Escape In You

by Rachel Schurig

  And I remember the way he had held my hand so tight in his in those final moments, somehow finding the strength to open his eyes, to speak, making me promise to be happy, to live, to have everything we’d both ever dreamed of. The pain tears at my insides, and it’s all that I can do to keep the torrent from breaking free.

  Then my dad’s arms are around me, pulling me against him. “It’s okay, son. It’s okay to let go.”

  And for once in my life, I think it might be. So I do something I haven’t done in five years—I cry. I cry for my brother, whose life was way too short. I cry for my dad, who had to bury his son. I even cry for my mom, because no mother should have to endure what she did.

  But mostly I cry for me. I cry because I lost my best friend. I cry because he’ll never know the man I’ve grown into. He’ll never see my artwork. Never know I got into RSDI. He’ll never meet the girl I love.

  And I cry because if he were here today, if he could see what I have done to my life, what I have settled for, he would be so damn sad.

  “I fucked up, Dad,” I whisper into his shoulder. “I’ve fucked up so bad.”

  “We’ll figure it out,” he tells me, his voice steady.

  Once I can breathe again, I tell him everything—well, almost everything. I leave out the gorier details, but I tell him how I’ve wasted so much time partying. He knows about the arrest, of course, but I tell him that was far from the last time I got into a fight. I tell him about the acceptance to RSDI and how I turned them down. He doesn’t interrupt, just lets me talk. And then I tell him about Zoe, that she was finally something good and right in my life and I let her get away. That I never even told her how I feel.

  When I’m done, my dad looks tired and so much older than any fifty-year-old man should look. He runs a hand through his hair. “We’ve both made some mistakes. I don’t think anything you’ve done is anywhere near as bad as a father abandoning his son.”

  I feel a familiar stab of resentment, and I think he sees it in my face because he smiles bitterly. “You should be mad at me. It’s okay.”

  I don’t say anything. Was I mad at my father? Maybe that was something that I was burying, too.

  “We both have some work to do, to make things right,” he says. “But I know one thing: Jim would be really disappointed in us if we didn’t at least try.”

  I agree, knowing he’s right about Jim. Forget disappointed, he’d be downright pissed.

  “So, uh, how do we do that?” I ask. “Make it right, I mean.”

  My dad looks at me for a moment before smiling. “Hell if I know. But we’ll figure it out, son. You and me together. You’re not on your own anymore, Jeremy. I promise.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Zoe

  I’m having trouble keeping my eyes open today. I stayed up way too late studying for a final I wasn’t prepared for, then came straight to the hospital after school, the same as I’ve done every day this week.

  Peter insists I keep up my class schedule. With the end of the semester so close, he’s determined I won’t let the issues with my mom keep me from finishing. I’m grateful for the time away from the hospital; the rest of my day is split pretty evenly between my bed at home and an uncomfortable chair in the waiting room.

  I’ve been allowed in to see my mom only a few times. She refuses to talk to me, convinced that I’ve taken Peter’s side and the two of us are conspiring to get her hospitalized.

  I can’t help a shiver of guilt whenever she says that word. Because it’s true, in a way. Peter is trying to get her hospitalized. And, deep down, I agree with him.

  With Jerry gone and my mom in such bad shape, Peter’s been able to move pretty quickly to be appointed her guardian. He says it’s a short-term measure, just necessary to make sure she gets the care she needs. She can’t stay in the crisis stabilization unit here in the ER for much longer—she’ll need a more permanent placement soon, and it looks like the court will order her to be admitted somewhere. I know it’s for the best but that doesn’t make it any easier to ignore her screams of betrayal every time either of us enters her room.

  He’s in there now. She’s calmer today, and the doctors tell us she’ll continue to improve the longer she’s on her new meds. I don’t really know what all of that means, but she does seem to be sleeping better and yelling less. I haven’t heard an outburst since he entered her room.

