Tymber Dalton (18 page)

“We can’t do surgery until your blood alcohol level drops.”

“Can’t the IV drugs cause it?”

Dr. Smith shook his head. “Not what you’ve received, they can’t.”

Steve collapsed against the pillows with a stunned look on his face. Sami watched him. When drunk, he was nearly incapable of lying.

At least, that’s the way he used to be.

He didn’t look like he was lying, and he wasn’t acting like he was drunk.

“I don’t understand,” Steve said.

“We’ll monitor you this morning. Once your blood alcohol level drops, we can operate.” Dr. Smith noted something on the chart and left the room, speaking to a nurse on his way out.

Sami fought the tears, the anger, the humiliation. And wondered if Steve might be telling the truth, or at least convinced he was.

He closed his eyes. “I didn’t drink. I swear.”

Sami called Dr. Raymond and asked him to come to the hospital. He arrived minutes later. Sami left them alone, closing the room door behind her.

Dr. Raymond met up with her nearly an hour later in the waiting room and sat with her.

“Well? Or can’t you tell me because of patient privilege?” she bitterly asked.

He shook his head. “I don’t know what to tell you. The blood work says he’s lying, but he swears he’s sober. What’s crazier is I think I believe him, even though I should know better.”

She lowered her head and fought the tears. “I wish I believed him.”

He patted her shoulder. “I know it sounds crazy. If someone was telling me this story, I would think they were crazy, too. But I think there’s another explanation.”

Dr. Smith walked toward them, a strange look on his face. He waved Sami back down to Steve’s room.

“Want me to come?” Dr. Raymond asked her.

“Please.”

Dr. Smith closed the door behind them. Steve stared at the wall, his jaw clenched.

“Well, folks,” Dr. Smith said. “I’ve been practicing medicine for a lot of years, and this takes the cake.”

“What now? Are you going to tell me I’ve got crack or pot in my system too?” Steve bitterly asked.

“No. Actually, I’m going to tell you the blood work we ran on you, which should have been around .05 or so, came back negative.”

Sami froze. “Could you repeat that?”

Steve glared at them. “I told you I was sober.” From his sullen demeanor, Sami suspected they’d backed off his IV meds.

“Steve’s blood work came back negative. Now, this shouldn’t be possible if he’d been drinking. It should have shown something, even a trace amount. It’s showing nothing. I watched the nurse draw the blood, and I walked the sample to the lab myself.”

“What about the other samples? Could there have been a problem?”

He nodded. “I don’t know what or why yet.” He turned to Steve. “It seems I owe you an apology.”

Steve closed his eyes. “I told you I was sober.”

Sami felt bad. Worse, like this still wasn’t the truth. Maybe Steve hadn’t been drinking, but there was something else going on.

“Can we have a moment alone?” Sami asked the doctors. They left. “Steve, I’m sorry.”

He stared at her.

“I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t think you’d been drinking, but…” She dropped her gaze to the floor. “I believed the lab results.”

He took her hand, his face softening. “It’s okay. In your shoes, I would have thought the same thing. How bad’s the house?”

“I have a disaster to clean up.”

He pulled her to him and she sat next to him on the bed. “Sami, why do you put up with me? You deserve so much better.”

She kissed him. “I love you.”

He closed his eyes. “I love you, too.”

The nurse returned. “They’re ready for him.”

Sami stood and moved out of the way while they rolled in a surgical gurney. Sami walked alongside, then waved as they pushed his gurney through the OR doors.

Drs. Smith and Raymond waited for her in Steve’s room. She felt drained, angry, stunned.

“What the hell is going on?”

Dr. Smith shook his head. “I notified the lab. I have the results from the retesting of the other samples. That’s one of the good things about a small facility like this. Fortunately, they hadn’t been disposed of yet.”

“And?” When she felt her nails painfully dig into her palms, she flexed her fingers and tried to relax her hands.

“They’re totally clean.”

Sami realized she’d been holding her breath. “Are you sure?”

“We’re retesting. There’s a possibility the machines might have been calibrated wrong.”

She sat on the bed, her knees weak. “I can’t take much more of this.” She looked at them. “How horrible is it that any time something happens, I automatically suspect him? I mean, I didn’t believe it, didn’t
want
to believe it, and yet I believed it. Does this ever go away? Do I ever get to trust him?”

“I don’t have any answers,” Dr. Raymond said quietly. “I wish I did. Everyone finds their own level of detachment and boundaries. I wish I could give you a better answer.”

“I want a normal life. I want a husband who doesn’t ignore me. I want a baby. I want a life where I don’t have to worry if his bad mood is due to writer’s block or a hangover!”

She missed the knowing look the doctors exchanged.

She called Matt. “You are not going to frackin’ believe this.”

When she finished the story, he whistled. “You’re right. I don’t believe it. What the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know. I feel like my world’s been upended twice in one day.”

“I can understand that.”

“I’m tired, Matt. I’m
so
tired of all this bullshit.”

He listened, aching for her, wanting to hold her. When they ended the call, he sat there, staring at his phone for a few minutes. He felt helpless. The Sami he knew and loved was a strong, fiercely independent woman. The Sami he’d just talked to sounded like she’d reached the end of her rope and couldn’t even tie a knot in it to hang on.

* * * *

Steve looked pale and weak when they wheeled him back into the room. After they transferred him to his bed, Sami took Steve’s hand and squeezed it.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“I’ve felt better.”

