Lost and Found in Lavender Bay (The Lavender Bay Chronicles #2)

7. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

A llan left for his convention in St. Paul on Wednesday morning. Maureen insisted on driving him to the airport even though he had to be there before six. She didn’t bother getting dressed, just threw on her clothes over her nightgown and headed out with him. On her way downstairs, she noticed the door to Everett’s room slightly ajar and the light on. She wondered if he was still up.

“Maureen, are you ready? Let’s go,” Allan said. He was always anxious about getting to the airport with plenty of time to spare.

For April, the morning air had a nip to it, but the sky at the horizon was a thin strip of pale yellow, and she hoped for a sunny day.

“What time are you going to breakfast with Lance?” Allan asked.

“I’m hoping for nine, if he’s up by then.”

Lance had surprised her the evening before by asking if she’d like to go to breakfast, just the two of them. She’d jumped at the chance. It would be nice to spend some time alone with him. She’d hardly seen him since he came home. And on the rare occasion he was around, he was upstairs in his room. Maybe she could do the same thing with Everett before he went back to college.

“Kind of odd that he asked you to go to breakfast, don’t you think?” Allan glanced over at her. Maureen kept her eyes on the road.

“Maybe he’d like to spend some time with his mother.” She chose to believe this rather than assigning an ulterior motive to her middle child.

“You’re probably right,” he eventually said. “You’ll make sure the boys see the list of chores I left for them to do while I’m away?”

“I will,” she said.

The boys, halfway through their spring break, had been having fun all week with their friends, hardly home except for meals or to change clothes. No one had cracked open a book, and Maureen wondered how their studies were going but didn’t want to nag. They were going to be thrilled when they saw their father’s list.

As she steered toward the departures area of the airport, Allan said, “Don’t go to the trouble of parking the car, Maureen. Drop me off at the curb.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I do. It’s still dark out, and I don’t want you walking back to the parking lot alone.”

“All right.” She pulled up to the curb where other fliers were unloading bags from their cars. Curbside drop-off was well illuminated in the early morning darkness.

“Don’t even get out of the car.” He leaned over and kissed her goodbye. “Love you.”

“Love you too. ”

“I’ll text you when I land.”

“Thank you.”

“I wish I didn’t have to go,” he said.

Maureen yawned and then laughed. “You always say this. But then when you get there, you’re fine. You’re always glad you went.”

“You know me so well.”

“You’ll call me tonight?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“You better go, you don’t want to miss your plane.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to get rid of me?”

“I am,” she said with a laugh. “It’s still early, and I can go back to bed when I get home.”

“One more kiss for the road.” He reached for her, pulled her toward him, and kissed her again.

“I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

Once he pulled his suitcase out of the trunk, he rapped on the car, stepped up onto the curb, and waved goodbye.

She waited until he disappeared inside before pulling away and heading home.

The house was still dark and quiet. The drive had woken Maureen up, but it was too early to get up for the day. If she did, she’d be finished by two in the afternoon, and that wouldn’t do. There was a lot on her schedule.

The only light on was the one over the sink. Someone had used the dishcloth and rolled it up into a ball and thrown it on the counter. She ran it under the hot water tap and squeezed it out before folding it in half and laying it over the side of the sink.

Yawning, she pulled herself up the staircase, thinking how nice it would be to slip under the blankets for a couple of hours before she went to breakfast. She loved sleeping with her husband but every once in a while, she liked to have the whole bed to herself.

Her mind started to go into overdrive about all the things she had to do that day. Briefly, she wondered if she should get started.

At the top of the stairs, Roger the cat went racing by, paying no attention to her. Funny how a five-pound cat could make so much noise and get into so much mischief. True to his nocturnal nature, the cat was up every night, walking or running around. He shined between three and four in the morning, when he was at full throttle.

As she reached her bedroom, she noticed the door to Everett’s room was still ajar and the light still on.

No wonder he’s like a zombie all day.

Maureen pushed the door open and looked into Everett’s room. He was prone on the bed with one side of his face showing. Headphones covered his ears. One arm hung over the side of the bed. He was still wearing the jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt he’d had on yesterday.

Oh, Everett.

She approached him, pulling his blanket from the end of the bed up over him. But as she leaned closer, she realized something was wrong. Frowning, she removed his headphones, hearing the muted, distant sounds of whatever music he was listening to. She froze. His face was deathly white, and a bluish tinge circled his mouth.

“Everett?” When there was no response, she touched him gently so as not to startle him. She repeated his name and shook his shoulder. But he did not rouse. An alarm bell went off in her head, and she picked up his hand, the one that hung over the side of the bed, and probed his wrist for a pulse. His fingertips were blue. His pulse was weak, but it was there. She tried rousing him again but there was no response. She remembered from a first-aid course she and Allan had taken a few years ago that she should move him into the recovery position, but he was heavy, practically dead weight, and it was an effort to move him onto his side.

She’d left her phone downstairs, so she ran to her bedroom and called 9-1-1 from the landline on her side of the bed.

“What is your emergency?”

“I-I need an ambulance,” Maureen stammered. Her heart raced, and it felt as if it was going to burst through her chest.

The dispatcher on the other end of the line asked a lot of questions.

Impatient, Maureen said into the phone, “Can you please hurry? My son won’t wake up.”

“An ambulance is en route to your address. Please make sure they can access the house.”

“I’ve got to unlock the front door.”

“All right, ma’am, I’ll stay on the line.”

Maureen ran out of her room and checked Everett to make sure he was still breathing. She ran to the other end of the hall, knocked quickly on Lance’s bedroom door, and opened it.

Lance sat up, groggy. “Mom, what the hell?”

