“Of course she wants to keep it!” Lisa had regained the power of speech. “She needs it. She’s sixteen.”
“We’ll do what we can. I’m waiting on a consult from an anesthesiologist. Given her state of intoxication, it could be risky to put her under.”
“What do you mean risky?” Lisa cried. “You can’t operate?”
The doctor suddenly looked anxious to leave. “We’ll know more after the consult. I’ll leave the permission forms with you.” She handed the clipboard and pen to Lisa. “Once you’ve filled these out, someone will take you to see your daughter.”
Lisa stood motionless, staring at the documents in her hand. She felt numb, weighted down, unable to move. “You should sit down,” Allan said, steering her toward a bank of chairs. Lisa sat and let him take the clipboard from her hands. “I’ll fill these out,” he said softly.
“Can I get you something? Coffee?” It was Kim, hovering a few feet away.
Lisa looked up at her. Kim’s face was red, puffy, contorted with fear, anxiety, and guilt. Lisa was suddenly filled with an almost overwhelming urge to hit her. But she didn’t. “I don’t want anything from you,” she said.
jeff
THAT NIGHT
Jeff gripped the steering wheel tightly and tried to keep his focus on the road. Beside him sat Caitlin, staring rigidly ahead, while the other two girls—Marta and someone . . . he couldn’t remember her name—huddled in the back. One of them was crying softly, and the pungent odor of sick emanated from their vicinity. He felt bad for thinking it, but he really hoped the stench wouldn’t permeate the Tesla’s interior.
“She’ll be all right,” he said, as much to fill the silence as to provide comfort. He hoped the girl in the back would stop whimpering. It was driving him nuts.
“We were so fucking stupid,” Caitlin said, her voice angry. The profanity seemed entirely appropriate given the circumstances.
“Yeah . . . Well, we’ve all been there. . . .” Jeff was trying to sound young, relatable, but he was afraid he sounded patronizing. His words hung in the air for a moment before he continued. “What did you drink?”
Caitlin answered. “Vodka. Rye.”
“And champagne . . .” The voice—cold, accusatory—came from the backseat. He looked in the rearview mirror at the two girls leaning against each other. He couldn’t tell which one had spoken.
“I brought fucking Xanax,” Caitlin continued, the string of f-bombs incongruous with her wholesome, freckled look.
“Shut up, Caitlin,” one of the girls in the backseat said.
“What?” Caitlin snapped back. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“This isn’t your fault,” Jeff said. “It was an accident.” He glanced into the backseat again, but the girls didn’t meet his eyes.
“I knew this was a bad idea, but I just . . .” Caitlin paused, decided not to continue.
“Look, you’re kids,” Jeff said. “You’re supposed to make mistakes. Unfortunately, Ronni was hurt. But she’ll get through this and you’ll all learn from it.” No one spoke. He decided to continue. “And, uh—” He cleared his throat. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention that I gave you the champagne.”
He felt like a creep as soon as he said it, like some pedophile asking his victims to keep quiet. He should have kept his mouth shut. These kids had been drinking hard liquor and taking pills! A few sips of bubbly didn’t cause Ronni to fall through the glass table. He listened to the loaded silence. Even the sniveling had stopped. Finally:
“Sure.” It was Caitlin. She glanced quickly over her shoulder at the girls in the back, but they stayed mute.
Marta was the first to be dropped off. Jeff walked her to the door and explained the situation to her parents, Ana and Octavio. He may have downplayed Ronni’s injuries, but until they knew the extent of them, he could see no reason to alarm everyone. When Octavio expressed his dismay at their covert drinking, Jeff spoke up. “Don’t be too hard on her,” he said, his eyes resting on Marta snuggled under her mother’s protective wing. “I think the shock of all this is punishment enough.”
He repeated the process with Caitlin’s mom and finally drove the other girl home. Her name was Lauren, he finally recollected. But if he’d met her before tonight, he didn’t remember.
“You don’t have to take me up,” Lauren said when they pulled up to a luxury high-rise apartment complex in SoMa.
“I’d like to explain to your parents,” Jeff said. “They’ll be worried.”
“My dad’s not even home. And my stepmom won’t care.”
“Maybe not . . .” His voice was firm. “But I’d still feel better.”
As they rode the elevator up to the twenty-first-floor penthouse, Jeff wished he’d accepted the kid’s offer to leave. The ride felt interminably long. Lauren stared at the floor, picking at the sides of her fingernails. She’d thrown up at the sight of Ronni’s blood, or Ronni’s damaged eye, or just from all the booze and drugs. It was in her hair and on her clothes. The stench threatened to overwhelm him. Finally, thankfully, the elevator dinged to signal they’d arrived.
Lauren had a key and she opened the apartment door. “Do you want me to wake her up?” she asked, pausing in the doorway.
Jeff didn’t want her to. The mere thought of explaining the accident again left him exhausted. And while he had at least a passing acquaintance with the other girls’ parents, he knew nothing about Lauren’s family. Maybe the stepmother really would be indifferent, as the girl said. Or maybe she’d be angry. But he could already hear Kim chastising him if he failed on his mission. It was his job to inform all the parents. And his wife was right. The situation had to be explained. “Yes.”
The girl didn’t invite him in, so he lingered outside the partially opened door, waiting. The apartment foyer was dark, but Lauren had obviously flicked a light switch somewhere deep in the spacious home. It threw a shaft of light across the gleaming hardwood floor of the entryway, highlighting a teak sideboard adorned with a fancy oriental vase. The whole place screamed expensive. Finally, he heard the rumbling of female voices and the rustling of movement inside. A few moments later, a woman in an embroidered kimono appeared: blond, petite, and young enough to be Lauren’s sister.
“I’m Carla. Lauren’s stepmom.”
Lauren, who had trailed behind her, gave a derisive snort that Carla ignored.
She invited Jeff in and flicked on the light. “What’s she done?”
Jeff cleared his throat. “It’s not Lauren’s fault. . . .” Jeff began, then relayed the night’s events.
“Is Ronni okay?” Carla asked, pulling her kimono tighter around her.
“I don’t know. . . . I’m heading to the hospital now.”
“These girls and their partying. . . .”
“Yeah,” Jeff agreed, not bothering to explain that, until tonight, Hannah had never partied. Or, if she had, he and Kim hadn’t known about it.