The panic is there, just waiting for its opportunity to strike. To turn me into a shaking ball of pathetic misery. To remind me of the temperature that melts flesh into bone.

  "I've got you." I pull her against me and guide her outside because I cannot be in that waiting room another moment longer.

  There are wooden benches. I guide her to one. She's limp against me as we sit. I hold her and whisper nonsense. She feels light as a feather.

  "I shouldn't have left him." Words like shattered glass.

  "It's not your fault."

  She stiffens in my arms. "I left him."

  "It's not your fault."

  "I've seen that movie," she whispers. "And you're right, it's not my fault, but I knew the risks. I knew this couldn't last."

  I can feel the anger rising in my chest like bile. "You're determined to blame yourself for this."

  "I've been doing this a lot longer than you've known me, Noah. I know the drill, and I knew the risks." She’s repeating herself. She’s in shock and she doesn’t even realize it.

  "The risks of taking one night for yourself? One fucking night, Beth. When is the last time you've done that?" I'm not shouting, but it's a close thing. The anger is there, just there. Barely leashed.

  She doesn't answer because she can't. Her eyes are rimmed with red and the sadness surrounding her is breaking my heart. She's miserable, and she's determined to pour more salt on the self-inflicted wounds.

  "He was alive when we found him," I say, attempting more rational conversation. "He's going to be fine."

  She covers her mouth with her hand, muffling a sob. "I can't lose him, Noah. I can't. He's the only family I've got."

  The ragged pain in her voice breaks me. Reminds me that I've walked away from my family, but they're still out there in the world somewhere. Her mother is out there, but it's clear that the only family who matters to Beth is her father.

  I pull her close. Her tears soak through my shirt. I don't care. I hate seeing her like this. And what's worse is that she's gone through this how many times before alone?

  "They shouldn't have switched his medication," she whispers. "I don't even know what Tramadol is."

  "They say it's supposedly less addictive than oxy." And that's bullshit, but I don't tell her that. She doesn't need to know about my problems today.

  Of course, if I freak the fuck out in the middle of the ER, she's going to figure out everything a hell of a lot faster than I want her to. I can handle this. I have to.

  I can't leave her alone. No one should have to put their father in the hospital.

  Part of me hates the man who has Beth's devotion. He should have been a better fucking man and figured out his medical problems. He should have gotten off his ass and fought. Instead, he's laid around and let Beth take over running both their lives. He was a goddamned soldier, damn it. He should have fought harder.

  My eyes burn. I hate him for doing this to her. He's turned his little girl's love into something he can lean on when he's too stoned to take care of himself. And Beth - goddamn her, she doesn't even see it. He's not going to get better. He doesn't have to because she'll always be there to pick up his life.

  I can't say any of this to her. I admire her too much to slap her in the face with her devotion. Because that's what this is. This is a daughter who loves her father. She just can't see that her father has let her down.

  I hold her. Sitting outside of my own personal hell, I stay with her. Hours pass. She calls into work and tells them she's had an emergency. Her boss gives her grief, but she fends him off with her cool, professional Beth voice.

  When the nurse comes out and asks her to step into the back, I go with her.

  "Your father has suffered a seizure." The doctor is brisk and cold. Hell of a bedside manner. "We suspected alcohol poisoning and pumped his stomach. He mixed alcohol with his pain medication. We believe the Tramadol and Flexeril triggered the seizure. We're going to admit him and run some more tests."

  She nods. "Is he awake?"

  "He is. We're hoping you can talk some sense into him. He's trying to check himself out against medical advice."

  "He's what?"

  "He says he's going home. Given the scare, the likelihood of a concussion as well as possible liver damage, we're strongly advising against it."

  I find her fingers, threading them into mine. She's limp, like she's given up completely. "Don't," I whisper. "Don't let him do this without a fight."

  Chapter 25

  Beth

  "Dad?"

  He's got an IV in one arm. There's a butterfly bandage over one eye. His jaw is swollen.

  He blinks, and it takes a minute before he recognizes me. "Hey, sugar bear."

  "The docs tell me you're being a pain in the ass." My voice breaks and the tears start again.