  I lean my head back against the wall, and close my eyes. Maybe I can sleep for a few minutes. I have to keep reminding myself that I don’t have to worry about my mom every minute, that there’s someone else now to shoulder some of that worry.

  “Zoe?”

  My eyes snap open. Grace is standing in front of me.

  She gives me a tentative smile. “Did I wake you? I’m sorry, I should have left you alone.”

  “It’s okay.” I wonder if maybe I’m dreaming. “What are you doing here?”

  “Can I sit?”

  “Sure.” I’m sitting in the corner seat so she takes the chair closest to me on the other wall so that we’re facing each other.

  “Sorry to just show up like this. But when I heard, I couldn’t stop thinking about what you must be going through. And I just had to come see you.”

  My entire body goes cold. “You heard? Who told you?” The idea of people gossiping about this makes me sick.

  She holds up her hands, realizing her mistake. “No, no, sorry. I heard from Ellie. No one else knows.”

  My horror is replaced with confusion. “Ellie told you?”

  “I know, weird, right? I ran into her at a party last night. At first I figured she’d do that whole smirking and making fun of me thing she’s so good at.” I wince, knowing she’s right. Ellie is rarely anything but rude to Grace. “But then she surprised me by telling me what was going on with your mom. Said she figured you could use as much support as possible.”

  My heart constricts with affection for Ellie. I had told her pretty firmly that I didn’t want her up here, didn’t want to take the chance of her overhearing the venom my mom was still prone to spew. Why she assumed I’d be more willing to let Grace in, I have no idea. But the idea she’d put her rivalry with my old friend aside to give it a try says a lot about her.

  “Thanks,” I say. “It was nice of you to stop by.”

  “How is she?”

  What can I say? More than anyone, more than Ellie even, Grace knows what I’ve had to go through with my mom. She was there, after all, on that terrible birthday so long ago. “She’s having a rough time.”

  Grace frowns. “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you think she’ll be able to get the right help now?”

  “I think so…maybe. My uncle is back in the picture. He’s trying to make arrangements.”

  Her face relaxes. “Really? That’s great, Zoe. It’s not right that you tried to take all of this on yourself all these years.”

  I don’t say anything to that. I hate the implication in her words, the idea that I’m some kind of martyr or self-sacrificing daughter. If this week has taught me anything, it’s that I’ve failed my mother much more than I could have ever imagined.

  “So what’s going to happen next?”

  I laugh a little. “That’s the big question, isn’t it? Peter wants to take her back home with him. There’s a good hospital in his town, a place he thinks can help her.”

  “Wow.” Grace narrows her eyes a little, as if inspecting me. “That would be a pretty big deal for you.”

  I stiffen, knowing precisely what she means. It’s what my uncle has been telling me all week. “You should be in school, Zoe,” he keeps saying. “Not wasting your youth trying to take care of your mother. That’s not your job. You’re way too smart. You should be in a university.”

  “It’s not a bad thing, you know?” Grace says softly. “To want things for yourself. Your mom would want that for you.”

  I have to make a conscious effort not to snort at that. My mom spent a good portion of yesterday afternoon yelling all
the things she “wanted” for me. None of them was anything good.

  “I mean it, Zoe. The Cassandra we both know, the one who would meet us after school with those ridiculously delicious macaroons and ask us all about our day—that’s the real Cassandra. She might not be able to express herself right now, but she’s in there. And she would want what’s best for you.”

  I haven’t really cried yet, not once during this entire hell of a week. But now, looking at my oldest friend, I can’t keep back the tears. Just like that her arms are wrapped around me. “It’s going to be okay,” she says, her voice firm. “Your mom needs to get better, that’s all. And when she does, God, Zoe, she’ll be so proud to know you’re out there doing your best, making a life.”

  “I wasted so much time,” I gasp, clinging to her shoulders. “If she knew all the shit I’ve pulled the last few years…”

  I feel Grace’s shoulders lift under my arms. “So? You were going through some tough shit, girl. It’s totally normal that you stumbled a little dealing with it.”

