Heads Carolina

by Grea Warner

  “Is that it?”

  “Yeah.” I did a double-check at his phone. “That was the last one. It was only ten minutes or so ago.”

  “What happened, Bethany? What the heck happened?” He didn’t swipe at his eyes that time but his throat needed to be cleared.

  I know he wasn’t expecting me to give a legitimate answer. I didn’t have one, obviously. I could only guess. And my mind wasn’t even really focused from the whirling switch of moods that transpired in the car so quickly.

  He did need me to speak, though. He needed to hear my voice. He needed me to be there and to try to just get him through. I understood that much.

  “I don’t ... We’re not that far from the hospital.” I settled on what I thought should be a calming fact. “It’s closer than your house.”

  “We gotta get there. Dang it. Where exactly?” He was tearing down the freeway.

  “I’ll pull it up on my phone.”

  “Yeah, no. I ... I know where it is. I’m ...” He let go of a breath he must have been holding in since his daughter’s first cry for help.

  “I know.” I breathed, too.

  “Sallie sounded so scared.” He vocalized his stress.

  “I know,” I repeated, not wanting to lie. “It sounded like she knew what to do ... to get help.” I offered some optimism.

  “She’s the best little girl.”

  “She is,” I agreed and smoothed my hand on his shoulder. “You’re a good role model.”

  “Don’t feel like—” He cut his self-loathing off and asked for my GPS skills. “Turn here, right?”

  “Yeah, this left.”

  “Call Irene back for me, please. Keep it on speaker.” I did, but when it went to voice mail, Ryan grunted and left a message for his former in-law. “I’m on my way. I’ll be there soon, Irene.” He nodded toward me, and I understood to hang up. “I need to know how my kids are, Bethany.”

  “I know.” I was starting to feel like a broken, useless record. “I’m sure they’re—"

  “And Kari? What the heck?”

  We sat in silence for a few more minutes and a few more turns. He could have kept asking question after question, but I didn’t have any of the answers, and he knew it. Talking about it was not getting us anywhere. Right then, he needed to just concentrate on the road.

  “There it is.” I spoke of the hospital that was finally within sight. “Turn here. Parking is—” I literally held onto the edge of my seat as Ryan squealed the car tires dramatically into a tight parking spot ... one of only a couple left.

  He barely had the car in park before opening his door and exiting it. I watched as he started immediately marching toward the emergency room doors. It was a good few steps before he swiveled around to reclaim his eyes on the car with me still in it.

  His face looked like it was compressed with a vice as he resorted to walking back to my side of the car. “Bethany, let’s go. What are you doing?” he asked after opening my door. “We need to get—"

  “You want me to come with you?”

  “Yes.” His voice was slightly abrasive from the obvious stress. “Why not?” He tilted his neck for a particularly loud crack. “Oh.” The reality of our situation came crashing violently back—Toto, we weren’t in Napa anymore. “No,” he denied. “I need you with me. Come on.”

  I took his hand only for a second and then knew to keep a respectable distance from him as we walked alongside one another toward the hospital. I was glad to be included ... that he wanted me with him. But I was nervous. I didn’t know what to expect on any level—how dire Kari’s situation was, who was going to be there to greet or confront us, what the physical and emotional state of the kids were, or what role Ryan expected me to play. I tried to push that aside since it wasn’t about me ... at all. It was about all the other scared souls who were in one way or another connected in the unexpected detour of our day.

  Chapter Sixteen

  After temporarily giving up my purse and his wallet so we could go through the metal detectors, Ryan beelined directly to the main desk. I was about two steps behind but could clearly hear him asking the attendants the same flurry of questions he had asked me in the car. That time, though, he was bound to get more accurate answers. In turn, I was darting my eyes around the waiting area. With the kids nowhere to be found, I realized I was also looking for media or for anyone recognizing Ryan. That was what my world had become ... and, sadly, I was used to it.