  "Ah hell, honey, don't cry." He holds open his arms and I lay my head on his chest. I can't help it.

  "You scared me." The truth, even if it's only the partial truth.

  "Not gonna lie. I scared myself this time."

  His arms are limp. He can barely hold them around me.

  "What happened?"

  "I had a couple of drinks with Sally. Next thing I know, I'm here."

  I lean back so I can look down at him. I can feel Noah standing near the door. Dad hasn't noticed him yet, but for me, he's a balm, soothing the anger and fear pulsing beneath my skin.

  "All your medication is gone, Dad. Are you sure she was a nurse?"

  "She was here the other night. You don't remember her?"

  "I never met her, Dad." My heart hurts because he's confused. He's never introduced me to Sally. I don't know if she was here or not. And clearly neither does he. "You can't come home tonight, Dad. You have to let them check you out."

  "You and I both know we can't afford it."

  "You came here earlier this week and didn't have a problem with it."

  "And then I saw the bill. For a couple of shots and some pills, we're in the hole another seven grand."

  My heart is breaking in my chest. I'm going to lose him, and he doesn't care. "I don't care about the money." My words break. Shatter like shells on pavement.

  "Well, it's time that one of us did. I can't keep doing this. We're going to lose the house at this rate."

  "They can't take the house," I say. But I'm not sure.

  "I'm fine. I messed up my meds or something. I'm going home."

  "You're not listening to me!" Tears are falling hard down my face now. "You cannot come home. You had a seizure. You need to let them figure out what happened so it doesn't happen again. You don't have any medication, Dad."

  "I've got my appointment next week. We've managed without medication before, we'll manage again. I'm not staying here tonight. It'll be another fifteen thousand at least."

  "I don't care about the money!" I'm screaming at him now. "You've got to stay and let them fix you!"

  "Calm down, sugar bear. You're going to get us in trouble."

  Noah’s arms come around me, but I push away from him. He doesn't let me go. "No, Dad. Don't tell me to calm down. I won't let you do this. You can't come home. You have to stay." A broken whisper. "Please don't do this, Daddy. Please stay." I swipe at my cheeks because I can't see. "I can't lose you. Please let them fix you. Please?"

  Noah is the only thing holding me up.

  "Is everything okay in here?" A security guard steps into the room, hand braced on the utility belt on her hip.

  "Fine, ma'am," Noah says. She studies us all for a moment. Sh
e doesn’t look convinced but leaves us be.

  My dad finally notices Noah. "Who are you?"

  "I'm Noah. I'm a friend of Beth's."

  "Is 'friend' a euphemism for something I should be worried about?"

  "I think you should be worried about taking care of your health, sir. Beth is quite capable of taking care of herself."

  My dad cringes, physically recoiling from the slap in his words. Shame burns up my neck. I thread my fingers with Noah’s. I appreciate the gesture if nothing else. If it takes a stranger shaming my dad into staying in the hospital, I'll take it.

  "That's a low blow coming from someone I don't know," my dad says.

  "Yes, sir, it is. But you didn't see how she's been breaking her back trying to take care of you. The least you can do is do your part and try to take care of yourself."

  "You don't know dick about me."

  "I know you were a soldier and that you got hurt during the war. Believe me, I know all about that."

  "What do you know about the war? You're just some spoiled rich little fuckstick whose mommy and daddy paid his way through this place."

  "Staff Sergeant Noah Warren, sir. No one has paid for anything I haven't earned."

  There is curiosity in my dad’s eye now. "You were in the army?"

  "Got out about six months ago. I was downrange before that."

  "Where?"

  "Which time?"

  "Last?"

  "Taji. North of Baghdad."

  "I know where it is. I was just outside there. Near Sadr City."

  "Fun place to spend your deployment."

  They've changed languages. Oh they're still speaking English, but they're talking about places I've never been. There is a meaning beneath their words now, a shared experience that I will never be a part of.

  My panic recedes. Noah is talking to my dad like it is a completely normal thing to discuss the war in a hospital emergency room. Maybe it is.

  And I am amazed at the transformation, not just in my dad, but in Noah. I now see the soldier in him in a way I never saw before. He stands a little bit straighter. His body language shifts into something more regimented.