  I shudder. “I’m sorry, Grace. Everything you said at that party was true. I pushed you away. I was such a bitch.”

  “Shh. You needed something I couldn’t give you then. I’m glad you found Ellie and all of those guys. I know they love you.”

  I pull away, wiping my eyes. “Sorry.” I’m embarrassed suddenly. There’s a wet spot on the shoulder of her polo shirt from my tears. I wipe at it clumsily, but she grabs my hand and smiles at me.

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s fine.” As she looks right into my eyes, I know she’s talking about more than just her shirt. I take a deep breath, feeling another little piece of the guilt I’ve been carrying lift up and away from my chest.

  “I should go.” She stands, and I follow suit. “I’ll call you later, okay?” She gives me a stern look. “Answer your phone this time.”

  I smile sheepishly. “I will.”

  She turns to go but pauses and looks back at me. She lifts a hand and touches a strand of my hair. “You know, I hated this color the first time I saw it. You didn’t look like you in red.” She smiles. “It’s growing on me.”

  I watch her walk away until she turns a corner. Wow. If someone would have told me I’d have that conversation with Grace—and that Ellie, of all people, would facilitate it—I wouldn’t have believed it. I know I won’t sleep now, there’s too much on my mind. I decide I may as well go get some coffee.

  I head off down the hallway toward the cafeteria, my mind spinning from my conversation with Grace. Just like Peter, she thinks I should be in school. That my mom would actually be happy about it. I know they want what’s best for me, but I also know neither one of them understands just how responsible I am for her current situation.

  I just don’t know what to think anymore, who to trust. To make matters worse, the very thought of going away to school, of actually being free for once, excites the hell out of me. But that freedom is contingent on my mother losing hers. What kind of daughter am I to be excited about something like that?

  What I really wish, more than anything, is that I could sit down with Taylor and tell him about everything. He’d help me figure it out—he was always so good at sifting through the bullshit and helping me see things for what they were.

  “Zoe?”

  I spin around, panicked that someone has seen me here, that they might figure out why I’m at the hospital. I squint down the hall. “Fred?”

  “I thought that was you.” He approaches me, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why he’s here. “How’d you find out? Did he call you?”

  I stare at him, confused. “Did who call me?”

  “Taylor.”

  I shake my head, at a loss, and he seems to realize that I don’t know what he’s talking about. “You know what, forget it,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. He seems uncomfortable, as if he’s done something he shouldn't. “So, what’s up? You here visiting someone?”

  “Yeah.” I gesture down the hall vaguely. “My mom.” I cross my fingers that he won’t push for more information, but he barely seems to have registered what I said. “Fred?” I ask. “You okay?”

  “Oh yeah, sure. I’m fine.”

  A thought strikes me, one that chills my blood. “Why are you here? Is Taylor all right?”

  He winces, and my stomach drops. “What happened?” I demand.

  “Look, Zoe…he asked me not to tell you.”

  His words are so much like a physical blow that I actually step back. “Wow,” I whisper.

  “No, it’s not like that,” he says, reaching for my hand. “He’s not mad, or anything. Embarrassed, I think. He doesn't want you to see him here.”

  “What happened?” I ask again. “Please, Fred. You can’t leave me not knowing. You can’t.”

  He takes a deep breath and his expression is so sad. “Jeremy was brought in yesterday. He went to a party, had too much to drink. Mixed it with pills.”

  It takes me a second to realize that Jeremy is Taylor, my Taylor. Then all the air leaves my lungs, and I clutch Fred’s arms, sure my legs won’t hold me much longer. “What?”

  “I’m sorry, Zoe. I wanted to call you right away—”

  “Is he okay?” My heart is racing, and I feel nauseated. This can’t be happening. Taylor did not OD, he can't have. We promised each other.

  Fred nods quickly, as if realizing he should have led with that information. “He’ll be okay. He feels pretty shitty. They had to pump his stomach and insert a breathing tube—” I grimace and clutch his arms harder—“but the doctor says he should be all right.”

