“Shit.” I mutter the curse aloud and he turns around to face me.
“I had a feeling that if I sat here long enough, I’d end up rescuing a beautiful woman,” He takes both drinks and places them on our table before dropping to his hands and knees to free my shoe. He looks up at me with that cocky grin and his southern accent is all of a sudden so much stronger, “You need some assistance, little lady?”
I playfully punch his arm, “I’m fine.” I grab the red straw and suck down some of my drink before realizing it really is just pineapple juice and I’m going to remain painfully sober.
He takes a swig of his beer while glancing at the outdoor menu, “Feels like old times, yeah?”
I take another drink, still alcohol free, before answering, “Yeah, I’ve gotten a lot of flashbacks since we stepped inside. It’s weird—David?”
He looks up at me expectantly, “Yeah?”
I take a deep breath, “What was I like…before?”
He takes another drink before asking, “How do you mean?”
I sigh, “I mean you’ve told me that the anxiety attacks were a recent thing, but I just wonder what I was like—I guess I just remember a lot of the bad stuff from before and I want to know if I’m more than that person.”
He moves his chair closer to mine and grabs my hands, “You were always more than that, Beth. You know, I thought you changed because I was gone so much. You were laid back, but you didn’t let me off the hook when I messed up. Before the accident and the affairs, you were a lot like you are now.”
I focus on the way his hands dwarf mine as he talks. “What about when I was a kid? I remember going to therapy when we moved here. Is that true?”
He nods, “Yeah, from what you’ve told me, it was just a handful of times. I don’t know what you expect me to tell you—we’ve both had our ups and downs, but I’ve loved you no matter who you’ve been.”
I squeeze his hand and offer to get us another round, as my mind is in need of a reprieve. David tries to stand up to go, “Babe, let me take care of that.”
I smile patiently, “Well, I need to go to the bathroom, so you gonna take care of that for me as well?”
He shakes his head and smiles before sitting back down in his chair. “I’ll be right here.”
I grab us another round after coming out of the bathroom. The bartender recognizes me so I’m spared from embarrassing myself again. I’ve just turned from the bar when I get the feeling someone is watching me. I look around the crowded room, but don’t see any faces I recognize. I shrug it off and carry our drinks outside.
I manage to time my bathroom breaks perfectly the rest of the night to where I’m in charge of getting drinks. It’s weird watching someone else drink to the point that they’re tipsy while you remain stone cold sober.
David got more animated with every beer and at one point pulled me to my feet to dance on the patio. Thankfully, it was more like swaying in one spot as I was not looking forward to getting reacquainted with the deck.
He held me tight and sang the words in my ear—something about reminding the other person of how their love used to be. I didn’t know who either of the singers were, but the song was beautiful.
Was that us?
Were we settling for good and not great? I found myself so caught up in the song that I began singing the words, ‘remind me’ back to him during the chorus. I opened my eyes to see that we were the only ones dancing and more than one person was staring, but I didn’t care.
I realized once we sat back down that David may have had one too many and decide it’s time to cash out our tab and get him home. Home.
Well, I guess he would have to stay at the house, I didn’t know where his hotel was and I doubt he’d be willing to tell me. I pay the tab so we can be on our way.
“Did you just buy my drinks?” His voice is slightly slurred.
“Yes, I sure did. You’re a terrible date—I bet you expect me to drive you home now.”
His face falls, “Beth, I’m sorry. We got to talking and I lost track of how many I had.”
I place my hand on his cheek, “Stop, I’m kidding. Let’s get you home.”
As I lead him to my car, he speaks up, “Maybe I’m not drunk. Maybe,” at this he hiccups, “Maybe I just wanted your arms around me.” He nods as if to reinforce what he’s just said, but it looks more like he’s about to doze off.
I laugh and open the passenger door for him, even going so far as to buckle him in. This is not how I saw the night going, but as I can’t remember ever experiencing this before with him—I’m not even mad.
Once we get home, I get him into our bed—holding back when I help him out of shirt and jeans. He’s out by the time his head hits the pillow, so I leave a couple of aspirin and a bottle of water on the nightstand.
I don’t know how long I stand there, watching his chest rise and fall steadily, but it feels like a lifetime. I grab his clothes to take to the hamper, but change my mind at the last minute and keep the shirt. I wash my face and change into it. It hits me mid-thigh and I’m immediately enveloped in the smell of him.
I breathe deeply and sigh happily, my inner romantic nods her approval, while my brain is flashing warning signs. I choose to ignore it and climb into bed next to David. I curl my body around his and fall asleep almost instantly.
I dream I’m on a small boat in the middle of the ocean, being tossed helplessly by the waves. The feeling of being sea-sick is overwhelming. When I open my eyes, it’s still dark and the clock shows that it’s only three in the morning. I groan because the feeling of seasickness didn’t go away when I woke up. David is still dead to the world, his arm draped across me. I disentangle myself carefully so I don’t wake him. I move quickly, but stealthily through the dark house, my hand pressed over my mouth. I make it to the guest bathroom just in time to throw up pineapple juice onto the tile floor.