“Lance, get up quick. Everett’s unconscious and I need you to go downstairs and wait for the ambulance. ”

Without a word, he sprang from his bed, ran into Everett’s room, and raced over to his brother. He shook him vigorously. “Everett, come on, man. Wake up.”

In the distance, the faint sound of sirens could be heard.

“Go downstairs and open the front door,” Maureen said.

Lance flew down the stairs in his pajama bottoms and T-shirt, taking the steps two at a time.

Maureen knelt on the floor next to Everett’s bed, watching his breathing, which was shallow, and regularly checking his pulse. She heard the ambulance reverse into the driveway and closed her eyes in relief.

Soon, there was the sound of footsteps thudding up the stairs. Someone was here to help her son.

Two EMTs stepped into the room, wearing all black, their last names stitched in white above their left breast pockets. One carried a portable case, which he set on the floor next to the bed and opened. He was of medium height and had a solid build, looking like someone who spent a lot of time in the gym.

“Ma’am, could you step out of the way, please.”

Maureen remembered the dispatcher she’d left hanging on the line and ran to the bedroom to inform her that the ambulance had arrived.

She returned to find one of the EMTs attending Everett. The other began to ask Maureen questions. This guy was older, maybe her age, with salt-and-pepper hair. His eyes were puffy and deeply lined, and she wondered if they’d worked the night shift.

“How long has he been like this?” the EMT asked.

Maureen brushed her hand across her forehead, sweeping her hair away, not quite believing what was unfolding in front of her. “I d-d-don’t know. I found him like this a few minutes ago. I had to take my husband to the airport.”

“Do you know if he took anything?”

Not fully understanding the question, her mind went blank for a moment, and then she snapped out of it. Had he taken something? “No, no, I don’t think so.” She looked over at Lance, who hovered in the doorway, arms folded over his chest, biting his lip.

Ashley appeared, her eyes heavy with sleep, and asked, “What’s going on?” She glanced into the room and screamed, trying to push past Lance. “Everett! What happened?”

Lance immediately put his arm around her and steered her away. “Come on, Ash, let’s get out of the way.”

One EMT attended Everett, putting leads on his chest and explaining they were tracing his heart, but Everett remained unresponsive. The other asked Maureen questions, recording her answers digitally.

“I’m going to administer a dose of Narcan.”

“Narcan?” Maureen repeated, blanching. She knew what Narcan was used for: drug overdoses. She took a step closer to her son. Frantic, she asked, “But what if it’s not a drug overdose?” A child of hers using drugs? Impossible. It had to be something else.

The EMT recording the data said as if by rote, “If it’s not an overdose, it won’t harm him.” The tone of his voice was one of weary indifference.

The EMT tending to Everett administered the Narcan nasally, inserting the nozzle into one nostril, pressing the plunger, and then repeating the same thing with the other nostril .

Everett sat up and came out swinging, but the EMT dodged the punch as if he’d expected it. Maureen threw her hands to her face and gasped.

“Whoa, there, Everett, we’re only trying to help you,” said the EMT.

“What the hell!” Everett demanded, lunging for him.

“Everett!” Maureen snapped.

Confusion clouded her son’s aggressive features. “Mom?”

“What did you take, Everett?” the EMT asked loudly.

Everett looked at his mother, lay back down, and said flatly, “Nothing.”

“Okay,” the EMT said, deciding he had other hills to die on. They brought in the stretcher from the hallway and transferred her son onto it, wheeling it out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Maureen, Lance, and Ashley trailed behind them.

When they loaded him into the back of the ambulance, Maureen asked, “Can I ride along?”

After getting the okay, she turned to Lance. “I’ll meet you at the hospital, all right?”

“Yeah, Mom, we’ll meet you there,” Lance said and then addressed his sister. “Come on, let’s get dressed.”

The EMT closed the doors on the back of the ambulance and headed to the driver’s seat. They pulled out of the driveway, and Maureen peered out the back window of the ambulance to see if any neighbors were around. All Maureen could think was that everyone would know their business. The second EMT stayed with them in the back, tending to Everett.

The ride to the hospital out on the highway was no more than ten minutes, but it felt like it took forever to get there. They pulled into the bay, and Maureen waited while they removed Everett using a mechanized ramp that lowered the stretcher onto the ground. She followed the stretcher into the hospital.

The EMT pointed Maureen to a set of automatic doors. “Ma’am, go through there to the waiting room for the emergency room, and someone will be out as soon as they can.”

“Okay.” She leaned over and kissed Everett on his forehead. He closed his eyes and didn’t say anything. One of the EMTs swiped their badge to open another set of double doors, and they whisked Everett through, the doors closing behind them. A sign posted to the door read “No Unauthorized Personnel.”

Following their directions, she made her way to the waiting room. She’d been there a few times before with her father, and once when Lance broke a leg playing football. Quickly, she glanced around, hoping she didn’t see anyone she knew. She didn’t want anyone to find out what had happened. The idea of being grist for the gossip mill was mortifying to her.

“Allan!” she said to herself. Her husband had no idea what had happened. She went for her phone to check the time; maybe she could catch him before he boarded his plane. But in all the commotion, she’d walked out of the house without anything. Her purse and phone were on the kitchen table back home. She rolled her eyes. There was a clock in the waiting room, and she realized that Allan’s plane had just taken off. She sat on a hard blue plastic chair and crossed her legs. The place smelled of something unidentifiable and unpleasant, and she scrunched up her nose. She was wired. She wondered how long it would take for someone to come out and talk to her.

But the main thing occupying her mind was that her son had overdosed on drugs. Her son. She had so many questions. Had it been his first time, or was he using on a regular basis? How had she not noticed? What would happen? And what would she need to do to fix this?