Page 29 of Come Apart
But it keeps ringing.
Damn it.
I find the phone in the pocket of my slacks.
It's probably a client. Or a client's angry spouse. Someone overeager, someone who'd think nothing of calling so late.
I don't recognize the number.
But I know the area code.
It's in San Diego.
Fuck. It can't be...
"Hello?"
"May I speak to Luke Lawrence?"
It's a male voice, a stupidly matter-of-fact tone.
I've heard that tone before.
That's theI am going to relay this bad news to you like I'm ordering a sandwichvoice.
"This is Luke." My response is unthinking, my heart rate already speeding up.
"I'm calling from Santa Barbara Cottage Emergency Room."
No. This isn't happening. There's no way Samantha is...
The voice continues, so even and calm. "I'm sorry to call you, Mr. Lawrence, but you're Samantha Brooks's emergency contact."
My heart is racing. My mouth is sticky.
"What happened?"
"I'm sorry, I'm not at liberty to discuss the specifics of the incident."
"Is she okay?"
"She's in the ER, and she’s expected to be checked in for the night. Visiting hours start at nine a.m."
I can't hear anything except for the static on the phone. He won't tell me if she tried to kill herself again. He isn't at liberty to discuss it.
"You can ask for her room number at the visitor's desk." He pauses, as if to let it sink in that he's not allowed to tell me what happened to her. "Do you have any questions?"
"No," I say.
He's still talking, but I drop the phone.
Alyssa looks at me. I can't place the expression on her face.
I can't place anything.
She did it again.
I know she did it again.
