We All Fall Down (Of Love and Madness Book 2)

by Karen Cimms

  “Really?”

  “No! My God!” He grimaced. “Oops—sorry,” he yelled over his shoulder.

  She peeked behind him, but no one was there.

  “Old habits die hard,” he mumbled under his breath.

  He put his arm around her shoulder. “Look, Kate. We know you’ve been through a lot. An awful lot. I mean, losing me? That had to suck.”

  She nodded, and he nodded in agreement.

  “And then the shooting.”

  She nodded again, and her lip began to quiver.

  “It’s enough to make anyone crazy.”

  “I’m not crazy,” she said.

  “Yeah, honey, you are. Certifiably. If anyone knew what you were doing right now, it would buy you a room at Bellevue. But that’s okay. You’re entitled. And although you feel like you can’t take it, you can. You just need help. You can’t do it alone. You can’t do it with Billy, and you can’t do it with a bottle. And trust me, you’ve been hitting that bottle a little too hard lately. Honestly, when I saw what you did to that dress, I was ready to send you to your maker.”

  “You could do that?”

  “Of course not.” He smiled, then added in a stage whisper, “But I know people.”

  She nodded solemnly.

  “Listen to me. I gave you the means to take care of yourself, didn’t I?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Of course you don’t, because you won’t sit down and listen to Tommy. And I might remind you, you’re supposed to be helping him. I know you have a lot going on, but he’s having a rough time too. You don’t see him planning his own funeral, do you?”

  She shook her head.

  “And by the way, wasn’t that something?” He smiled. “And of course you can’t tell the kids I said this, but bravo!” He clapped his hands, giving them a round of applause. “Devin’s eulogy? I couldn’t have written it better myself, and don’t think I didn’t try. And Rhiannon, with the other arrangements? I have a lot of hope for that girl still. Even the rock star did a good job. The music was perfect.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Bagpipes? Really?”

  He shrugged. “Hey, if you’re gonna die, you might as well go out with a bang, or at least a churl.” He leveled his gaze with hers and leaned close enough that their noses almost touched. “And speaking of death, it’s not your turn. You still have a lot to do, trust me. There are people who need you, but you’re no good to anyone right now. Talk to Tommy. There’s money, Kate, and a place for you to go. I want you to do that, and I want you to see a doctor—a psychiatrist. I want you to get better.”

  She chewed her lip. “What about Billy?”

  “Let him get his own psychiatrist.”

  It was like nothing had changed. “I mean, is he cheating on me?”

  Joey took her hand and squeezed it between his own. “Listen to your heart, Kate. It’ll tell you the truth.”

  She wasn’t so sure about that.

  “I want you to go home now, but take this with you.”

  He pressed something cool, hard, and flat into her palm, then closed her fingers around it. She opened her hand to find a piece of pink sea glass nearly two inches wide, roughly tumbled into the shape of a heart.

  “It’s beautiful. Where did you get this?”

  “In Maine. I found it at Nuns’ Beach in Saco.” He smiled and cupped his hand under hers. “It is beautiful, isn’t it? It’s really just a piece of garbage, but it’s been battered by the waves and the sand. It’s withstood a lot and come back better than before. It’s all in the way you look at it.”

  The heart felt solid in her palm.

  “Consider it a little miracle from me to you.”

  Tears stung the backs of her eyes, but before they could fall, Joey shushed her.

  “No more crying, Kate. It’s enough already.” He patted her back.

  She touched the side of his face and ran her fingers through the soft tumble of dark curls. “I can feel you.”

  “You can now, but not usually.”

  “Usually?”

  He nodded and smiled. “All the other times. You can’t see me or feel me, but I’m there. I promised you I’d always be there for you.”

  “I don’t feel you. I’m so alone.”

  “That’s because you aren’t trying to help yourself. But you aren’t alone.”

  She heard someone call her name.

  “You have to go now.” Joey folded her fingers over the glass and squeezed tightly. She felt the point bite into her palm.

