Give, a novel

by Erica Carpenter Witsell

She stopped short at the door of the bathroom. Her sister was lying on the bathmat, naked. No, not lying, writhing.

  “Oh God,” she said. “Oh God.”

  “Jessie. That’s it. I’m calling Laurel.”

  Jessie nodded slightly. “Help me get dressed first.”

  Emma held her underwear so her sister could get her feet through the holes, then helped her pull them up.

  She held up the bra, but Jessie shook her head urgently. “Forget it.”

  She managed to get her head into the T-shirt, but when she had to raise her arms to get them through the arm holes, she winced and cried out.

  “Jessie!”

  “I’m okay,” Jessie said. “Oh God.”

  “I found these,” Emma said, holding up the soft shorts. “I thought they’d be better . . .”

  Quickly, she slid Jessie’s feet through the holes, pulled them up her legs. With Jessie lying on her side, she had to stop when she reached her hips.

  “Can you just—” she began.

  “No,” Jessie said, sobbing. “No, it hurts. God, it hurts. Oh, please make it stop. Please.”

  Emma left her sister on the bathroom floor with the shorts still around her knees. She raced to the kitchen and grabbed the paper with the numbers from the fridge.

  The phone rang five interminable times before someone answered.

  “Giovanni’s,” a man’s voice said.

  “My mother’s there,” Emma croaked into the line. “I need to talk to her. Please. It’s . . . It’s an emergency.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Eleven. Please. I need to talk to my mother.”

  “All right. All right. What’s her name?”

  “Laurel. She’s there with her boyfriend, Cac—” Oh, God, what was Cactus’ real name?

  “She’s there with her boyfriend. He’s got really short hair. He’s . . . He’s wearing cowboy boots.”

  “I’ll see if I can find them.”

  Emma waited for what seemed like forever. She could hear Jessie moaning in the bathroom and longed to go to her.

  Finally, the voice was back.

  “I’m sorry, but the waitress said they just left. They’re probably on their way home now.”

  Trembling, Emma hung up the phone and dialed the other number. Oh, please. But the phone at the Jacksons’ rang and rang. She hung up and tried again, but after six, seven, eight rings, there was no answer.

  She ran back to the bathroom. Jessie still lay there, writhing, her face white.

  “Jessie, she’s not there. And the Jacksons won’t answer.”

  Her sister looked at her, her eyes wide and strange.

  “The horses . . .” she said. “Take Summer . . . He’s fastest. Get help.”

  Emma stared at her. She imagined herself racing down to the pasture with a halter, the darks shadows of the horses in the field. She’d have no time to saddle up, but she knew Summer would neck-rein with his halter and lead. She saw herself leading him through the gate in the dark, then vaulting onto his back and galloping up the street to the Jacksons’, her fingers tangled in his mane.

  It is what Jessie would do. That was why she had thought of it. Even now, out of her mind with pain, there was something in it that Jessie could revere: her sister and her trusted steed, galloping through the night in search of help. But Emma knew, even as the vision passed through her mind, that it was impossible. She couldn’t leave her sister like this. And what if the Jackson’s weren’t home? Even if they were, what could they possibly do?

  They’d call an ambulance, Emma thought. That’s what they would do.

  In a second, she was back in the kitchen, dialing 911.

  “My sister needs an ambulance,” Emma said, struggling to keep her voice calm. “Please hurry.”

  “Address, please?” the operator asked her.

  “315 . . .” Emma began and then panicked. No, that was her address at home. What was the address here? Sequoia Road, she knew, but the number? Quickly, she searched through the clutter on the counter for an envelope. There.

  “Eight Sequoia Road. Oh, please can they hurry? My sister.” Emma started to cry, then. “Please tell them to hurry,” she pleaded into the phone.

  She heard clicking on the other end of the line. “They’re on their way, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be okay. The ambulance is on its way. Now, tell me. How old are you?”

  “Eleven.”

  “And is someone there with you?”

  “My sister. She was . . . She’s babysitting me.”

  “And how old is she?”

  “Thirteen.”

