Everything You Are(81)
“We’ll all watch her,” Phee says. “Her father. Me. Our friends. We’ll take it in shifts.”
Braden tips his head back to look at her. What friends? He wants to ask, but her face tells him not to ask questions, not now.
“Please,” Allie begs. “Can we just do that? Steph would come, too, I know she would, whenever she doesn’t have to be at school. I promise to stay at the house and never go anywhere ever again. Just don’t make me go to that place.”
Tom takes his time considering, his thoughtful gaze traveling from Allie’s face, to Braden’s, to Phee’s. Finally, he nods.
“All right. I’m going to get all of you to sign a safety plan that lists the responsibilities you’ve each agreed to. Okay?”
“Of course,” Phee says, her voice low and steady. “Whatever it takes.”
A few minutes later, they are all signing a document. Allie agrees to go to counseling, to refrain from self-harm, to let her father know if she’s having suicidal thoughts. For the next week, she won’t go anywhere without first saying where she’s going.
Braden agrees to lock up sharp objects and medications in the house, to take Allie to counseling, to call Tom if he has any concerns. Phee agrees to cover for Braden so that someone is always awake and available to keep an eye out for Allie. All of them will abstain from alcohol or any recreational drugs.
“It’s been lovely to meet you all,” Tom says as he packs the paperwork back into his briefcase. “But I hope to never see any of you again.”
“Amen to that,” Phee mutters as the door closes behind him.
Allie leans back against the pillow and closes her eyes, looking exhausted and fragile.
“So when are they going to spring you?” Phee asks, thumping the bag down on Allie’s bedside table and unpacking breakfast sandwiches and hash browns. “Figured you’d be hungry this morning. Hospital food sucks.”
Allie rewards her with a faint smile. “Thank you. For everything.”
“Hey, that’s what family is for,” Phee replies, laughing.
“I don’t know if she’s supposed to eat yet,” Braden objects. “We should check with the nurse.”
“Are you hungry?” Phee asks.
“Totally.”
“Perfect. Then she’s supposed to eat. It was an overdose, Braden. Not a burst appendix or cancer or something.”
Allie is already eating, and Braden’s mouth is watering. Greasy and salty turns out to be the perfect comfort food. When the nurse comes in a few minutes later, all three of them stare at her, guilty, crumbs and empty wrappers all that is left of the transgression.
She laughs. “I was about to ask if Allie would like some breakfast, but I see the answer to that. So, how about a shower?”
“Please,” Allie says. “That would be amazing.”
“Why don’t you go home and get some rest?” the nurse asks Braden. “Doctor says she can probably go home this afternoon.”
“I’ll stay,” Braden begins, but Allie cuts him off.
“Dad. I’m fine.”
“You’re no good to her if you get sick yourself,” the nurse admonishes.
Phee takes his hand and tugs. “Come on, Braden. You need to rest. We’ll come back for her when they’re ready to let her go.”
“You’ll call if there’s any problem?” Braden asks the nurse. “Even the tiniest setback—”
“Of course! I promise. Go on, now. Shoo. Let the girl shower in peace.”
“What time do you think she’ll be released?”
“Not before three or four, I wouldn’t think. I’ll call you if there’s any change to that plan as well. All right?”
Braden stands by Allie’s bed, dares to stroke her hair. He wants to hug her more than anything in the world but tells himself he won’t corner her, trapped as she is in the hospital bed.
“I love you, little bird,” he says, and then the miracle happens and she lifts her arms to him, like she used to do when she was a little girl.
He stoops and gathers her against him, her arms tight around his neck as they cling to each other for a long moment. She doesn’t say she loves him, but he thinks, maybe, he feels it in the rapid beating of her heart.
Chapter Thirty-One
ALLIE
Allie’s new reality is as fragile as a spiderweb. All of the things she knew about life used to make a solid tapestry; now she feels as if somebody has unraveled the whole thing, handed her the threads, and suggested she weave them back together without a pattern.
A gift, she realizes with surprise. Her life, to be shaped and re-created however she chooses. The emotional place she was in when she swallowed the pills belongs to another girl in another life.
She’s not numb anymore. The encounter with death has flayed her wide open. Grief hits her in huge, swamping waves, but there’s compensation. The sky outside her window is outrageously blue. Even the faded colors in her hospital gown are beautiful, and she gets caught up in tracing the patterns with her eyes.
Best of all, her anger toward her father is not just muted but gone, washed away by that one bright moment of comprehension just before the pills sucked her into unconsciousness. He loves her. Has always loved her. And maybe, just maybe, she’ll be able to make music again someday.