  The hospital personnel were not saying much. They denied that Kari was even brought in, which I was sure had much more to do about her celebrity status than normal patient confidentiality. Out of frustration, Ryan shook off his blue baseball cap and rummaged through his dark hair, saying he could show them his ID. But the hat removal turned out to be enough of identification, I guess, when you are on television two nights a week. They proceeded then on telling him the basics of Kari’s admission and where to find her.

  “An overdose?” Those magnificent blue eyes I always loved gazing into looked even darker as he whispered those words and we headed down a corridor. “They said overdose.”

  Yes, I had heard it, too. I knew he was in a minor state of shock, considering not only the panicked call from Sallie but the latest revelation of what caused the call in the first place. Admittedly, it floored me a little, also. Then again, I was getting used to the drama that seemed to surround all things Kari.

  “That doesn’t make any sense.” We turned onto another hall, getting deeper into the hospital and hopefully closer to where Kari and the kids were. “She’s not ... she doesn’t ...”

  “I mean, we saw her at the daycare.” I spoke quietly, not knowing how Ryan would take my recollection. I knew he wasn’t in total denial of his ex-wife’s issues, but would he believe that Kari had gone as far as what the hospital personnel said? When he shuffled in his step, I offered a kinder alternative. “When they say OD, could that mean pass out from drinking too much?”

  “Uh, I don’t kn—” he started, only to be cut off by a guard who physically stepped in front of us to halt our advancement in another hallway.

  It took a moment of convincing again. Jeans, worn boots, and a plaid shirt had been very appropriate for our fishing date but not when needing to be identified as Mr. Mean TV persona. But Ryan was once again cleared—due to his actual ID. And I’m sure the stern, concerned look on his face probably helped, too. We were told there were only three rooms beyond the guard. Kari was in one. The other two were empty. Without saying it, I gathered we were in some special wing for situations just like Kari’s—celebrities or public figures who needed the privacy and protection. When I had been in that same hospital not that long before, I was in a crowded, curtained-off hallway rather than a room. That pretty much said it all.

  Ryan was about to approach the nurses’ station when we both heard his name called out. I was kind of impressed that I already recognized the voice. After all, I had only heard it once and it was via a phone recording. The same crassness was very evident, though, even in just one word.

  When we simultaneously swiveled around, no introduction was needed. Kari’s mother was standing up from her seated position in the small waiting area. Her salt-and-pepper hair was askew, but the rest of her was completely made up as if she was attending a ball. She wore a lot of eye makeup and her red lipstick matched her shawl trimmed in black. The glare she gave Ryan was just as dark.

  But if Ryan noticed, he didn’t comment. “What’s going on?” He stepped toward his ex-mother-in-law. “How’s Kari? Where are the kids?”

  “We need to talk ... in private.” If the look she gave Ryan was evil, the one she had for me was demonic.

  Taking both her words and look into consideration, I started to take a step away. But Ryan lightly brushed my arm. And if it wasn’t a glare back at Irene Hynes, it was definitely a strong impression.

  “She’s not going anywhere,” he said firmly. He blinked once in my direction, and I stopped turning for his sake, even
though I didn’t necessarily want to be a part of the awkward conversation. “Tell me, Irene,” he prompted.

  She did a little huff but proceeded on answering, nonetheless. “The kids are fine. They’re with their grandfather. Ed has them. They needed the bathrooms and hadn’t eaten.”

  Upon hearing her words, Ryan’s body seemed to ease a little. He then lowered his voice. “What the hell happened?”

  “You didn’t answer your damn phone is what happened.” Her suddenly slanted eyes shifted to me.

  “We were at the lake. There wasn’t reception,” he started to explain. “I ... damn.” His body tensed again. “What happened? Was she fucking drinking again ... with our kids at the house?” Ryan rarely swore, but if he did, you knew he was beyond upset. “Did she pass out? I thought that was a one-time thing. She told me—"

  “Sallie called us after she couldn’t get you. From what I gathered—in the middle of our race over there and Ed calling 9-1-1—” Geez, Irene was drama queen personified. I was sure she was scared and all those things happened, but the dramatic pauses, slight tilt of her head and arch of her eyebrows were pure exaggeration. “What we gathered,” she started again, “was that Kari had been complaining about pain and was sleepy. And also, she was upset about the photo of you and the little gold digger here.” In case no one in our intimate setting wasn’t aware of who the “gold digger” was, she waited half a beat and then jerked her finger in my direction.

