Page 17 of Come Home to Me

Sarah

After two hours of being stuck in an elevator, the panic attack I’ve been fighting begins to consume me the moment I step onto solid ground. I manage to control myself long enough to say goodbye to Frank as he heads back to work, then rush out of McDougan & Kent and gulp air once I’m on the sidewalk around the corner.

My heart races. My blood boils. My chest burns. The piercing sunlight stabs at a headache forming at the base of my skull and the stench of exhaust makes me want to wretch.

Deep breaths, I tell myself. Deep, calming breaths.

I place a shaking hand flat against my stomach and focus on breathing, but the trembling continues. The panic attack rages on, full speed ahead, ready to push me over the edge of barely in control to a full-on breakdown. I fumble with my purse, my quaking hands searching serenity in the shape of a little orange container, the clatter of pills against the bottle both comforting and terrifying.

When was the last time I needed them like this? This frequently? This consistently? I struggle with the cap, then swallow one down before stepping to the curb and hailing a cab.

It’s too much.

It’s all too much.

Between my dwindling savings, my broken car, a fricken job interview, learning a new city, and whatever it is that’s going on between Frank and me, I’m barely able to keep control of myself as it is. But getting stuck in an elevator for two long hours? What cruel god is directing my life? What have I done to earn myself this shitstorm of problems dropping into my lap?

A cab stops in front of me and I tumble in, pulling my phone out of my bag as I give him the name of my hotel. We lurch into traffic, and I remind myself that I need to stop thinking about moving to one of those sketchy two-star extended stays and just do it already. Instead of listening to my own advice, I pull up Colton’s contact info and call him.

“Two calls from you in less than a week? What happened now?” Colton’s friendly voice brings the sting of tears to my eyes. I swallow hard and beg the medication to work sooner rather than later.

“Why does something have to have happened? Can’t I just want to talk to my brother?” I ask, as my eyes land on a woman striding down the sidewalk, phone pressed to her ear, chin up, jaw set. If only I could have a fraction of her strength, maybe things wouldn’t have gotten so bad. I wear confidence like body armor, but it’s all an act. Each sarcastic word, each condescending look, all of it is contrived to keep people from seeing how much it hurts to be me. To keep them from getting close enough to be another reason I hurt.

“Well, in that case, I’m so glad to hear from you again, dear sister. How are things in Denver?” The sarcasm dripping from Colton’s voice is oddly comforting.

“I got stuck in an elevator today.”

He snorts. “And that doesn’t count as something that happened to you?”

“Okay, fine. Something happened to me today. I applied for a job and got stuck in an elevator and now, I’m talking to my brother and he’s kind of being an asshole.” The tears that were threatening recede and I dab a finger at the corner of my eye.

“Wait, back up a second. You applied for a job?”

The cab lurches around a corner and I steady myself with a hand on the door. “Yeah. Remember the part where I wrecked my car and I’m stuck in Denver? I’m going to need money before I can leave, so, you know, employment seemed necessary.”

“You are something else, aren’t you?”

“I’m not even going to ask you what you’re talking about.” My lips still tingle from the receding panic attack. I chew on the bottom one and suck air through my nose.

In for four.

Out for four.

In for four.

Out for four.

Repeat…

…and repeat…

…and repeat.

I lock eyes with a homeless man leaning against a building. There’s a moment of connection and then we’re past him and he’s gone.

“Sarah?” Colton sounds worried.

I press my hand against the window and imagine I can see all the bits and pieces of my life through it. “Remember how we used to play in the apple orchard when we were kids? We’d run through the trees, playing hide and seek. Sometimes we’d skip the seeking part and just hide. We’d spend hours in there while Dad and David worked.”

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