  “And what’s wrong, sweetheart?”

  “She can’t pee. I don’t know why. She drank a lot of lemonade but she can’t pee. And she’s in there on the floor . . . I’ve got to go to her—”

  “Don’t hang up the phone, sweetheart.”

  “I’m just gonna go tell—” Quickly, Emma set the phone on the counter and raced back to the bathroom.

  “Oh God Oh God Oh God,” Jessie was groaning, her eyes closed. She was still on her side on the floor, both arms curved over her middle. The shorts had slid to her ankles. Quickly, Emma pulled them off.

  “The ambulance is coming, Jess. Don’t worry. The ambulance is coming.”

  Jessie opened her eyes. “You called an ambulance? I thought . . . I thought you had gone to the Jacksons’ . . . on Summer.”

  “Oh, Jessie. There’s no time for that. And they would have called an ambulance, wouldn’t they have?”

  Jessie didn’t answer. She closed her eyes. “Emma. It hurts so bad. Do you think . . . Do you think I’m going to die?”

  “No. Jessie, no. The ambulance is coming.”

  “But it hurts. It hurts so much.”

  “Jessie . . . I’ve got to . . . The phone.”

  Emma raced again to the kitchen and picked up the phone.

  “Are you there?”

  “Yes, I’m here.”

  “Are they here? Are they coming?”

  “They’re on their way, sweetheart. Just hang on. Stay on the phone.”

  “But my sister.”

  “Just don’t hang up, okay?”

  “I won’t.”

  Again she left the receiver on the counter and ran back down the hall. She paused just before the doorway, dreading what she would see. This was the worst day of her life. To see Jessie like this, and to be able to do nothing. Not one single thing to make it better. Oh God. When would they come?

  In the bathroom, Jessie was the same, no, worse . . . She moaned and winced and did not seem to see Emma. Emma sat down on the floor by her head and began to stroke her hair.

  “You’re going to be okay,” she said softly. “They’re coming. You’re going to be okay . . .” God, where were they? What was taking so long? Emma pictured the dark road that lead to Baymont. How far was it to town? It was twenty minutes to the grocery store, twenty-five to the clinic where Laurel worked. Where was the hospital? Was there even a hospital in Ukiah? Emma didn’t know. Oh, God, when would they come?

  “Jessie, you’re going to be okay . . .” Her voice was calm but she could feel the tears dripping off her cheeks and into Jessie’s hair. “It’s going to be okay . . .”

  Even in the windowless bathroom, Emma could feel the darkness of the night outside pressing in on them. There were no streetlights on Sequoia Road, no neighboring houses with their windows aglow. Usually, Emma loved that darkness, the brilliant spray of stars it allowed in the pool of sky above the pond. But tonight the dark was different, sequestering her in the empty house, her sister ensconced beyond the wall of her private pain. Utterly alone, Emma longed for two things: the lights of the ambulance that would cut through the dark, and her mother—not Laurel but Sarah—who would know what to do, who would put her calm hand on Emma’s shoulder and make everything all right.

  Emma started when she heard the door. The ambulance!

  She jumped to her feet and raced to the living room. They w
ere here, at last.

  But no. Not the ambulance, and not her mother. Laurel. Laurel and Cactus, brushing through the living room, laughing.

  “Why is the phone off the hook?” she heard Laurel say, saw her striding toward it.

  “No!” Emma yelled. She had no idea if the 911 operator was still on the line; it seemed like hours since she had last heard her say, “Don’t hang up.” But that phone was Emma’s one minuscule point of comfort, her one connection to the world, to someone—anyone—who could help.

  “Emma, what are you still doing up?”

  “It’s Jessie! The ambulance is coming . . .” Suddenly Emma was sobbing wildly. “They said they were coming. I don’t know why they’re not here.”

  Laurel’s face went white. “The ambulance? Oh my God. Where is Jessie? Emma, where is she? What happened?”

  “She couldn’t pee . . . I called the ambulance . . . They said they were coming.” Emma followed Laurel down the hallway, Cactus at her heels.

  “Oh, Jesus.” Laurel said. “Oh, Jessie. What’s wrong?”

