Page 105 of Red Hot Harmony

“Take her to Malibu.”

“It’s at least a thirty-minute drive.” Dante’s voice cracked. “Maybe an hour in these conditions.”

“What’s going on with the kid?” The firefighter asked, poking his head into the car.

“Alcohol poisoning,” I said.

“If she’s conscious and produces more than eight breaths per minute, you should take her to Malibu. There’s no one available here right now. We’ve got dozens of burn victims. Two of them—our guys. It's a madhouse.”

I wanted to argue. I wanted to claw and scream and demand, but the thunderous whoosh of the helicopter blades as it passed right above us silenced my thoughts.

“How can we get back to Calabasas?” Dante asked.

“You can’t, boss!” The firefighter shook his head. “Everything near Westlake Village and Paramount Ranch is burning. Gotta drive west. Take Moorpark, then jump on Lynn Road. That’ll take you straight through the canyons and to the PCH. Gotta go to Santa Monica and through Beverly Hills, but last I heard, there’s another brush fire on 405. Near Getty Center. You’re better off staying in Malibu until we contain at least some of it.”

And that was that.

I felt trapped and hot and desperate as we turned around and steered toward the quiet side of the street, away from the chaos.

Ally stirred beneath my touch. I heard a whimper as she attempted to raise her head off the seat.

“Bug?” I called, brushing her cheek. “Are you gonna be sick? Do you need to throw up?”

There was a low “Uh-huh.”

“Can you pull over?” I asked Dante.

He slammed on the brakes, and the next thing I knew, we were sitting by the curb, in front of some house. He slipped out of the driver’s seat and helped me get Ally out.

I prayed that no one saw us as I held her up to make sure she didn’t topple over into her own vomit.

Dante stood off to the side with his arms folded across his chest, watching us as though Ally was baking cookies and not emptying her stomach on some random people’s lawn.

I might have been embarrassed if I wasn’t so upset and scared.

“I think that’s it,” Ally slurred at some point.

It was the first more or less coherent thing she’d said tonight and I was stupidly glad.

I knew I needed to be pissed and serious too, but the scolding could wait until my kid was actually sober.

Eventually, we climbed back into the car and Dante turned on the AC. Then he spun in his seat and asked Ally, “How you feelin’, Hendrix? You think you need a doctor?”

She was sitting upright now, her head on my shoulder. “Why are you two here again?” A hiccup.

Dante and I exchanged a glance.

I had no good explanation except for the truth, but it didn’t feel right talking about our fight now.

However, Ally didn’t let me. “I’m still mad at you, Mom,” she muttered, words rubbery around the edges.

“Yeah, well, I’m still mad at you too, Bug.” I patted her knee gently. “But why don’t we have this conversation later?”

“And you...” She gestured at Dante and paused, almost as if she needed to remember what she was going to say. “You didn’t show up... You promised and you didn’t deliver... Flake.” Her hand bounced between me and him. “You two deserve each other. Assholes.” There was an exasperated sigh and a giggle, this time bitter.

“Well, they don’t sayin vino veritasfor nothing, huh?” Dante chuckled, then added softly, “But, hey, at least she’s not making a fool out of herself in front of the press.”

“I heard that,amigo,” Ally blurted out and whipped her hand in the air. “But I’m still young. So you never know.”

---