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

44. Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-One

M aureen was in a deep sleep, the kind of sleep that felt like you were at the bottom of a deep well of darkness.

“Mom. Mom.”

Someone shook her shoulder. From the depths of sleep, she swam up to the surface. She opened her eyes to see Lance standing over her.

“Lance? What is it? What time is it?” Immediately, she sat up, reaching for the bedside light and turning it on. Allan rolled over on his side, slowly opening his eyes.

“It’s a little after three,” Lance said. “You and Dad need to get up. Everett is on his way to the hospital.”

Maureen and Allan jumped out of the bed, hair mussed, eyes heavy with sleep.

“What happened?”

“Is he all right?”

Lance sighed. “He’s overdosed again.”

“Oh no,” Maureen cried.

“How did you find out?” Allan asked .

“I gave my number to someone he’s living with. He just called me. They found Everett face down in a pool of his own vomit. They called an ambulance.”

Maureen thought, Thank God. Thank God there had been one person clearheaded enough to notice Everett needed medical attention.

“Come on, let’s get dressed,” Allan said.

“Can I go to the hospital with you?” Lance asked.

“No, please stay here with your sister. I don’t want Ash to be alone. If she wakes up and we’re all gone, she’ll think the worst.” Allan opened the top drawer of his dresser and pulled out a clean pair of socks.

Lance closed the bedroom door behind him to let his parents get dressed.

Maureen stood there for a moment, numb. She’d always known this day was coming, and she had dreaded it, but now it was actually here. With the choices her son had made, this end result had been inevitable and deep down, they both knew it.

“Maureen, come on,” Allan said, pulling on a pair of jeans.

“Okay, okay,” she said, putting up a hand. She made her way to the bathroom to brush her teeth and use the toilet.

The streets were quiet, and Allan did not bother to obey the speed limit. Usually, Maureen would say something, but she was just as anxious as her husband to get to the hospital.

He pulled up in front of the emergency room entrance to drop her off at the door. “I’ll go park the car.”

“Okay.” Maureen was alert and frantic as she rushed into the emergency room and went to the reception area. The desk was empty, but there was a crowd in the waiting area. In front of the vacant desk, she paced back and forth until a nurse in purple scrubs appeared. Maureen rushed her.

“I’m here about my son. Everett Peterson.”

The nurse nodded. “He’s here.”

“How is he?” Maureen asked.

“The doctors are with him right now. That’s all I know.” And before Maureen could ask any more questions, the nurse disappeared through a door.

Maureen found two vacant seats directly across from the reception desk, where she could keep an eye out for any hospital employee. She’d even speak to the janitor if they had information about Everett.

The fluorescent lights in the waiting room were harsh and unforgiving at this time of night. Maureen, who rarely went out of the house without wearing a light covering of makeup, was devoid of it. At this point, she didn’t care.

Allan joined her, slipping his keys into his pocket and sitting in the chair next to her. “Anything?”

“No. They’re with him right now.”

They sat quietly next to each other, watching the comings and goings of the waiting room. A young man in his late twenties sat across from them with a towel against his forehead to stem the flow of blood. The towel, whether a conscious choice or not, was scarlet in color, so it was hard to tell how bad the wound was. But overall, it looked as if it had been a rough night. Behind him sat two elderly people, the man, in his pajamas, wearing a nasal canula and having occasional violent coughing fits. The problems of other people kept Maureen slightly distracted. But she kept glancing at the desk until finally another person dressed in scrubs—Maureen was unsure whether she was a nurse or not—pulled out the chair at the reception desk.

Maureen bolted out of her seat and approached her.

“Hi, I’m Maureen Peterson. My son Everett was brought in.”

The woman never looked away from her computer screen. “All right. I’ll let them know.”

Maureen waited for the woman to make eye contact and acknowledge her, but it never happened. Feeling discouraged, she returned to her seat.

“What did she say?”

“Nothing,” Maureen said sourly. “She’ll let them know we’re here.”

“It’s taking a long time,” Allan remarked. “Did it take this long when you brought him in the last time?”

Maureen had to think for a moment. She frowned. “No, it didn’t.” That couldn’t be good. Fear gripped her.

Allan tried to reassure her. “I’m sure they’re very busy back there. Emergency rooms are notoriously busy on a Saturday night.”

She hoped that’s what it was but was doubtful.

Within an hour, a man wearing a white lab coat over navy scrubs appeared, went to the desk, and asked the woman a question. She actually looked away from her computer screen this time and nodded toward Maureen and Allan.

Maureen laid a hand on Allan’s thigh. He’d dozed off.

“Hmm.”

“Here comes the doctor.”

The doctor was tall, had to be about six-five. He was young. He looked exhausted and fed up.

“Everett’s parents?” He stifled a yawn .

“Yes. I’m Maureen Peterson and this is my husband, Allan.”

The doctor did not comment on that, instead looked through a folder. “Yeah. He was brought in for a drug overdose. Opioids. Specifically, oxycodone.” Now he looked at them. “Were you aware of your son’s drug problem? I understand this is his second visit to us in recent months.”

Allan spoke. “Yes, we’re aware. We’ve been trying to get him to go to rehab.”

“Yeah, well, good luck with that.”

Maureen didn’t care for this man’s abrupt manner. Must have been sick the day in med school when they were covering bedside manner one-o-one.

“He’s in pretty rough shape. But he’ll live.” The doctor’s tone indicated that he almost seemed disappointed.

“How bad is he?” Allan asked.

The doctor looked directly at them. “Your son went into cardiac arrest and was clinically dead for two minutes.”

Maureen crumpled, putting her hand to her mouth and gasping.

The doctor was still speaking. “We’ve got him ventilated right now, which is helping him breathe.”