  But by now Jessie was speechless with pain. Her eyes were pinched tight, her moans low, awful growls.

  “Emma. What happened? What’s wrong?” Laurel turned to her urgently. “Why didn’t you call me? Oh, God, I left the number.”

  “I tried,” Emma sobbed. “They said you’d left already . . . And the Jacksons didn’t—”

  Suddenly, they heard the squeal of the screen door and then urgent voices in the living room.

  “Hello?”

  “They’re here,” Emma sobbed. She pushed past Cactus and rushed to the front of the house. “She’s here! She’s down here. She’s in the bathroom. You’ve got to help her!”

  After that, everything happened so quickly that the relief Emma felt was overwhelming. The awful, awful waiting—listening helplessly to her sister’s cries, with each minute stretching on and on impossibly—was over at last.

  “Clear the way, folks, please.” She felt Cactus grab her shoulder and gently push her out of the way, saw the men in uniforms come through the hall with the stretcher.

  “Out of the way, please, ma’am,” one of them said.

  “I’m her mother,” she heard Laurel say. “I need to know what’s going on.”

  “We need you out of the way so we can get this young lady some help.”

  Emma heard the rattle of the shower curtain and knew that Laurel had stepped inside the stall rather than back down the narrow hallway to where Emma stood with Cactus. Then there was shuffling and voices and her sister’s cries. In another moment, there they were again, coming through the living room with the stretcher, but this time Jessie was on it, still curled on her side, whimpering.

  Emma searched her sister’s face for some sign of her own relief. Jessie would be okay now. But her sister’s face was contorted and colorless and if she saw Emma standing there, she gave no sign. Laurel followed the stretcher, her face pale and drawn. Emma could smell the faint scent of her perfume as she passed.

  Laurel was almost to the door when she turned.

  “Cactus . . . you’ll stay with Emma?

  “No, I want to go! Jessie—”

  “No, Emma. You have to stay here.”

  “But—”

  But the stretcher was out the door now, and Cactus had his hand firmly on Emma’s shoulder, rooting her in place.

  “I have to go with her. I have to make sure she’s okay—”

  “She’ll be okay, don’t you worry,” Cactus said. “She’s in good hands now. You did the right thing, Emma. You did good.”

  Outside, there was the crunch of gravel and the sweep of lights as the ambulance pulled out onto the road. Emma heard the siren go on and pictured the ambulance rushing down the dark roads to the hospital.

  “Will they . . . ? Will they be able to help her in the ambulance?” she asked, her voice cracking. “Or will she have to wait for . . . for the hospital?” She thought of how long it had been until the ambulance arrived, the pain piling up on her sister, crushing her. Surely, she couldn’t stand to wait all that time again. Surely, they could do something in the ambulance . . .

  “I don’t . . .” Cactus began, and then he paused and studied Emma’s face. “In the ambulance,” he said. “Don’t worry, sugar. She’ll be fine. Here, why don’t you sit down for a while?”

  He steered Emma to the couch. To her surprise, she realized the television was still on; it had been on all this time.

  “You want to watch something?”

  Emma shook her head, so Cactus walked over to the set and clicked it off. Emma watched the picture shrink into a little brown rectangle, then vanish. The house was suddenly very, very quiet.

  “How long do you think it will take them to get there?” Emma asked.

  “About twenty minutes, I’d think,” Cactus said. “There’ll be no traffic.”

  “And what . . . what can they . . . what will they be able to do for her?”

  “Well, she can’t pee, you said? I expect they’ll put in a catheter.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a little tube. It’ll let the pee out.”

  Emma felt her body relax infinitesimally; she could almost feel her sister’s relief.

  “And the . . . the catheter? They’ll do it in the ambulance?”

  Cactus looked away. “Yeah.”

  “But why couldn’t she pee? What’s wrong with her?”

  “That, I have no idea. But the doctors will know. Don’t worry about that. They’ll make it right.”

  They sat in silence for a moment.

  Finally, Emma said, “I want to call my mom.”

