When he showed up in the emergency room smelling of cheap whiskey, my first thought was, “Something Addie and I have in common.”
My dad’s a functioning drunk. But as the evening progressed and Addie’s father stepped out of his daughter’s hospital room more than once, it became clear he isn’t. Functioning, that is. The third time he left the room, I followed him. He went straight to his car, where he pulled a bottle from under the seat to feed his habit.
We’ve said about five words to each other since he got here, enough to establish who I am and that he distrusts me as much as I do him.
I have no clue where this protective pit bull is coming from, except that Addie reminds me of Blaire in so many ways. She’s all the soft parts of Blaire without the sharp edges.
Social awkwardness runs in my family. I’ve spent my whole life trying to pretend the awkward gene skipped me. I learned to play the game, because that’s what anyone who wanted to survive in high school did. I went to the right parties, hung out with the right people, hooked up with the right girls. I let other peoples’ expectations define me.
And I watched Blaire, one year behind me in school, do the opposite. She didn’t let what people thought of her dictate how she lived. She didn’t have many friends, and she spent a lot of time alone with a book.
And I was jealous.
I envied that she was brave enough to do what I couldn’t: be her own person, live by her own compass. I might have been popular, but it was only because I was a coward.
Addie has Blaire’s strength.
And she’s hurt. And sick. And crying.
And all of the above are my fault. I goaded her in the pool. I thought she could handle it. Hell, I knew she could handle it. I’ve watched her rise to every challenge I’ve thrown at her since the season began three weeks ago.
God, I hate seeing her like this.
But this is really none of my business. If she wants me to leave, I have no choice. “You’re sure?” I ask with a glance at her father.
“Yes.” Her voice cracks on the word.
“If there’s anything you need…”
“She asked you to leave,” her father grumbles, still slumped in his chair. He can’t even seem to muster the will to actually rise to the occasion.
“Anything, Addie,” I say with a glare in his direction.
When there’s no response from the bed, I turn for the door. But just as it’s swinging closed behind me, I hear her father half slur, half growl, “What the hell happened?”
I catch the door just before it clicks shut and listen through the crack.
“I hit my head,” Addie answers with a hitch in her voice. “I thought that would be obvious from the stitches in it.”
I can’t stop the smile, glad to hear she still has some fight in her, and more than a little relieved she’s not afraid to stand up to her father.
“Do you have any idea how much this is going to cost me?”
“Won’t the insurance cover it?” Addie asks, her voice lower.
“We don’t have any goddamn insurance!” he hisses under his breath. “I couldn’t afford the premiums. Let it drop three months ago.”
There’s a long stretch of silence before she says, “I’ll pay for it. I’ll get a job.”
Her father blows out a long breath. “I didn’t ask for this, Addaline.”
His voice is a low growl. Defensive, as if he thinks she’s blaming him for something.
“I know, Dad,” she says, suddenly sounding so small…so unlike the reserved girl with the surprisingly sharp wit I’ve watched for the last few weeks.
“Can I help you with something?” a voice says from behind me
I stumble back from the door, and find a nurse standing there with two syringes on a small tray, giving me the eye.
“No, thanks.” Not unless you can tell me what the deal is with Addie and her father. “I was just leaving.”
I feel her watching me as I push through the door to the stairs. I head for my car and crank the engine. But then I can’t make myself leave. I fist my hands on the steering wheel and drop my forehead onto it. What is it about Addie that has me so twisted in knots? I got her to the hospital. She’s not going to die. That’s the end of my responsibility to this girl.
Finally, I drop the car into gear and pull out of the parking lot. But as I drive away, I can’t shake the feeling that Addie needs more from me than a ride to the hospital. I just don’t know what it is.
It’s Friday and Addie’s still not back in school. She was released from the hospital two days ago. I know this because I went by her room and she was gone. So I’ve spend the last two days resisting the temptation to find her home address in the school office. I feel the overpowering need to check on her and make sure everything’s okay. She seemed to hold her own against her father, but there’s no telling what kind of a drunk he is. They’re not all as passive as mine.