Page 55 of Close to Falling

“No, I remember how you were. Closed-off and pissed that life dealt you a bad hand, but River didn’t do that to hurt you. He did it to help you. He knew you couldn’t get the help you needed coming back and forth to a prison, and he knew the only way for you to get that help was if he pushed you away.”

“But him pushing me away was the reason I went off the deep end.”

“Well, everyone reacts differently to situations. You did the opposite of what he had hoped, but the important thing is, you did eventually get help.”

“I guess I can see why you make the big bucks,” I say, giving her a half-smile.

“I’m more than your therapist, B. I’m your friend, and I care about you. I wouldn’t tell you this if I thought it would hurt you. River has changed a good bit from what you have told me. Maybe you should give this a go, or at least think on it for a bit.”

“Maybe so,” I say, sounding weary. I’m just tired of thinking about this.

“Have you been keeping in touch with your sponsor?” she asks. I look over at her and bite my lip.

“I haven’t in a while. I probably should, though.”

“Yes, or go to some meetings. That will help, too.”

***

I’m charcoaled up, listening to Bob Dylan tell me about Mr. Tambourine Man. The sun is shining through my windows, and I walk over to open the doors. A warm breeze blows in and ruffles the loose paper behind me. I grab my tie and wrap my hair up onto the top of my head, as I look down, watching cars pass and busy people walking in hurried strides. I sigh and look down at my watch. It’s late afternoon, so everyone must be getting off work. The song switches, and “Forever Young” plays, giving me a melancholy feeling. Wine would be nice, so I walk to the kitchen and grab a glass from the cabinet. After I take the bottle out of the fridge, I fill my glass to the rim and walk back to my studio until I make it out onto my patio. I sit down, putting my feet up in the chair across from me.

Taking a sip of the wine, I lay my head back and think of River. I haven't spoken to him in five days, and it's five days too many. It’s probably the number one reason I'm not feeling like myself. The music ends, and I'm left with no sound but the busy streets five stories below. I didn't take Ellie's advice and go to a meeting. I'd be lying if I said using didn't cross my mind, and I know I need to talk to someone.I will soon, I promise myself before I take another taste of my wine and wonder where my phone is. Getting up, I walk back through my messy studio and search for it. The last person I spoke to was Sarah, and I was...in the bathroom, I think. I make my way in there and see it lying on the sink. I grab it and see the annoying blinking light doing its worst. After I unlock the screen, I notice I have two missed calls from Sarah, four missed calls from Landon, and a million texts. Good grief. I go through the texts first, and my heart slams into my chest as I read them. My hands shake, and I can't seem to think of what to do. The phone rings in my hand, and I drop it. I quickly pick it back up.

“Hello,” I answer.

“B, fucking hell. Where have you been?”

“Landon, how is he? What’s going on?” I ask, looking for my keys so I can leave.

“He is being rushed to the hospital. Meet us there.”

“Okay. Bye,” I say, picking up my keys from the floor. How the hell they got there I can't tell you. I snatch up my purse and rush out the door.

***

Hospitals have always scared me. Too much white and the smell of everything sterile make my stomach turn. I walk up to the desk and ask the woman where they took Frankie Carson.

“Are you family?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say like,hurry up and let me get to him.

“He is in surgery, ma'am, but the rest of the family is in one of the smaller emergency waiting rooms, if you would like to—”

“Where is it?” I ask, interrupting her.

“Two doors down on the left side.”

“Thanks,” I respond, making my way down the hall. Once I reach the door, I turn the handle and see Sarah, Landon, and River. Sarah jumps up and hugs me.

“B, it’s not good.” She pulls away from me. She’s teary-eyed and rubs her forehead as stress lines form under her hand. “He’s had a massive heart attack, and they are doing open heart surgery.” I see the lines between her brows once her hand falls. I look over at Landon and River. River’s knee-bouncing and hasn’t looked at me once. I see Landon's hand making work on the ripped leather on the seat. My boys are worried, and I need to be strong.

“It’s going to be okay,” I say as I take a seat beside Sarah. “It’s going to be okay,” I repeat, trying to make myself believe it. I say it over and over again inside my head and grip my purse strap tight as if it’s the reason I’m not falling over. Frankie is the glue that holds this family together. He is the reason we are a family. What will we do without him? What the hell will we do with him not here? I put my face in my hands and pray, because what else can I do right now?

***

Two hours have passed, and we haven’t heard a fucking word. I’ve walked across this room so many times I’ve made a trail in this worn-out blue piece of shit carpet. Landon has ripped the seat almost all the way, and River has walked out more times to smoke than I have ever seen. Sarah has left to go get coffee, and I flop down in the seat across from Landon.

“B,” he says, heart-pained.

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