  “Remember, Kate.” He stood and pulled her to her feet. “You also have free will. I can’t stop you, but I promise, it isn’t your time.”

  The voice drew nearer. “Mom?”

  Kate looked toward the trail. When she turned back, Joey was gone. The sun resumed its descent, and the birds called to one another as they soared high above the river.

  “Rhiannon?” Kate hurried toward the sound of her daughter’s voice. In her haste, her foot caught on a rock, and down she went.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Rhiannon pounded on the door, grumbling and hoping she wouldn’t have to dig around in her purse for the key to her parents’ house. If she even had the stupid key.

  “Mom!” she yelled. “It’s me. Open up!”

  Charlie jumped and pawed at the back door, barking like a maniac. Actually, like more of a maniac than usual.

  “Calm down!” she shouted at him through the window. As soon as she opened that door, he would jump up and snag her new Moncler down jacket. She just knew it.

  Trying not to spill her caramel macchiato, she dug some more and finally came up with the key her father had given her.

  “Get back,” she scolded, pushing the door open.

  She needn’t have bothered. Charlie bolted up the steps and through the kitchen.

  “Mom?”

  The coffee carafe was empty. Odd for this early in the morning. Her mother lived on caffeine these days.

  Charlie continued barking, ran back to her, spun around, and raced back into the dining room.

  “Shut up!” she snarled. “Mom!”

  The dog bolted up the stairs, then turned back again. Charlie had always been way too rambunctious, but this was a little much even for him.

  “Mom?”

  She tossed her bag on the counter and headed for the stairs. Charlie waited at the top, still barking. She should have just let him out. She’d have a goddamn headache by the time she got back in the car.

  A cold rush of air hit her. What the hell? The attic stairs were down.

  She called up the stairs. “What are you doing? I’ve been pounding on the door for five minutes.” More or less. “You’re going to be late for the doctor.”

  Silence.

  She squeezed past the ladder and continued down the hall to her parents’ room.

  Her mother lay crumpled in a heap at the foot of the bed. Her hair was gone. Bloody streaks covered her arms. The dress she was wearing—her wedding dress?—was splattered with rust-colored spots that grew larger near the hem. Dried blood covered her bare feet. Alongside her was an empty bottle of whiskey.

  On the bed, an empty bottle of wine lay next to two bottles of pills. A trail of blood led from the bathroom to the spot where her mother lay.

  “Oh, dear God.”

  Rhiannon searched for a pulse. It was there and relatively strong. She grabbed the bottles—sleeping pills. They seemed to be full.

  Rhiannon gently rolled her over. There was blood on her hands and cuts on her face. Her chin and cheek were bruised, as if someone had struck her. Her eyes were closed, but she began to groan.

  Grabbing her mother under the arms, Rhiannon tried to lift her onto the bed but couldn’t. Instead, she stretched her out on her back, then headed into the bathroom for a washcloth.

  In the doorway, she froze. The large mirror over the sink had been shattered. Broken glass covered the floor amidst clumps of her mother’s hair.

 
; “Oh, Mom. What the hell have you done?”

  Dr. Mueller was much younger than Rhiannon would have expected, with wavy brown hair that brushed the tops of his shoulders and wire-rimmed glasses. His tie had been loosened as if he was at the end of the workday rather than the beginning.

  “Sit, please,” he said. Taking the third chair in the room, he spun it around and straddled it.

  Rhiannon glanced at Doug, who was frowning. She knew her husband well enough to read his mind. He was already planning to find a different doctor.

  “The good news is it doesn’t appear your mother took any of the sleeping pills. There’s only one missing from the one bottle. We checked with the pharmacy. She only refilled the prescription twice. The bad news is, she may have been planning to take them.”

  Rhiannon chewed on her lower lip. Doug covered her hand with his.

  “Also, she’s been drinking—a lot. Her blood sugar is dangerously low, and we’re giving her IV fluids and oxygen therapy to help flush the alcohol from her system.”

  He picked up an iPad from the desk and scanned it.