I clean up the mess once I’m done getting sick, but just as soon as I finish, another round of vomiting starts. When it’s over, I go to the kitchen and grab a bottled water from the fridge. I take a tentative sip and immediately run back to the bathroom.
This is bad.
I’ve dealt with morning sickness for the last month, but it’s never been this severe. I try taking smaller sips of water, but nothing stays down. I’ve thrown up so much that my throat feels raw and it hurts to swallow.
I’ve taken my pregnancy symptoms in stride up until this point, but if someone walked through that bathroom door and offered to carry the baby to term for me, I’d sign up in a heartbeat. I’m curled up in the fetal position with my face pressed against the cool tile when I feel the urge to vomit again. I throw up the little bit of water I drank, but my stomach is otherwise empty.
I’m just resigning myself to living out the remainder of my pregnancy on this bathroom floor when I hear hurried footsteps.
“Beth?” David is standing in the doorway in just his underwear, somehow looking better than I do in spite of all that he drank, “Baby, I heard you getting sick. Are you okay?”
I moan in response and lay my face back against the tile. He grabs a washcloth and runs it under the faucet. Then, he’s on his knees, wiping my face and neck with it. “What time is it?” My voice is raspy.
“Just after five. I woke up and didn’t know where you were until I heard you get sick. Guess you drank too much.”
I nod, even though it hurts my head to do so. He gets up and walks out while I resist the urge to watch him go.
He returns a few minutes later with a small bowl and a fruit punch Gatorade. He lowers the bowl and I realize it’s Cheerios. David’s infamous hangover cure. I’m amazed that I recalled it, all things considered.
“Try a couple of these and then take a drink. We’ll get you fixed up in no time.”
I grab a couple and pause, “How are you even functioning right now? You drank more than me.” And mine were non-alcoholic!
He smiles, “I guess I’m not a lightweight like you,
babe.” He strokes the hair off of my face before his gaze travels downward, “You’re wearing my shirt?”
I nod, very slowly.
“My shirt and nothing else?”
“Not the time, David. Not the time.” I pop the Cheerios in my mouth, willing my body to not reject them.
He exhales sharply, “Right. Go ahead and take a drink.”
I’ve just finished taking a drink when I feel everything coming right back up. I lean forward and get sick again. This process continues until I’m falling asleep in between episodes. David tries to wake me up to get me to take a drink, but it requires too much effort.
“Beth—open your eyes and look at me.” His tone is sharp, so I begrudgingly open one eye. He’s crouched over me, worry etched across his face.
I close my eyes again, I just need five more minutes, Mom.
“Open your eyes, baby.”
I try to open my mouth to tell him to let me sleep, but it’s too hard. Maybe he can just read my mind. I begin vomiting again, but can’t move so I end up getting sick on the rug.
David lifts me up off the floor and carries me back to our bedroom. He gently places me on the bed and begins throwing on clothes. I close my eyes again, sleep beckoning me as he opens and shuts various dresser drawers.
“Here. Let’s get these on you.”
I startle awake as he struggles to get a pair of sweatpants on me. He manages to get them up around my waist with no help from me before lifting me off the bed and carrying me out to his truck. He reclines the seat so I’m not fully sitting up and buckles me in.
“Where’re we going?” The words all run together, like my tongue is refusing to cooperate.
He glances over at me as he backs out of the driveway. “I think you have alcohol poisoning. I’m getting you to a hospital!”
Hospital?
No.
He’d find out I was pregnant. I had to force my muddled mind to think of a solution.
“No. Just let me sleep it off.”
He shook his head and drove faster. I close my eyes to think and am immediately startled awake by him opening my door.
What? We just got in the car.
David unbuckles me and lifts me effortlessly into his arms and I see that we’re at the hospital already. He rushes me through the automatic doors and over to the registration desk.
I try to pick up my head, but it lolls back onto his shoulder. My body weighs too much right now.
“—drank too much last night—can’t stop vomiting…”
I feel the urge to vomit as he’s talking and a quick-thinking nurse grabs a blue bag and shoves it into his hands. I should feel some sense of embarrassment that I’m puking in an emergency room full of people, but I’m beyond caring right now.
One of the nurses goes to find a doctor before coming back to the desk. I manage to hear something about orders for a toxicology screen. That same nurse asks if they can get a urine sample on me and I give her a panicked look before she continues, “I’ll get a female nurse to help her.”
David looks ready to argue with her until I place a hand on his chest, “Please…”
They bring a wheelchair out for me and a female nurse pushes me through some double doors and into the nearest bathroom. Once the door clicks shut, I find the solution I was looking for in the truck earlier.
“I-I’m pregnant…”
Her eyes widen in understanding, “And you drank too much alcohol last night?” She’s working very hard to keep the judgment out of her voice.
“N-no,” I sigh the words, “I have morning sickness, but this is the worst of it so far.”
She nods at me and then cracks the door, “Barb? A word?”
An older woman walks in, her face giving the impression that she doesn’t take anything from anyone. The nurse fills Barb in on the situation and she gives me an appraising look.
