A Life, Redefined (A Rowan Slone Novel Book 1)

by Tracy Hewitt Meyer

  “Something about me?” I tried to lure his words from his lips and immerse them into my brain, in a place where I may actually be able to believe what he said.

  “Yes.” He bent toward me and pressed his lips against mine. I leaned into his large body, willing him to keep me afloat, desperate for his strength to help me maneuver through my life. His touch was gentle, reassuring, only slightly tense still. So sweet my muscles almost gave up the strength to hold me. I put my arms around his neck and let my lips part. I didn’t care who was watching. When Mike kissed me, nothing else in the world mattered.

  Somewhere in the distance, I heard catcalls and whistles. It was probably the soccer team, watching their teammate make out in the parking lot. I didn’t care, though, as long as I was the one making out with him.

  One hand cupped my face while we kissed and the other one slid down to the small of my back, sending shots of electricity straight through every cell in my body. I think I whimpered. Or sighed. Or moaned. Or all three.

  After several moments, he broke the kiss. “Come with me.”

  “Come with you? Where?” I didn’t want to leave the warmth of his arms or the power of his kiss.

  “I want you to meet my mom.”

  “Your mom?” I choked. “Why?” Meet his mom? With these bruises? Not an option.

  “Because she’s a great woman. I think you’ll like her. I know she’ll like you.”

  I’m sure she was a nice woman but I seriously doubted she wanted her son to bring home a girl who gets beaten up by her father.

  “I caught a ride with Jason to school this morning, so if you don’t mind, we can take your car. I’ll tell you how to get there.”

  Jason was one of Mike’s neighbors and fellow soccer player. At one point, right before Paul, Jess had had a crush on him. But when she hooked up with Paul, there seemed to be no looking back.

  “I don’t know, Mike. I’ll give you a ride home, but I don’t know about meeting your mom. I’m not exactly at my best.”

  “My mom will love you.” He pulled away and grabbed his bag as if the discussion was over. He walked around to the passenger side of my car. “Shall we?”

  I didn’t move. I wasn’t up for a meet the parents. “I’ll drop you off at home, but I can’t meet your mom, Mike. Not today.”

  He smiled, flashing the white teeth and dimples that sent a pierce straight through my heart. I returned his smile. I’d do whatever he asked of me at that moment. With a sigh, I slid into the driver’s seat, tossing my bag into the back.

  “Rowan!” I jumped as Jess started banging on the window.

  Clutching my chest, I rolled down the window.

  “My God, Ro! What happened? Who did this to you? I knew something was wrong!”

  I sighed. “I know. I look awful.” I let the words tumble out of my mouth. “It doesn’t hurt. No really”

  “Ro? Who. Did. This. To. You?” Jess’s teeth were clenched and her eyes were so wild, I leaned away.

  Only then did she see Mike.

  “Mike?”

  There was a flash of accusation across her face and I said hurriedly, “It was Dad. Dad did this. Can I call you later?”

  “You’re not going back there are you? You can come and stay with me instead.”

  “Jess, that’s sweet, but you know that wouldn’t work.”

  Mike leaned forward. “No. She’s coming to my house.”

  My head whipped around. “What? I’m not meeting your mom today.”

  “Yes, you are. And you’ll stay there. She’ll insist.”

  “What?” I sputtered.

  “That’s a great idea.” Jess leaned into the car, shoving her glasses up her nose. I could smell her citrus-scented lotion.

  “What?” My brain was a muddle of confusion.

  My phone started to ring. With a huff, feeling my decisions were slowly being taken away from me, and not being sure I minded, I fished the phone out of my back pocket and glanced down at the caller ID. It was Gran.

  “Go to the hospital,” she said. “It’s Trina.”

  “What is it?” Mike whispered. “What’s wrong?”

  “Gran, what happened? Is she okay?”

  “Just go. I gotta run. I’ll see you there.” She hung up.

  “I’ve…I’ve gotta go. Something’s wrong with Trina.” I flipped my phone shut and looked at Jess then at Mike. “I have to go to the hospital.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Mike said.