  “I understand from the conversation your father had with my nurse that your mother lost a close friend this summer and that she was a survivor of a mass shooting a couple of months ago.” He pushed his glasses up on top of his head. “That’s a lot for anyone to go through. Has she seen any type of counselor, therapist?”

  Rhiannon shook her head. “I don’t think so. She said she was seeing someone at the church in town, but my dad thinks she was lying. She just keeps getting worse.”

  “There’s something else, too,” Doug offered. “My wife’s parents have been separated since July.”

  What the hell? She yanked her hand away. “Doug!”

  “They have, Rhiannon. That could be part of the problem as well.” He focused on the doctor. “Billy stays there now and then, but Kate won’t let him move back home. No one knows what happened. They sure as hell weren’t Ward and June Cleaver, but they love each other. But something big happened, and neither of them are talking about it.”

  Doug turned back to her. “Full disclosure. You want your mother to get better? She can’t keep bottling this stuff up, obviously.” He waved his hand at their surroundings. “In the past three months, this is the second time I’ve had to rush to the ER because of one of your parents.”

  “Douglas!” He was going to be the next patient in the ER if he didn’t shut his mouth.

  “Has she done this before?” Dr. Mueller asked.

  She answered quickly before Doug could say anything else damaging. “No. My father had a little accident back in August.”

  “He OD’d on heroin,” Doug said.

  Rhiannon swiveled in her chair. “Are you gonna throw us all under the bus? Who’s next? Dalton whacked Dayton in the face last night when he took his Thomas the Train book. Maybe you should tell him that.”

  Doug stared at the wall behind the doctor’s head. “You just did.”

  “Folks, we’re all stressed here. Let’s take a deep breath. C’mon, you’ll feel better. Breathe in . . .” He closed his eyes and lifted his face up as he expanded his lungs. His arms made a wide, sweeping motion.

  Rhiannon gave Doug a sidelong glance and caught the flicker of a smile. She lowered her head and rolled her lips together. After they took a collective breath, she reached for his hand, and when he took it, she squeezed. He squeezed back—his equivalent of Can you believe this guy?

  “Better?” Dr. Mueller asked.

  “Much,” Rhiannon said, unable to look at Doug.

  Although she found the process amusing in spite of the seriousness of the situation, she took another deep breath before pulling out her cell phone and scrolling through the pictures. When she found the one she was looking for, she held it up for the doctor to see.

  “This is my mother.” The picture had been taken in Cape May. Kate was sitting at a picnic table, the sun reflecting off the ocean behind her, a contented smile on her face. She could pass for someone half her age.

  Dr. Mueller nodded. “How long ago was this taken?”

  “Mother’s Day weekend.”

  “Wow. She’s changed a lot since then.”

  “She’s changed a lot since Thursday,” Rhiannon said.

  He nodded. “I assume that’s her wedding dress she’s wearing?”

  Doug squeezed her hand harder.

  She nodded. “That’s how I found her: passed out on the floor, an empty whiskey bottle next to her, and an empty wine bottle on the bed next to the sleeping pills. Her hair was laying in piles all over the bathroom, and the mirror was shattered into a million pieces. It doesn’t make sense. My mother doesn’t even drink whiskey. That’s my dad’s drink.”

  “Where’s your father?”

  “On his way to California. I tried to call him after the ambulance left, but it was too late. His plane had already left. My mother dropped him off at our house yesterday. He didn’t say anything when I spoke with him last night, but he’s pretty close-mouthed.” She shot Doug a look. Unlike some people. “I don’t know if anything happened to set her off. Honestly, if he knew she was this bad, I don’t think he would’ve gone.”

  Dr. Mueller tapped furiously on his iPad, taking notes as Rhiannon spoke.

  “So your parents are separated.”

  She frowned. “Sort of. My mother’s just being ridiculous.”

  His eyebrows rose. “How so?”