  While I wilted a little on the insulting lie, Ryan asked, “What photo?”

  “What photo? What photo!” she screeched.

  “Yes, what photo?” He was more animated that time.

  I was trying to piece the information together as it was coming at me in rapid-fire pace. Besides Irene’s obvious detest of Ryan’s relationship with me, there seemed to be some kind of visual evidence of it. But Ryan and I had never taken a photo together. Our relationship didn’t need digital proof. Yet, it appeared someone had it, nonetheless.

  In the time it took for me to process, Kari’s mom had her phone flipped around and was pointing it at Ryan. When I leaned slightly in his direction to view the screen, I saw the damning image. It wasn’t two separate headshots or even a screenshot of when I was on the show. But it was the two of us—holding hands as we strolled the streets of northern California. It didn’t seem to be a professional shot—probably a camera phone—but it was clear enough to see how happy and content I appeared. And so did Ryan, who, despite his sunglasses, had, unbeknownst to us, been recognized after all.

  “Crap.” As he scrolled through the tabloid page—complete with a closeup of our hands—I tried to see what was written in the short article. But Ryan handed Irene back her phone. “We’re making the statement tomorrow. I wish we could have done that before the photo got out.”

  “Your God damn statement is going to have to wait,” was her less-than-attractive reply.

  “Irene.” He said her name with a breath, which I recognized as trying to keep himself in check. “Let’s get back to what happened. She was drinking?”

  “No. Well, a little.” I thought maybe Irene seemed a little more subdued until she concluded her thought with a dig at me. “She is not family.”

  “Stop it, Irene. She’s not leaving.”

  Ryan’s adamant rebuttal finally wore her down. “It’s prescription drugs,” Kari’s mother explained. “We found them in her purse.”

  My mind went straight to an unkind place. Wasn’t that little tidbit ironic? I did a quick glance at Ryan. It wasn’t me he needed to be worried about having drugs in a purse. It was his ex. It was his kids’ mother.

  As soon as I let those mental flood gates open, I closed them just as quickly. I was being petty. I was not being the compassionate person my parents had raised. We still didn’t know Kari’s condition. But it had to be bad for all of us to be standing where we were. I should not have sunk to that level, but at least I had only done it internally. And that was probably just because I had spent the last so many minutes being harassed and raked over the coals by a person who obviously did not know the power of being kind.

  “She’s been taking them since the attack on tour ... because of the headaches after the concussion,” Irene further explained.

  “She had a concussion?” Ryan shifted his feet and eyebrows.

  “Yes.” Her tone was once again dismissive ... at best.

  And it pissed Ryan off. “Dang it, Irene, how was I supposed to know that?”

  “She didn’t tell anyone.” On just that last word, Kari’s mother seemed the tiniest of bits fallible, but then she snuck in another dig. “And you two are separated.”

  “Divorced,” he clarified instantly. “We’re divorced ... and for a while now.” He looked at me then, almost as if I needed the confirmation, too.

  I didn’t, though. I wanted him to know that. I wanted to reach out and hold his hand again, but I couldn’t. Because even though I knew, and Kari knew, and Irene knew of the dissolution of marriage, the world didn’t. We were in a public place with the possibility of hospital personnel approaching at any time.

  “Okay,” I practically whispered instead.

  “Well, there you go,” she sneered.

  The tension between all three of us was immense, and I once again wondered if my presence was making things worse or needed at all. But he wanted me to stay. He had repeated it numerous times. So, I did.

  “Between the physical pain and seeing you move on,” Irene continued, “she was taking more than she should and mixing it with her anxiety meds and the occasional drink or two—”

  “I got it.” Ryan closed his eyes and reopened them. “Is she all right now? She’s okay?”

