Alex’s father killed himself four years ago after he tried to kill Alex.
Totally fucked up.
I can’t even imagine his situation. My dad was never abusive toward my mom or me. He put us in harm’s way when he owed tens of thousands of dollars in gambling debts, but he would never raise a hand to hurt either of us.
Thank God Alex was taken in by Dax’s family. I think he would have self-destructed otherwise.
“What’s next?” Tristan asks, addressing Dax. “When’s our next gig?”
Dax pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket and smooths it out on the table in front of him.
“Next Thursday, Friday and Saturday we’re back here. We play one gig on Thursday night, two on Friday and one on Saturday.”
Tristan groans. “Does that mean we’re playing Happy Hour on Friday, because the last time we did that, we were singing to fifty-year-old dudes.”
“Suck it up, asshole. Do you want to be able to pay your rent this month?” Dax says, annoyed.
Tristan pipes down and Dax runs through the next several weeks’ worth of shows. Apparently, there’s a record label interested in seeing us. Alex is skeptical, but the rest of us think it’s a major deal.
“We’ll use these next few weeks to get ready for the label rep to come see us next month. He’s coming here on the eighteenth.”
“My birthday,” I say, smiling.
“It’s going to be an epic night.”
Sam
Present
Villanova, Pennsylvania
Age 23
“ABSOLUTELY NOT!” I yell at Aunt Peggy. I’m disgusted by what she just asked me, practically begged me, to do. “There is no way in hell I’m going to do this, so just back off.”
“Hear me out, Samantha.” Her tone is firm. There have only been two times she’s spoken to me like this and neither time was good. “I need you to listen to everything I have to say before you say no again.”
I flop onto the couch and yell again. “Do you have any idea what I’ve just been through? What I’ve done? I can’t possibly consider what you’re suggesting.”
I’m hanging on by a thread right now after the incident with baby Ben. I haven’t left my room for days. My guilt consumes me, and all I can think about is what I did wrong. How I killed a defenseless baby.
“Sam, if there is a child that needs you more than this one does, tell me and I’ll leave you alone.” She glares at me and I glare back.
“No child needs me! No child should be around me right now. I fucked up and I killed a baby! Do you hear me?” I’m screaming and shaking at the same time. She rushes to my side and throws her arms around me.
“Shhh, Sam. Calm down.” Her hands get caught in my tangled curls.
“You can’t ask me to do this,” I plead with her. Tears are freely flowing down my face, and she looks at me with pity. I hate that look. I don’t deserve her pity, or anyone’s, for that matter.
She starts talking over my sobs and I know she won’t stop until I hear her out. I wipe the dampness from my cheeks. I hate feeling sorry for myself. It makes me feel weak and useless. I nod once and she quickly jumps back into her request.
“Kai is a very sick little boy. His mother was addicted to some pretty bad drugs. She died of an apparent overdose, leaving him alone. She has no family at all. Now he’s suffering and about to be discharged to his father, who only just found out about him yesterday. The social worker has done everything within her power to find Kai a stable and loving home, but everything has fallen through. This baby needs you, Sam. Please. I’m begging you.”
Her stern voice turns soft and I see the worry and sadness in her eyes.
“Why are you asking me?” I ask.
“Because you’re the only one who can do it. I’ve seen you with the babies you care for. You save their lives every moment you’re with them. You’re the first line of defense should something go wrong and you help some through their last breaths on this earth.” I suck in a breath and open my mouth to correct her. I want to tell her that she’s wrong. I’m a killer. She ignores me and continues, “You’re the reason why ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the severely sick babies born in your hospital survive. You, Samantha.”
My self-doubt creeps in and more tears flow. “But I’m also the reason why one very special little boy is dead. Don’t you see? I’m not ready for this. I may never be ready for this ever again.”
Her look is stern once more. “Stop. I won’t listen to you talk like this. You’ll come to accept that what happened with baby Ben was an accident. It will take time, but you’ll accept it.” She squeezes my hand and she knows I’m resisting. I don’t want to believe her. I can never accept the damage that I’ve caused. I don’t understand why she doesn’t see that.
“I won’t take no for an answer. You can’t refuse to help this poor baby. You took an oath as a nurse. You can’t turn your back on this child. I won’t let you.”
She’s not going to back down.
“His social worker described what’s wrong with him with some technical term.” She pauses, trying to remember.
“Neonatal Abstinence Syndrome,” I answer for her.
“That’s it,” she says, nodding her head. “So you know all about what it is and how to care for this child.” She baited me and is reeling me in.
“Of course I do.” She knows this already. She’s heard me tell countless stories of babies just like Kai.
“That’s what I thought. So tell me what we need to have on hand. He’s being discharged from the hospital the day after tomorrow.” She pulls out the pocket notebook that she carries with her everywhere. It contains her lists that help her run her daily life.
After I tell her the supplies I’m going to need, I suddenly realize what I’ve committed to and I feel sick.
“I don’t even know your boss, Aunt Peggy. How can you expect me to move in there? This is absurd!”
She started working there when I went to nursing school and we never talk about it. She also does other personal assistant work for several families in our area, and I can never keep straight who she’s working for when.
“His name is Garrett Armstrong and he’s a musician.”
Garrett Armstrong.
Garrett Armstrong.
I repeat the name over and over silently in my head, knowing it sounds familiar, but I can’t quite place it.
I hear Cassie’s high-pitched voice behind me, “GARRETT ARMSTRONG?” she screeches.
She runs around the couch and jumps up and down in front of me. “Do you know who he is?” Her voice goes up another octave and pierces my ears. I shake my head.
Aunt Peggy is finishing up her list and she clicks her pen after closing her notebook.
“Uh, Epic Fail?” Cassie says and the recognition sets in. I saw a tabloid article on the Internet this morning about Garrett Armstrong and some groupie OD’ing on his tour bus.
Cassie’s eyes light up. “Aunt Peggy, if Sam doesn’t want the job, I’ll take it.” She clasps her hands together and is nearly bursting at the seams.
“Fine, the job’s yours,” I say and stand up to leave the room. I can’t be a part of any of this. My head is pounding, and I just want to curl up and go to sleep.
“Samantha Katherine Weston.” My Aunt’s voice booms through the living room.
Dammit.
“Oh shit,” I hear Cassie say under her breath. “I was only kidding, Aunt Peggy.” Her voice turns sweet and she rushes past me up the stairs.