On a ventilator? Oh, dear God .

“He’s been transferred to the intensive care unit, and you can go see him. Going forward, check with the nurse regarding visiting hours.”

“Where’s the ICU?” Allan asked.

“Up on the third floor. Follow the signs.” The doctor paused and said, “Look, I’m going to lay this on the line. Your son is on a trajectory that will not end well for him. I see it all the time. Unless he gets clean, he’ll be in here again. And again. Until someday, he’ll show up and we won’t be able to save him. They’re our frequent fliers.” He paused. “He’ll graduate to things other than pills. Syringes. Heroin. Because there will come a point where he will no longer get the high he needs from the drugs he’s currently using.”

Maureen felt like she might throw up.

“I’m sorry if that was brutal,” the doctor said.

Maureen was speechless, but Allan said, “Thank you for your honesty.”

She wondered how her husband was managing to keep his composure. She hoped his strength was contagious.

The doctor left them, and they headed toward the bank of elevators.

“I didn’t care for his attitude,” Maureen finally said.

Allan punched the “up” button several times, and they waited for an elevator to appear.

“He’s fed up, and I don’t blame him.” There was a trace of anger in Allan’s voice. “He sees these young kids hopped up on dope, and he has to save them. He sees them throwing their lives away, and he’s pissed off. I’d feel the same way.” He waved his arm around. “Look at all these sick people in here. People who need help.”

“What’s the difference between Everett and those people who are in here because of lifestyle choices?” she demanded. “They drink too much or they eat too much. Why should one addiction be singled out? Are you saying they shouldn’t treat people who overdose on drugs?”

“Of course not!” Allan snapped.

The elevator doors opened, they stepped in, and he stabbed the button for the third floor with his finger.

He sighed. “Maybe we’re going about this the wrong way. ”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe we have to force him into rehab.”

“I want him to go to rehab just as much as you, but I disagree. I don’t think forcing him is a good idea. It would be unsuccessful.”

Allan looked down at the floor. “I know. You’re right. But I want him to see some sense. He’s throwing his life away.”

The doors pinged open, and they stepped out and followed the signs for the medical intensive care unit, walking down empty corridors and turning left and then right.

“Where is this place?” Allan asked, frustrated. “It’s starting to feel like the Camino de Santiago trek.”

Despite everything, Maureen chuckled.

Unlike other areas of the hospital, the ICU was whisper quiet. The first nurse they approached said she’d show them to their son’s room.

Everett was in a room by himself, as were all the patients in the intensive care unit. The nurses’ station was in the middle of ICU with patient rooms surrounding the desk. Each room had a full glass window, and some had a blue curtain pulled across the length of it. But there were glimpses of other patients. All in bed, in various states of illness, all on ventilators and all unconscious. It was so quiet it was eerie.

The curtains on Everett’s room were drawn, and Maureen drew in a sharp breath to brace herself before she walked into the room.

But nothing would have prepared her for what she walked into.

Everett lay on his back in the middle of the bed, eyes closed. A ventilator tube snaked from his mouth, down his chest, to a machine at the side of the bed. The tube was anchored in place against the side of his mouth with medical tape.

Maureen gasped at the sight, feeling her knees give way. Allan was at her side, propping her up. In a voice that trembled, he said, “Come on, let’s get you to a chair.”

The nurse, who had her long brown hair clipped up and looked not much older than Everett, pulled over a chair for Maureen. She spoke to them in soft, hushed tones.

“My name’s Adele. I’m Everett’s nurse for the rest of the shift. Right now, he’s stable, and the doctors are hoping they can wean him off the ventilator soon.”

Maureen couldn’t get past the sight in the bed in front of her. How could this be her little boy, who’d always stayed up way past his bedtime, reading books? How could this be him?

And how would she get through this? How would they cope? Allan stood next to her, rubbing her back.

“I’ll get you another chair, Mr. Peterson,” the nurse said.

“Thank you,” Allan replied.

When they were alone, Maureen said, “I can’t believe this. This is like some kind of nightmare we can’t seem to wake up from.” She covered her mouth with her hand.

Allan sighed. “I know.”

Adele returned with another chair, and Allan rushed to the door to take it from her. She spoke with them for a few minutes.

“Even though he’s unconscious, he can still hear you, so please speak to him and let him know you’re here.” The young nurse was so soft-spoken that Maureen thought she was perfect for the ICU. “If you need anything or have questions, I’ll be out at the desk.”

“Thank you, Adele, we appreciate it,” Allan said. When she was gone, he arranged the two chairs, one on each side of the bed, so they could hold Everett’s hands.

Before Maureen sat down, she reached over and brushed Everett’s hair off his forehead, just like she used to do when he was a little boy. She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

“We’re here for you, honey,” she said. “Dad and I are here.”

There was a fluttering behind his eyelids.

She sat down in the chair and grasped his hand. Allan, still standing, leaned over the bed and spoke to Everett.

“Everett, it’s Dad. You’re not alone. Mom and I will help you get through this.”

More fluttering behind the eyelids.

Allan crossed his arms over his chest and looked over every line connected to his son’s body, and then his gaze swung around the room, looking at the IV bags hanging from a pole above Everett’s head and then over to the monitor that recorded his vital signs.

“His vitals are good,” Allan said with a nod toward the monitor. Finally, he sat down and took Everett’s other hand.

Maureen laid her head on the edge of the bed, still clasping her son’s hand. She had no idea how to fix this. She had ideas and plans, but she had no idea how to make her son stop taking drugs. And she was beginning to doubt that they could get through to him.

As if reading her mind, Allan said to Everett, “Mom and I aren’t giving up hope. We won’t give up on you, Everett. Never.”