“So, I take it the man out there doesn’t know this?”
I nod, my mouth is like the Sahara.
“Is he not the father then?”
I sigh, “He is. I just haven’t figured out how to tell him that. We’re sort of having problems right now.”
She nods seriously, “Is now the time you want to tell him?”
I shake my head vigorously, the action nearly doubling me over in pain.
Barb turns back to the nurse, “Okay then. Let’s get the urine sample and then get her into a room. I’ll find out who our on-call obstetrician is this morning and be right back.”
The nurse helps me with the urine sample and then Barb comes back. “Dr. Westland is on call right now—he wants to get an IV started, since it’s obvious that she’s severely dehydrated. He wants an ultrasound done as well.”
When my eyes go round, she amends, “We’ll have your um—”
“Husband.” I supply helpfully.
“Perfect. We’ll have your husband fill out some paperwork and financial forms while we do that.”
They don’t take me back to the waiting room, but into an exam room where both nurses help me into a gown and then through another round of vomiting.
They start an IV of fluids and Zofran to stop the vomiting while waiting on the doctor. David comes in a few minutes later and brings a chair over to the side of the bed.
“Back here again. I’d hoped you and I were done with hospitals for a little while—especially after the last time.”
I close my eyes and nod, “Me too.”
He leans over and grips my hand in his, “I’ve got to take better care of you.”
His words break my heart because he thinks that not only was he responsible for the car wreck, but for me being sick right now too.
I mean, he kind of is responsible for the sickness…
Thanks, logic.
The nurse comes back in not long after and takes David to fill out the insurance paperwork. Once he’s gone, the on-call obstetrician comes in and performs an ultrasound. My little gummy bear has changed in just over a week and is dancing around as though all is well.
The heartbeat is strong and I find a weight is taken off of me. I feel like I can finally relax, knowing that he or she is okay. He gives me a prescription for anti-nausea medication just as I belatedly remember that my doctor gave me one as well at my visit last week. I stuffed it down in my purse, instantly forgetting it. He uses the term hyperemesis gravidarum and urine ketones—all of which mean nothing to me until he breaks it down in layman’s terms. Dr. Westland tells me that if I feel morning sickness to this magnitude again, to come straight to the hospital so they can give me fluids and monitor the baby. He assures me that he’ll send everything over to my doctor for her records before leaving the room to see other patients.
David comes back about thirty minutes later (Man, do they know how to stall) and we sit in comfortable silence together, his hand firmly clasping mine. The IV fluids and medicine do wonders for me. My body gives up its fight and lets me rest peacefully.
Watching her rest is such a relief. She smiles in her sleep and I wonder if she’s thinking of me. I’d like to think she is, given all the hell she’s put me through in the last six hours.
I woke up to a full bladder and an empty bed. My first thought was that she took the guest room, the very idea of it pissing me off. I’d wanted to wake up to her in my arms, to have some small feeling of normalcy with her.
I shouldn’t have been drinking last night, not after I’d done well enough without it. I allowed the stress of our situation to cloud my judgment and once again found myself in over my head. I was amazed she could keep up with me though. Normally, Beth kept herself to a two-drink maximum. The funny thing is, she seemed completely sober when we left to go home.
Just as I flushed the toilet, I could hear the sounds of her retching from down the hall. I didn’t think, I just ran to her.
She was a ghostly shade of white even against the porcelain of the toilet. I tried asking her questions, but she could only answer me in moans. I tried wetting her face with
a cold washcloth and when that didn’t work, I went with my never-fail hangover cure. I felt that if I could get her to eat a few dry Cheerios and get some electrolytes in her, she’d bounce back.
I was distracted from my worrying when I realized she was in my shirt. I don’t know, but just the thought of it had me ready to puff up my chest and proclaim to the world that she was mine.
I stroked the damp hair back off of her forehead while taking her in. “You’re wearing my shirt?”
She looked up at me and nodded her head.
“My shirt and nothing else?” My heart was pounding and I ached at the thought of being inside of her.
She must’ve picked up on my thought process because she weakly said, “Not the time, David. Not the time.”
I watched her eat the dry cereal and wash it down with some Gatorade. I thought she’d be right as rain soon.
Turns out, I was wrong.
If anything, my cure made her sicker.
She continued to vomit and when she started falling asleep immediately afterward, worry turned into something more. Alcohol poisoning. It didn’t make sense though. She’d seemed fine last night. I told myself I was jumping to conclusions—that I just needed to give her more time to recover.
I leaned against the counter and watched her, praying the signs wouldn’t be there. She started shivering violently so I moved over her again, calling her name. She wasn’t as responsive as I would’ve liked and her lips had a blueish tint to them. When she threw up on the rug, I was convinced we needed help.
Trying to dress an unconscious adult was not my idea of a good time, but considering that she did the same for me the night before, I couldn’t complain.
I felt like I ran every red light trying to get Beth the help she needed. She’d tried arguing with me in the driveway, but her words all ran together—yet another sign she was still intoxicated.
Forsaking All Others (From This Day Forward Book 2) Page 10