Rapid Falls(6)

“Her landlord saw pills. She isn’t responding to him,” I said, feeling a twinge of guilt at my exaggeration. “I need to get over there.” I walked to the door, knocking one of Maggie’s tiny shoes off the rack as I reached for my own. A small plastic dinosaur flew out, and I smiled despite myself as I remembered her carefully tucking it inside earlier, telling me she was putting it to bed for the night. Rick followed me.

“Are you sure you want to do this again?”

I nodded, forcing myself to meet his eyes. “She’s my sister, Rick.”

“I know.” He looked at me carefully. “Is she okay?”

“I hope so.”

“I can’t believe this is happening again. I don’t know whether to be scared or embarrassed for her. I thought after last time . . .” He sighed. I kissed him on the cheek and spoke before the next question came.

“Maybe she’s just drunk.” I grabbed my keys and twisted the doorknob. “I’ll text you.”

I walked into the garage and took a deep breath as I sat in the quiet car, steeling myself for what was to come. Anna was not good at life, but I was. I could do this. Maybe she would see that things couldn’t keep going this way. Maybe the third time would end things once and for all. The summer streets were quiet, and I got to Anna’s house in less than ten minutes. I pulled over, noting with relief that the main floor was dark. I didn’t want to deal with Bert. I walked to the back to my sister’s entrance. I opened the unlocked door and let myself in without knocking.

“Anna?” No answer. Maybe she’d gone out. Her boyfriends came and went so quickly that I didn’t know if she was dating anyone, which would make tracking her more difficult. A faint orange glow from the streetlight in the alley shone in the window, guiding me to the light switch in the hallway. I clicked it. The place smelled faintly of mold—not overpowering, but enough to make you think it had been a long time since anyone had bothered to open the windows. A furry animal scuttled past my feet. My heart thumped in relief as I realized it was a cat. I didn’t know Anna had gotten a pet. I had been too busy to visit since the last crisis six months ago, but we spoke once a week on the phone. I thought it was enough to keep her safe. Wrong again.

“Anna?” I called as I peered in the bedroom. A small lamp glowed in the corner. I could see her shape huddled under a new comforter on the bed: white with a sweet repeating pattern of red cherries. It looked like she was trying to make the place less dingy, but it wasn’t working.

“Anna, what’s happening? It’s Cara.”

“Cara?” she said. Even in the low light, she looked terrible. Her eyes were red and bloodshot as she squinted to focus. She looked ten hard years older than thirty-six.

“When did you start drinking again? You told me last weekend that you’ve been sober since you left rehab.”

No response. Her loose features slowly began to rearrange themselves into a coarse, childish frown. I could tell she was trying to come up with a convincing lie, so I kept talking to save us both the trouble.

“How much have you had to drink tonight? Have you taken anything?” I could hear the impatience in my voice and something else too. I was numbed. Her second suicide attempt had been far less severe than the first. She had taken half a bottle of pills and left the rest spilling out on the table, like a prop in a bad play. People who really want to die don’t take pills like that; they keep swallowing until they’re gone. Anna was calling out for help that she wasn’t ready to accept, and I couldn’t keep playing along. Rick was right. Something had to change.

“I can’t . . . remember.” She turned over on her side, letting her arm loll off the bed. My gaze dropped to the floor below her outstretched fingers. A scattering of pills dotted a pile of dirty laundry.

“How much did you take, Anna?” She turned her face into the light. I saw bruises and dried blood. “Oh my God. Did someone hit you?” I rushed to her side as my eyes scanned the room again in sudden panic. Her landlord hadn’t said there was anyone else here, but someone could be hiding in the closet. Then I noticed the nightstand. The corner was brown with dried blood. She must have rolled off the bed at some point and hit her head.

“Did you fall?” My words were meant to be neutral, but it sounded like I’d just accused her of losing control of her bowels.

She seized on my scorn with drunken righteousness. “Why are you even here, Cara?” she slurred. “Nobody cares. You don’t care.” I patted her hand reassuringly as I pulled out my phone. I had to care. Or at least try.

“Hello, 9-1-1. Fire, emergency, or police?”

“Emergency. I need paramedics. My sister just tried to kill herself.” Sort of, I thought silently. “Again,” I said out loud. The paramedics were brusque when they came to collect my sister. They seemed tired of her too. I took the familiar route to the emergency room, following behind the ambulance. Anna looked sweaty and distracted as they wheeled her in under the ugly lights.

“You should have let me die, Cara,” she said belligerently. A tired nurse straightened Anna’s arm, trying to fit a blood pressure cuff onto her thin limb.

“I can’t do that, Anna. I would never let anything hurt you.” I squeezed her hand tightly, overearnestly. The nurse gave me a small sympathetic smile. That night, the psychiatrist admitted her for overnight observation. They made up a cot for me, and I slept fitfully beside her. They released her the next day with a piece of paper that listed AA meetings in the area.