  “I’m coming too.” Jess jumped into the backseat as I threw the car into drive and slammed my foot on the gas.

  “Did she say what’s wrong?” Mike asked, as I peeled out of the parking lot.

  “I guess it’s the baby. I…I don’t know.”

  “Who was it on the phone?”

  “My grandma.”

  I drove through town until the hospital loomed before us; a red brick monstrosity that always reminded me of what a mental hospital should look like.

  I found a space near the emergency entrance. We jumped out of the car. Mike came around to my side as I locked the doors and as we walked toward the building, he grasped my hand. I leaned into him.

  The muscles of his arm were hard against the side of my cheek. If he did, in fact, care for me, he’d have to have more than just muscles, though. Baggage followed me. Damage. Wounds. Mike squeezed my hand like he could hear my thoughts.

  Jess kept in step beside me, not touching me, but keeping close enough to me that if I stumbled, I knew she’d catch me.

  We passed through the automatic glass doors and into the brightly lit entrance. We almost ran into Gran, pacing near the reception area.

  “Gran? What’s wrong?” I put my hand on her arm and shook gently. She seemed entranced as she stared at me through vacant eyes.

  “Rowan, Trina tried to kill herself.”

  “WHAT?” AIR seeped out of my chest.

  Gran’s eyes were swollen and red. She took my hand. Hers was dry and I could feel the loose skin wrinkling against my palm.

  “She tried to kill herself. She took some pills. I’m not sure what.”

  Trina? Took pills? Tried to kill herself? Not Trina. Not my baby sister.

  “When?” Mike asked.

  Gran was quiet, like she wasn’t going to answer. She was staring at Mike.

  “Gran, Mike Anderson. Mike, Gran.”

  They both nodded, not exactly the moment for pleasantries. If Gran put two-and-two together and realized this was the Mike that Trina had made so many accusations against, I didn’t know.

  “And you know Jess.”

  Jess gave her a quick hug.

  Gran pulled in a big breath and answered Mike’s question. “We’re not sure. Your mother found her sometime this morning. She called me around noon and told me to meet them here.”

  “Is she going to be okay?” Mike asked this question softly, leaning toward Gran, as if he didn’t want me to hear it. Or the answer.

  Gran looked like she had aged ten years, with wrinkles grown deeper, hair a shade whiter, and a sorrow in her gaze that only came from a life of heartache.

  “We don’t know yet. They’ve pumped her stomach. But she took a lot of pills. And your mom thinks she may have been drinking.”

  “Drinking?” Jess asked.

  “There was an empty vodka bottle in her trash can. I don’t know how much had been in it or if she even had any. But it seems like she did.”

  “Oh, man.” Mike rubbed his chin. “What can we do?”

  “Just wait.” Gran gave a small, sympathetic smile that in no way spread further than her mouth.

  “Where’s Mom?” I managed to find my voice.

  “In the back. There’s another waiting room back there, for immediate family.”

  “Dad?”

  She shook her head as her eyes filled. “There’s been no sign of him. Your mom called his cell but he didn’t pick up.”

  “The baby?” I choked.

  “I don’t know, honey. I ju
st don’t know.”

  “Okay.” Images of Trina’s face loomed before me: her as a chubby-cheeked toddler, with golden ringlets and bright blue eyes; her as a ballerina for Halloween when she was five. Her, the first time she got mad at me, when she was seven and I wouldn’t let her watch an ‘R’ rated movie while Mom was at a doctor’s appointment. Her, at eight, watching me the morning after Aidan’s death. Something in her changed that day. Something discreet and hidden, but as palpable to me as my own heartbeat. Things hadn’t been the same since.

  And now she was in a hospital, after a teenage pregnancy and a suicide attempt. What had happened to us? Why did this happen? Hadn’t we suffered enough?

  No matter what had changed in Trina, she was my sister. And she needed me.

  “I have to see her,” I said hurriedly. “I can help. She needs me. Let me go back there.” My body convulsed with my ache. I could make it all better. I had to get to her.

  “I’m immediate family. I can go back there.” I hurried to the counter. “Excuse me but my sister is back there. I want to see her.” I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.