  Cactus let out his breath in a quick burst. “Sugar, I’m sorry, but there’s no way . . . She’ll call from the hospital when they’re situated. When they know something.”

  “I mean . . . my mom at home. In Bakersfield.”

  For a moment, Cactus just looked at her. “I don’t know, sugar. Maybe you should wait until we know . . . Maybe you should wait until your mother . . . Until Laurel calls and we know something.”

  But now that the ambulance had come at last, Emma’s longing to talk with her mother was overpowering. She stood up. “I’m going to call. I want—I need to talk to her.”

  Cactus looked at Emma’s face. Her tears had traced pale tracks down her cheeks, still grimy from the afternoon’s ride. “I guess you should go ahead and call her then,” he said.

  Emma was supposed to call collect; that was the agreement. Long distance was just way too expensive, Laurel had said. Dutifully, she dialed the operator, gave her number. She heard the phone ring, once, twice . . . What time was it? It seemed the middle of the night; would her parents be in bed? She pictured the brown phone on her mother’s night table ringing, ringing.

  “Hello?” Emma heard her mother answer the phone, and she breathed a little sigh of relief.

  “You have a collect call from Emma Walters. Will you accept the charges?”

  “Oh, Christ!” she heard her mother say. “Of course.”

  “Thank you,” the operator said. “Hold the line.” Then there was a click and she was gone.

  “Mom!” Emma said. “Mom!”

  “Emma? What’s wrong? What time . . . It’s after eleven! Where are you? What happened? What’s wrong?”

  Emma heard the panic in her mother’s voice. She felt like crying again, but knew she had to get the story out.

  As quickly as she could, she relayed the events of the evening. Part way through, she heard her father pick up the downstairs phone and her mother asked her to start again.

  “So Jessie’s at the hospital now?” her mother asked urgently when she had finished. “Which one?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know,” Emma said. “They took her in the ambulance. I hope . . . I just hope she got there already. Mom?” “Oh, sweetness.”

  “It was awful, Mom. I didn’t know what to do.” Fiercely she brushed away her tears. “She was hurting so much
and I didn’t know what to do.”

  “Oh, sweetness,” her mother said again. “You did the right thing. You called 911. And you were there with her.” Suddenly, her mother caught her breath. “But what about you? Where are you?”

  “I’m at home—at Baymont. Cactus is here.”

  “Cactus?”

  “Laurel’s boyfriend.”

  There was a pause. “Honey, can I speak to Cactus for a minute? Then you can get back on.”

  Emma held the phone out to him. “Cactus, my mom wants to talk to you for a sec.”

  Emma listened as Cactus talked to her parents. She could tell what they were asking because of what he said, could sense their growing frustration as he repeated, “I promise I’ll call as soon as we know something.”

  At last, he handed the phone back to Emma.

  “Honey,” her mother said. “We’d better hang up now. We want to call the hospital and see what we can find out. But you did the right thing, sweetheart. Thank you.”

  “Mom,” Emma croaked. “Don’t go.” They couldn’t hang up now. They couldn’t leave her alone again. “Mom. I . . . I don’t want to be alone.”

  “Cactus is there, honey. He’s not going anywhere.”

  “But I don’t want to be here alone, Mom,” Emma sobbed. “I want to . . . I want to come home.”

  “Honey, sweetness, shhh. I know. I know. And I promise I will call you right back. But we’re worried about Jessie. We want to find out—”

  “Okay,” Emma managed at last. “I know.”

  “Bye, Emma. We’ll call right back, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Emma hung up the phone and collapsed onto the couch. She pushed her face into one of the cushions, smelled the lingering scent of her sister, of horses. Awkwardly, Cactus reached down and put a hand on her shoulder.

  “You okay, Emma?”

  She nodded, not looking up, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

  “I just want to go home,” she said again.

  “It’ll be okay, sugar, don’t you worry. Jessie’s gonna be okay, and your mom’s gonna be home soon.”

  CHAPTER 24

  One Year Later

  Jessie

  “Laurel, please,” Jessie begged over the phone. “Please don’t.”

  “I have to.”