“My name is Patricia. I’m a nurse at Springs Regional.”
Everything screeches to a halt and my vision tunnels to the ground. “What happened? Is Sutton hurt?”
The woman clears her throat. “You’re listed as the emergency contact for Camilla Bowen.”
“She’s my mother.” This isn’t the first time urgent care has called me about her. It probably won’t be the last.
“Camilla was rushed to the hospital a couple hours ago.” Her tone is flat, as if she’s reciting a shopping list. That jaded indifference probably comes with the job.
I rub at the grit in my eyes. “Did she overdose?” I can only imagine the stash she dug into once we left yesterday. That woman isn’t cut out for sobriety. That momentary glimmer was a glitch.
“The toxicology results aren’t completed.”
I want to tell her that’s not necessary. Anyone in this town can fill in the blanks. And if not, her health history is more than extensive. “When can I pick her up?”
They usually watch her overnight, depending on the severity.
The nurse makes a strangled noise. “This is serious, Mr. Bowen. The doctor on call has just finished initial diagnostics. It’s been recommended that you get here immediately.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“That information will be shared with you in person. I’m at liberty to tell you that her condition is considered critical.
“Can I talk to her?”
“That’s not possible. She’s unconscious, sir. I repeat, her situation is urgent.”
The salvia in my mouth turns to mud. “Uh, okay. I can be on my way shortly.”
“Very good, Mr. Bowen. We’re on the third floor. Check in at the front desk when you arrive.”
“Okay,” I repeat.
She ends the call without further instruction. I glance at the blank screen while possibilities stack up. They’ve never told me to rush over. That’s definitely new. A prickle of unease worms up my neck. I scratch at the odd sensation. It’s probably nothing. But that doesn’t stop the cement from sinking in my gut.
My steps are robotic as I walk into the house. The nurse’s words continue playing on repeat. This is more serious than an overdose. She’s knocked out. The information can only be shared in person. Hurry my ass up.
Cane is crouching in front of the rear staircase. His blond head bobs with steady movement, as if he’s listening to music. All I hear is the nurse repeating my mother’s critical state.
“Hey, I need to leave.”
He glances at me over his shoulder. Whatever he sees on my face makes him recoil. “What the hell happened to you?”
“My mom,” I mutter.
Cane nods, knowing enough about my past not to question me further. “Take care, man. I’ll get everything sorted here.”
“Thanks.” I sound drained, even to my own ears. The battle with my mother is exhausting and gruesome. I barely dredge up the willpower to drag my ass outside.
The drive to the hospital whizzes by in a blur of static. It’s only thanks to some miracle that I don’t end up in a ditch. I’m not sure how my truck gets parked. The bright blue sky has been replaced with gloomy clouds. How fucking fitting.
I hold onto these insignificant details, relying on them to push me onward. My boots echo on the scuffed linoleum as I enter the emergency room. A security guard waves me in the direction to a bank of elevators. When I get out on the third floor, another lobby greets me. A woman smiles from her spot behind a cluttered desk.
“May I help you find something?”
I blow out a stream of foul air. “I’m looking for Camilla Bowen. She was checked in earlier.”
The woman’s eyes grow saucer-wide. “Uh, yes. She’s in 313. Very last door on the left.” She lifts an unsteady finger toward a narrow hall.