  “What’s her name, sweetie?”

  “Trina. Trina Slone. She’s hurt and she needs me. I’m her sister.”

  Mike rubbed my back and Gran had her hand on mine, staring at the administrator. I could feel Jess standing behind me.

  “Can she visit her sister?” Gran asked.

  “Let me check her status. Is there a family member back there already?”

  “Yes,” Gran answered. “Her mother.”

  “Only one person can be back there at a time. I’ll check in with your mother and the doctors. I’ll see if I can’t find out some information for you.” She tried to smile, tried to show me a reassuring expression; but there was something in her eyes, a foreboding, a sense of doom. Maybe I imagined it.

  Maybe I’d never see my sister alive again.

  AT SOME point I was led to the waiting room. I slumped into a chair in the corner and let my head fall against the wall. With eyes closed, I heard more than saw Gran, Jess and Mike sit near me. They talked in hushed tones as I thought about Trina’s face, so sweet and beautiful underneath the layers of makeup. Why would she try to kill herself? Was our life so bad?

  The simple answer was yes. Our lives were bad. But would I ever consider killing myself?

  I hadn’t. Not even when Dad’s cold, accusing eyes followed me everywhere I turned. Not when Mom, unable to cope, retreated into her depression-induced stupor and rarely left it. Not when Dad’s fist flew into my face and landed me home in bed and missing school.

  I closed my eyes, eager to check-out. But the hospital was full of conversations, beeps, blaring lights and intercom calls to staff. The waiting room was crowded with all sorts of people, all with their own concerns, dramas, and pains. A group near us talked in such loud voices, it sounded like they were using an intercom. One of their loved ones was in the ER because of a gunshot wound he’d gotten while hunting. If I even paid half attention, I would leave there knowing every detail of the wounded hunter’s story.

  Opening my eyes, or ears, wasn’t an option, though. I didn’t want to see, or hear, the world around me. Not when that world might never include my little sister again. Even if I hated her; even if we never talked again because of her lies and her accusations, the world needed her in it.

  She was strong. She would make it out. I didn’t know how many pills she’d taken. Or how much vodka she’d drank. But she would make it through.

  When Aidan died, he’d taken with him the hope and optimism of our family. Not that we were ever a perfect family or ever destined to become one. But there was hope. And there was light. When he died, all of that went with him. The only thing left in his wake was blame. And guilt. And irreversible despair. Is that what led Trina to this point?

  Was I to blame for her death too if she died?

  Mike was rubbing my arm with light, gentle strokes. His touch was soothing and sweet, reassuring as much as anything could be at that moment. Then he trailed his fingers over my hand and rubbed across the mounds of my knuckles. When he was done with that, he traced each of my fingers with his.

  What was he thinking? Sitting here with his beat-up semi-girlfriend, maybe-still Prom date, in a hospital because her crazy sister tried to kill herself after getting pregnant and kicked out of the house. How could he take someone like me home to his mom? How could he want to take me to Prom?

  The question formed on my lips. I opened my eyes and found him staring at me. And I stared back at him, wishing he could read my thoughts. Wishing he could understand that I understood he was too good for me and I would let him go.

  At first his brows creased and his lips parted, like he was going to ask me what I was thinking. Then he squinted and leaned toward me, ever so slightly. The intensity behind those green eyes made my breath catch in my throat, but I couldn’t say anything. I tried to open my mouth, but he put a finger over my lips and shook his head, his eyes never leaving mine.

  Why are you with me? My eyes implored.

  Because I care for you. Nothing will deter that. Not this. Not anything else, his gaze said back to me. His perfect lips broke into a smile. Not a jubilant, excited smile. Just a very small, very slight smile that didn’t mask the concern behind his gaze, or the severity of the moment. But that slight gesture managed to answer my unasked questions and reassure me. My head fell toward him. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and held me close. I felt a fleeting moment of peace.

  “Rowan?”

  I opened my eyes. Mom stood before me.

  “Mom?” I was shocked by the child-like sound to my voice. “Is she okay? Is Trina okay?”

