Before I Let You Go(13)
“Fuck . . .” Annie starts to cry, and I flick my glance toward the monitor. Her BP is rising—very slowly—but the numbers are trending upward, and I need to end this conversation.
I didn’t mean to scare her, but Annie is intelligent—she can understand this. If she wasn’t so upset, I’d just explain to her about physiological withdrawal, so that she can see that there are complex systems in place here and both she and the baby legitimately need the opiates for the time being. But she’s staring at me as she sobs—and I’m actually starting to wonder if I shouldn’t have left this conversation for her doctor. “I know you hate it, love, but staying on maintenance is the only way forward. It’s the best thing for the baby.”
The door opens and I’m relieved to see Sam, but the relief doesn’t last long—it’s only a moment or two before I notice the police officers right behind him, and a middle-aged woman wearing a white coat and a scowl close behind them. I widen my eyes at him, and Sam offers me a silent apology with his grimace.
“Anne Vidler?” one of the officers says, as soon as he enters the room. Annie does not respond. Instead, she continues to stare at me, as if I can somehow prevent this from happening. I suppose that’s fair enough. After all, I did promise that I would. The other officer walks to the end of the bed and checks the nameplate, then nods to his colleague. “Anne, the presence of narcotics has been detected in your urine. Under Alabama law, chemical endangerment of a child is a . . .”
“Annie has high blood pressure,” I say sharply, and I rise to my full height and address the officers as if I’m her lawyer, rather than her sister—although I’m still holding her hand, and I’m holding it so tightly now that my fingers are cramping from the pressure. “It’s medically imperative that she avoid stress, so you’ll need to leave the room now, please.”
“Dr. Rogers said that her blood pressure is stable.”
All eyes turn to the woman in the coat, who barely hides her disdain as she points to the monitor and says sharply, “I told you it was but that I wasn’t sure she was ready for this—and you’ve proven me right. You need to leave. Now.”
The police officers exchange confused glances, until one finally drops some papers onto Annie’s bed and they leave the room. I glare until the door closes behind them, and then gasp in disbelief when one remains right in my line of sight, guarding the door. Now when I look out, I watch a woman approach him. Through the small window in the door, I can see only from her shoulders up—but that’s more than enough for me to recognize the no-nonsense demeanor of an unsympathetic professional. She stands with the officer, her expression set in a fierce frown. I wonder what her role is.
“Are they going to stay?” I murmur, and Sam says quietly, “There was some concern Annie might try to leave the hospital. They’re just here to make sure she remains until tomorrow when there’ll be some kind of hearing.” He picks up the warrant from where it sits on the end of the bed, and sighs heavily as he folds it up and passes it to me. I take it with my left hand, and stuff it into my pocket without looking at it.
“Don’t you worry, Annie,” the doctor says very gently. “You’re not going anywhere until it’s completely safe. We’ll probably keep you here until you deliver.”
Annie shakes her head frantically.
“I can’t stay here that long.”
The doctor approaches the bed and takes Annie’s other hand in hers.
“I know it’s difficult, but it’s really important that you stay calm, Annie.” She flicks her glance to me. “You must be Alexis. I’m Eliza Rogers. I’ll be overseeing Annie’s care.”
“I need to speak with you,” I say tightly, because although I’m impressed with her handling of the officers, it’s surely her fault they are here in the first place—who else would have called in her failed drug test? Besides which, I’m still frustrated by how little she’s explained to Annie so far.
“Certainly.” Eliza nods, but her attention is already back to Annie, who is breathing heavily and fidgeting on the bed. “Let’s make sure Annie’s okay, and then we’ll talk.”
Sam’s hand descends on my shoulder, and I release Annie’s hand to turn back toward him. His gesture is one of comfort, but also, somehow, I know it’s a warning—a plea for me to watch my tone with his colleague. His gaze locks with mine. Sam is sad and he’s worried, and I take his unspoken plea on board—we do need Eliza, so I can’t really afford to make an enemy of her. I reach up, squeeze his hand against my shoulder in another unspoken communication—I understand—then turn back to Annie.
She’s staring at the ceiling and there’s a thin sheen of sweat over her brow. Annie is white as a ghost now, and the systolic blood pressure reading has increased by seven points since I came into the room. It ticks upward, this time skipping three points higher, and Eliza releases Annie’s hand and says quietly, “I’m going to organize some more medication for you, Annie. Something to calm you, okay?”
As soon as the doctor leaves the room, Annie looks to me. Her eyes are wild with fear and desperation.
“What are we going to do?”
We. I know that I told her that I would somehow prevent this very thing from happening—but still, her casual use of the shared pronoun frustrates me. This is her problem; this situation is entirely her doing. It’s so typical of my sister that she is already assuming that I’m going to create a way out of the mess for her. I can’t look at her for a moment, I’m too frustrated, but as I look away, her vitals monitor catches my eye and my resentment evaporates because it has to. With every digit that number rises, the baby’s health is compromised, and so is Annie’s. I take a deep breath and I meet her gaze, then I offer her a calm smile.