  I breathe in deeply, slightly mollified. I’m not going to be okay until I see him though. “What room is he in?”

  For a second it looks like Fred isn’t going to tell me, but something changes his mind. “308.”

  I turn on my heel and march to the elevators, not even bothering to say goodbye. I have to see him. I won’t be able to breathe properly until I can see that he’s okay.

  The door to room 308 is closed, and I pause outside. If he’s resting, I don’t want to wake him. Maybe I could just peek in, see that he’s there and in one piece. Then I hear voices inside and figure he must be awake after all.

  I knock and wait, my heart pounding. He might not want to see me. He did, after all, ask Fred not to tell me he was here. The idea of him rejecting my visit is so awful that I consider fleeing, but the desire to see him is stronger.

  “Come in,” an unfamiliar voice calls.

  I enter the room, terrified of what I will see, of Taylor sick or in pain. But the bed is blocked by a tall, dark-haired man. I realize it must Taylor’s father; the resemblance is uncanny. He seems to recognize me too, because he smiles and shifts slightly so that I can see Taylor.

  I gasp at the sight of him. He’s attached to a couple of tubes, and there are huge dark shadows under his eyes. He looks pale and weak, nothing like the strong and vital man I love so much. I don’t realize that I’m crying until the tears slide across my nose.

  Taylor’s eyes never leave mine. “Dad, can you give us a minute?”

  “Sure.” The man gives me a warm smile before slipping from the room.

  I stand, frozen, a few feet from Taylor’s bed.

  “Come here,” he says finally, his voice so raspy it sounds painful. I stumble toward him, my tears blurring everything. I think he’s going to take my hand, but instead he grabs my arms, pulls me right up against him, and wraps his arms around my shoulders.

  I try to catch his familiar scent, but I’m sobbing too hard. He pats my back over and over, whispering that everything is fine. I can’t get over the rasp in his voice and suddenly remember what Fred had said about them pumping his stomach and inserting a breathing tube. His throat is probably killing him.

  I pull away, wanting him to stop comforting me, to stop using his voice. He gives me a weak smile and gestures to a chair next to the bed. I sink into it, unable to take my eyes off him. “Are you oka
y?” I whisper.

  “Yeah. I’ll be fine. I’m more embarrassed than anything.”

  “Taylor—God, what happened?”

  He finally breaks his gaze, looking down at his hands. “I was stupid. Drank too much. Took a bunch of Xanax with my whiskey.”

  “Why?”

  I’m terrified that he did it on purpose. I honestly don’t know what I’ll do if he’s suicidal. There’s only so much heartbreak I can take before I’m just done.

  He shrugs. “I wasn’t thinking, Zoe. Everything just hurt so bad, and I wanted to make it numb, the way I used to.” He doesn’t say it, but his meaning is clear. Before you. “But the only problem was that the whiskey wasn’t working the way it used to. I felt worse, not better, once I started drinking. So when I remembered about Preston’s mom’s Xanax, I leapt at the chance.”

  I jump back in the chair as if shocked. “Preston?” What on earth was he doing with Preston?

  His expression turns guilty. “I know. I shouldn’t have gone there, Zoe. I was determined never to step foot in his house again. But I can't stand the idea of being in my apartment anymore, not without you. And I knew he was having a party, knew I’d be able to get my hands on some booze.” He gives me a grim smile. “It was the first of many stupid decisions that night.”

  “I can’t believe he let you in the house after what happened before.” I can still see Taylor’s hands pummeling Preston’s face. I shudder.

  “He was pretty drunk too. But he realized I was looking for her pills and tried to talk me out of it. So that’s one plus for him. It doesn’t make up for anything, of course. He’s still a bastard.”

  “But you still took one.”

  He looks away again. “I brought the whole bottle back home with me. I started with one. When I still felt like shit, I took more.”