  Mom started to cry and Gran stood beside her, rubbing the back of her shoulder.

  “Mom? Gran? Is Trina okay?”

  Mom collapsed and I caught her before she hit the floor. My knees buckled under her weight, but Mike grabbed us both and helped me support her while Jess held Mom by the shoulders.

  “Mom?” I asked into her hair. “Answer me.”

  “I don’t know.” She struggled to speak. “I just don’t know.”

  My sobs mirrored my mother’s gasp for gasp.

  “The baby?” I choked.

  She shook her head. “Gone,” she whispered. “She lost the baby.”

  Numbness oozed over me. How was I supposed to feel about that? Were we glad it happened? Sad? Relieved? Did it matter at all if my sister didn’t make it?

  I pushed against Mom to get her to stand up on her own. Her weight was too much for me, even with Mike’s help. Instead of staying on her own feet, she turned and fell into Gran who had to plant her feet like a wrestler in order to hold her. Gran stroked her hair like she was a small child.

  I watched them for several long moments, a mother consoling her child. In many ways my mom was still a child. She wasn’t the one who consoled us. Trina and I consoled her in the wake of Aidan’s death; in the aftermath of Dad’s rages. She was still very much the child in her mother’s arms. Did she not realize that we also needed a mother like that? That the mother we needed was supposed to be her?

  Our home was no place for a baby. No place at all. It was best that this baby wasn’t introduced into our lives. There was deep heartache and not enough love. Besides, without the baby, Trina could stay at home. Maybe Dad wouldn’t return. Maybe he would.

  I stumbled to the counter. “Can I see my sister now?”

  The administrator glanced at Mom. She was huddled in a chair, clutching her large stomach, with Gran rubbing her back.

  “Sure sweetie. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you. For just a minute, though. She’s awake but very, very weak. You can see her for no more than five minutes.”

  “Okay.” I turned to Mike and Jess.

  Both nodded at the same time. “We’ll be right here.” Mike pointed to the spot where he and Jess stood. I had little doubt they would still be there, in exactly that spot, when I walked back
out of those ivory doors. That simple thought gave me the strength to walk through them and to go to my sister.

  THE NURSE led me down the white hall, and I blinked against the glaring light. We entered the emergency area with rows of curtained cubicles. Some curtains were open, but most were closed. A man was shuffling toward us, his old, withered hand clutching an IV. We paused to let him pass before turning down another curtained hall until she finally stopped.

  “We’re going to keep her for a few days to make sure she is stable. Her room will be ready soon, but she’ll have to stay here until it is.” She lifted the curtain. “She’s very weak and lightly sedated. Just take a few minutes, okay?”

  “Okay.” My throat was dry and scratchy.

  She placed a hand on my shoulder and smiled. “Your sister will be fine.”

  She waved me forward. There was one narrow bed with silver guardrails. Trina’s small feet lifted the thin blanket. The television was on but the sound was muted.

  Silently, I eased around the curtain, letting it fall shut behind me. Her name was on the tip of my tongue. Trina…Sis…and all the pet names I’d ever had for her when we were little. Pumpkin butter…Billy goat, because she could never get enough of Gran’s homemade apple pies.

  But none of these words left my mouth. All I could do was stare at my baby sister. Something kept me from speaking. Like if she saw me before she heard my voice, she wouldn’t be resistant to seeing me. But she had to know I was there, even though she hadn’t looked at me. I was standing just two feet from the bottom of her bed.

  The skin of her face, neck and exposed arms looked ashen. She seemed smaller in the bed, as if this whole ordeal had sucked away actual years from her body. Her blonde curls were matted and flat.

  Neither of us spoke for several minutes. I resisted the urge to crawl into the narrow bed beside her. For some reason, I didn’t think that would be welcome.

  Finally, she spoke. “I lost the baby. Dad will be happy.”

  “I know.” I cleared my throat and took a step closer. She was right that Dad would be happy; or if not happy, then less likely to throw her out. That issue was taken care of. Even if Dad did decide to return to us; which how likely that was, I didn’t know.