“Okay,” I said. “First thing is getting Melanie some water and food. Go see what’s in the kitchen.”
Gretchen nodded. We sat Melanie on the couch, and Gretchen disappeared.
“Mrs. Graham, is your husband here?” I asked. Mrs. Graham was slumped in an armchair bawling uncontrollably.
“Things like this don’t happen in our family!” she wailed.
“Mrs. Graham, where’s your husband?”
“We attend Mass every Sunday. Melanie is an honors student!”
“Mrs. Graham! Where is Mr. Graham?” I demanded.
“He’s on a business trip,” she cried.
“Of course he is,” I muttered. I now felt responsible for taking care of a drugged-out daughter and her emotionally distraught mother.
Gretchen—thank God for Gretchen!—made a sandwich for Melanie and a cup of tea for her mother. I wondered what the hell took her so long, but I was so happy for the tea as it appeared to settle Mrs. Graham’s nerves.
“Girls, I’m sorry,” she said, hand shaking, rattling the teacup. I told her not to apologize but that we couldn’t stay all night. I was close to missing curfew, and Dad had already extended it tonight until 12:30 because he was delirious about his date. I couldn’t push it.
Gretchen tried to feed Melanie, who was more interested in kissing the sandwich than eating it.
“I love you, sandwich,” she said. “You’re my favorite sandwich.”
“Melanie, do you know what you drank? What you took?” I asked.
“I drank a cup of looooove,” she said. “Can I have more?”
What? I was no drug expert, never caring to do anything myself. I smoked weed once but hated the stench of it. I didn’t really get high either. I just sat like a fat toad on a log gobbling up any food that flew by me. I decided weed would do nothing but make me overweight and stupid, so I never touched it again. But Gretchen knew about drugs. She went through a stint of moderate drug use in tenth grade before she finally found better friends. Weed, acid, cocaine. You name it. She stayed away from meth, though. She understood all about the picking and didn’t want to ruin her pretty little face.
“What’s she on?” I asked Gretchen. I didn’t care if her mother heard.
“Ecstasy,” Gretchen replied. “She’s in love with everything. Total ecstasy, and a large amount, I think.”
“Like, take-her-to-the-hospital amount?”
Melanie promptly threw up all over the couch, and Mrs. Graham jumped from her chair.
“Yes,” Mrs. Graham said. “Like, take-her-to-the-hospital amount.”
All of a sudden she was in control. Mother mode. What the hell was in that tea? She took a deep breath and wiped her face.
“Girls, I want you to follow behind me until we get there,” she said. “Then you can go home. I know it’s late. I just want to be sure I have some help just in case. If you need me to explain to your parents why you were late getting home, I will.”
“No!” we said in unison.
“It’ll be fine,” I said.
I helped Mrs. Graham lift Melanie off the couch. She threw up all over the floor, and I panicked.
“Does this happen with ecstasy?” I asked Gretchen.
“I think that’s from the alcohol,” Gretchen said, opening the front door for us.
Neither Gretchen nor I said a word as we followed Mrs. Graham to the ER. I was terrified. I never saw someone so drugged and drunk out of her mind. I felt naïve in that moment, and I was ashamed of it. I can’t explain why. There’s nothing wrong with being naïve. There’s nothing wrong with having abstained from drug use. Still, I felt helpless, having to rely on Gretchen for information. I wanted the information. I wanted control. I was lost without it.
I followed the tail lights around the bend to the hospital entrance thinking I would kill Tim—murder him in cold blood—if anything happened to Melanie.
Seventeen
Terry caught me as I made my way through the back door at work.
“News?” he asked.
“About?” I said, tying my apron around my waist.
“Don’t make me spell it out for you, Wright,” Terry replied.
“Ohhh, that news. Well,”—I smacked my gum a little louder and leaned in close—“we plan on doing it tonight. He’s totally dreamy, and I think I’m in love.” I winked at him, and he huffed.
“Please keep your too-young-to-be-having-sex life to yourself,” Terry said, “and tell me what’s going on.”
“Why do you care?” I asked, walking over to the order station to sign in.
“Do I have to state the obvious?” Terry replied, following me.
I lowered my voice. “I’ve already got one dad. I don’t need another. And everything’s fine. I haven’t tried to get myself molested, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”
Terry breathed a sigh of relief.
“I have, however, discovered another rapist,” I continued. “And I know he’s taking a girl to the movies tonight.”
“What’s he gonna do in the movies?”