She stayed for a little while. Then he encouraged her to go home. He wanted to sleep, and there was little she could do but sit and stare at him.

“I’ll come back around dinner, okay?” she said.

He nodded, his eyes already drooping.

She took her time driving home. In the yard, Sami sat in the truck and stared at the house. Part of her liked it, and even liked the location. Loved the location, actually, now that she had grown used to it. Plenty of riding trails, and the dirt bikes didn’t disturb her much.

If it wasn’t for the
damn
house.

Maybe it was the color. The ugly, dingy gray sucked. Maybe it was the history. She took a deep breath and went inside. She should work. Steve wouldn’t feel up to working for a couple of days once he was home, and that would cut into her privacy.

Inside, the house looked like a bomb went off.

She sighed. No work yet.

It took over an hour to straighten the worst of the mess. Then she made herself a sandwich and settled onto the couch with Evelyn’s journals and the file folder next to her.

Whiskey was George’s favorite drink. Evelyn didn’t know what to do about her husband’s drinking. He didn’t go to work drunk, but he didn’t hesitate to crack a bottle once he returned home.

By the end of the first journal, George’s abuse had worsened, mostly mental and emotional, but occasionally slapping her as well. Sami’s heart went out to the woman even though they were separated by nearly a century of time. It must have been horrible for her, trapped in an abusive marriage.

The second journal picked up where the first left off. Evelyn poured out her heart, yearning for happiness. In the beginning, she loved George as best she could, tried to make him happy, thinking if she worked hard enough he might change. Slowly, her thinking shifted as she realized the problem might be George, not her.

She got pregnant in early spring of 1901 and was overjoyed with the prospect of being a mother. Then, during a drunken rage, George threw her down the stairs and she miscarried.

Apparently this scared him sober for a while, and their relationship improved. She got pregnant with Keith later that same year, and in April 1902, gave birth to a healthy baby boy.

The overwhelming job of new motherhood took priority to her journaling, because a gap fell between Keith’s birth and September.

George started drinking again.

Not as much as before apparently, but his nasty behavior returned. The difference was he started staying out late, coming home with whiskey on his breath but not totally drunk. He didn’t try to touch her in bed. She suspected he had a mistress.

Christmas of 1902.The blessed streak of George ignoring her in bed came to a screeching end. That Christmas, he got drunk and forced himself on her after their guests went home. She gave birth to Susan in early September of 1903.

Sami’s stomach churned. She barely made it to the bathroom, throwing up her lunch and dry heaving for several minutes after. She collapsed on the cool tile and cried. Cried for Evelyn, the children—herself.

Steve wasn’t abusive while drunk. At least, not to George’s extent. Reading Evelyn’s words stripped Sami’s emotions to the core, bringing back the tears, the anger, the sadness…

The mistrust.

She couldn’t fault Evelyn for staying because times were different. She related to the hope, the codependence, the worry she drove him to drink. Trying to change herself. Mold her very soul to get him to stop drinking.

It took Sami a while to find the strength to move. She washed her face and returned to the journals. She had to read them and in some way give Evelyn voice.

Susan and Keith were Evelyn’s joy and reason for living. She shielded them from their father as much as possible, even seducing him to draw his attention and anger away from the children when he was in an especially foul mood.

George apparently loved that. It was amazing she didn’t get pregnant again.

George went away on a business trip for over a month in the spring of 1904, and it was as if a veil had lifted. Her happiness sprang from the page, crystal clear and full of hope.

Then George returned. A month passed before she wrote again. Her words bore a decidedly different tone.

There are not enough excuses I can use to escape him at night now. I think I preferred it when I thought he was with a mistress. It saved me from his attentions.

Saved? This woman sounded like she had lost all hope. Her only happiness seemed to be when she wrote about her children and their activities. They were her sole grace, and she reveled in their achievements.

The one good thing about George’s increased attentions in bed was he hit her less.

The third journal started in late 1906. He started drinking more heavily, which Evelyn encouraged. He would get too drunk to do anything but pass out, usually on the sofa in their front parlor. This left her free to write in the evenings—and free from his attention.

In the later months of 1907, he spent a lot of time away, sometimes days at a time. She learned to never question where he went or why, although asking him when she could expect his return was sometimes allowed.

In January of 1908, the absences were explained when he told her about the new house and gave her a few short weeks to make arrangements to pack their things for the move.

She felt terrified. She didn’t want to leave Tampa, but George gave her no choice. His drinking worsened. She feared what might happen in the middle of nowhere if he had no one to answer to for his actions. She despaired of getting away from him, and actually considered getting him drunk and escaping with the children. But she had no access to money, and didn’t know how she would get to Miami. George threatened to take the children if she ever left him. She would never leave them alone with their father.

How could I ever leave my children behind? Worse, how do I protect my son, keep him from growing like his father? He has a beautiful, sweet, pure heart. How do I shield him from George?

How do I keep him from repeating the sins of his father?

Sami took a break, feeling shaky. Evelyn’s writing flowed so poignant and eloquent from the page. It was like being there and feeling her emotions.

The sun dipped behind the woods, and Sami realized how late it was. She fed the horses and headed to the hospital.

* * * *

Steve’s eyes were closed when she walked into the room. At first she thought he was sleeping. The small hospital cafeteria was still open, and she’d bought a take-out dinner so she could eat with Steve. When she set her purse down, he opened his eyes.