  “My parents have an unusual relationship,” she said, unable to think of any other way to describe it. “My dad’s a musician. Billy McDonald?” When he failed to show any signs of recognition, she continued. “He’s on the road a lot, and my mother isn’t always the most patient person when it comes to what he needs to do. She just seems to be getting kind of resentful the last few years . . .”

  Dr. Mueller tapped as Rhiannon spoke. Every now and then, his dark eyes narrowed in on her. She began to feel as if she was the one who’d done something wrong.

  “They had some kind of fight back in July, around her birthday. That’s when it got really weird. She threw him out for no real reason, and he’s been staying with us off and on since then.”

  The doctor nodded. “And when he’s not with you?”

  “He’s either on the road, or he stays with my mother if she’ll let him. He was supposed to stay with her after Uncle Joey died, but the next night, she wouldn’t even talk to him. To be honest, my dad was being kind of a jerk that day—but he was under a lot of stress too. Anyway, a couple of days after he came home, he overdosed. He was in the hospital for a couple days, but Devin—my brother—wouldn’t let us call her, so she doesn’t even know.”

  He continued tapping. “Does your mother use hard drugs as well?”

  She shook her head vehemently. “I doubt she uses any drugs.”

  Then again, there were the two bottles of sleeping pills.

  “Go on.”

  “After the shooting, my dad took care of her. He stayed for a couple of weeks, but then she started pushing him away again.”

  The doctor continued making notes.

  “She just keeps getting worse. She doesn’t want to go anywhere. She hardly leaves the house unless she has to. She’s afraid of everything. It seems like sometimes she’s not even there, you know? Like she’s already checked out.”

  He gave her an odd look.

  “Blank, you know, like her mind is far away.” She frowned. “It’s hard to explain.”

  “I’m surprised you’ve waited so long to get help.”

  “My dad’s been after her for months, but she refused. I guess he put his foot down the other day. She was bad over Thanksgiving, which is understandable. We all tried to pitch in, but she had a total meltdown. My dad got a last-minute gig, and he was afraid she’d try to get out of coming to see you, so he made me promise to bring her.” She chewed on her lip until she was certain she could speak. “Thank God, or I wouldn’t have found her.”

  Dr. Mueller set down his
iPad. “I want to commit your mother to the psychiatric ward. Obviously she’s in a lot of pain, and right now, this is the safest place for her.”

  Rhiannon shook her head. All she was supposed to do was take her mother to the doctor, not have her locked away.

  “I don’t think that’s what my father wants. He wants me to take care of her.”

  “Unfortunately, you can’t. If she’s truly suicidal, she’ll find a way. Let us do our job and protect her. We’ll get her started on medication to help ease the depression, and we’ll start intensive therapy immediately. Trust me, Mrs. Bradford, this is the best thing for your mother.”

  Doug ran his hand across the back of his neck. “You have to, Rhiannon. Even if we got her to agree to stay with us—and that’s a big if—you could turn your back for one second, and she could take off. I don’t want that responsibility.”

  “Can’t you just treat her as an outpatient?” She hated the way her voice was rising. “I can’t believe she’d really try to kill herself. Doesn’t she care about us? What kind of mother would do something like that?”

  “Babe,” Doug shook his head. “She’s in so much pain, she doesn’t see that she’s doing anything to you.”

  Rhiannon swiveled in her chair and leaned toward Doug. This was nonsense. Totally unacceptable. How could her mother not realize what she was doing to them?

  “No decent mother would put her children through something like this. Killing herself? Jesus, Doug. Then she is fucking nuts, and I’m not sorry she’s here.”

  Chapter Sixty

  It was the smell she noticed first. Sharp. Not awful, but in no way pleasant. At the sound of a woman’s voice, Kate’s eyes flew open. It was dark, but there was enough light for her to recognize that she was not at home. This was not her bed, and this was not her pillow. She faced a large window. The image reflected a glass wall behind her and beyond that, a dimly lit corridor. She drew her legs up slowly, folding in on herself.

  A sharp tug on her left hand helped her gain a bit of clarity. An IV needle was taped to her hand, connecting her to a bag of clear fluids hanging above her bed.