  Gosh, I thought. After all the nasty nitpicking with one another, would we finally get to the real issue at hand? Please.

  “Thanks to a hit of Narcan.”

  “Oh, crap.” Ryan’s instant response to Irene came at the same time my breath did a quick vocal hitch.

  Kari legitimately could have died. An actual shiver streaked through my body. In a flash of seconds, I thought about how Sallie and Joel must have felt and even what fear Irene and her husband must have gone through. And ... Ryan.

  He looked at me ... his face twitching just the slightest to make the connection to me. I reflected back with the softest of closed-mouth smiles, and he closed his eyes in appreciation. Right then I knew not only the reason he wanted me with him in the hospital but that I had, indeed, helped.

  “The doctor is with her now ... speaking with her privately. But we’re talking about possibly getting her help. You know what I mean?” She did a sideways look at me, as if she was talking in code.

  “Rehab,” Ryan stated blatantly.

  After a slight hmmmf, Irene confirmed, “Yeah, but she seemed fine this morning when she called to wish me a happy Mother’s Day. She’s a star and she’s tough like me. So, she can power—"

  “She needs it.”

  I turned in the direction of the deep voice that said those words. A hearty-sized man in a royal blue button-down and suspenders was suddenly beside us. And so were Sallie and Joel.

  “Daddy!” the two little ones yelled in unison.

  “Oh ... Sallie, Joe-Joe, you guys all right? Come here.” Ryan bent down to engulf them in a hug.

  “Mommy’s sick,” Joel stated what was obviously foremost in his mind.

  “I know, Joe.” Ryan’s voice lost all of the animosity it had held when speaking with his ex-mother-in-law. Instead, it featured the soothing, strong, caring tone I was most familiar with. “I’m gonna see Mommy in a minute. Want to make sure you’re okay, first.”

  “I’m okay,” the mini-macho man replied, as if seeing your mother rushed to a hospital wasn’t a big deal.

  Ryan flopped his blue cap onto Joel’s head and then turned to his daughter. “Sals? You all right?”

  “Where were you, Daddy?” she asked and then admitted, “I was scared.”

  It was not only her wor
ds but also the brave way she tried to speak, despite her obvious fear, that practically broke me. I had come to know those kids so well. I understood the vulnerability and the wanting-to-always-do-right who was little Sallie Thompson.

  Ryan, of course, understood her more than anyone. And the recognition of what his little girl went—was going—through affected him immediately. He pushed his lips together for a second and then said in an even calmer voice, “I know. I’m so sorry, Tink. My phone wasn’t working for a while. But you were so brave. You knew what to do—to use the programmed numbers and call me and call Gigi and Grandpa Ed, right?” Ryan looked up at whom I had pretty much concluded was Ed Hynes.

  “Yeah. You told us that.”

  “I did. And you did great, Sallie. Great.” Ryan smoothed his daughter’s hair and then quickly stood up.

  His eyes were misty ... even more so than when we had been in the car. To that point, he had surely been running on adrenaline. But seeing that his kids were safe and knowing that Kari was going to be all right, he needed the release. He looked directly at me, and I watched as his eyes showed me everything in a matter of seconds—embarrassment over his vulnerability, comfort that I was there, and a plead to divert the kids. He said all of that without any words. I knew him. He knew me. I was never more aware of our connection than in those few seconds in the hospital.

  I took the step forward, purposefully touching Ryan’s hand and allowing him that moment to turn away. “Hi, guys.” I tried a smile at the Thompson kids.

  “Hi, Bethany.” Joel was pure Joel while Sallie softly smiled.

  “Ed Hynes.” The elder, with hair color similar to his wife’s, stuck out his hand to me.

  I accepted it, thinking how in just a few words I knew he had a lot more class than his quote, unquote better half. “Hi, sir. I ...”

  I ... What I did was stumble. I was glad to meet him? Really? No. And no matter how cordial, I knew he had to feel the same way about his daughter’s ex’s girlfriend. Because, for sure, he knew who I was.