The Party Page 5

  A fresh-faced woman, in her early-thirties and wearing a clinical white jacket, was walking toward her: the doctor. Her face was grave. “Are you the mother?”

  “No, I’m her mom.” Kim pointed at Hannah curled up in a chair in a ratty pair of gray sweats and her dad’s sweatshirt. The effects of a night of drinking, panic, and crying were showing themselves on her puffy, makeup-streaked face. “It’s her birthday. Ronni was at our house.”

  The doctor nodded. “Ronni’s stable for the moment.”

  Kim realized this was what she’d been waiting for: reassurance. She could call Lisa now and tell her that Ronni would be okay.

  “You need to get the parents down here,” the doctor said. “We need to get her into plastics. Someone’s got to sign the consent.”

  “I’ll call right now,” Kim said, feeling subtly chastised.

  “Good,” the doctor replied, heading back toward the curtained-off area where Ronni was being assessed. “We’ll try our best to save the eye.”

  Kim heard her daughter’s renewed whimpering, but she didn’t have time to comfort her. She had to make the call. She couldn’t put it off another second.

  lisa

  THAT NIGHT

  Lisa knew, more than most people, that a phone call in the dead of night meant bad news. It had been such a phone call during her first year away at Ithaca College that had announced her parents’ death in a boating accident. At nineteen, Lisa had been ill prepared to handle such a shock and had passed out on the spot. When she came to, she found she was even more ill prepared to be an orphan. Despite her recent collegiate independence, she was emotionally immature and far too naive to handle the not insignificant life-insurance settlement bestowed upon her and her sister. That late-night phone call launched a six-year period of self-destructive behavior: drugs, partying, men… . The cycle ended only when she found herself pregnant with Ronni. Oh God … Ronni.

  She threw the blankets off her and jumped out of bed. Allan barely stirred. He’d worked at the restaurant until 11:30 P.M. and then let himself into her apartment and her bed. When Ronni wasn’t home, she let Allan sleep over. She liked having him there, even liked being woken in the middle of the night by his soft caresses that turned urgent in his need for her. But his presence provided little comfort in her current state of dread.

  With her heart hammering in her chest, she stumbled through the darkened apartment to the phone in the kitchen. The clock on the microwave read 1:47 A.M. For a brief moment, she thought about her Buddhism studies: acceptance of what comes, without question or attachment… . Buddhism was not a philosophy for mothers. But the call couldn’t be about Ronni. The universe wasn’t that cruel. Lisa liked to subscribe to the theory that everyone was allocated a certain amount of suffering. She’d used hers up when her parents died, when she’d gotten herself pregnant by an alcoholic, when she became estranged from her only sister. Ronni would be fine; she had to be.

  Of course, since Ronni was at Kim’s house, this could be behavior-related. Kim was definitely the type to think that a sneaky viewing of an R-rated movie or smoking a cigarette warranted a middle-of-the-night phone call. And Ronni had been rebellious of late, pushing her boundaries, testing her mother. She’d been wearing too much makeup, copping an attitude, texting constantly with Lauren—Lisa let it slide. It was all part of being sixteen, of feeling around outside the nest before making the jump to midair. Lisa and Ronni were so close that the break was extra difficult, requiring drastic measures to push them apart. Kim had probably caught Ronni with a bottle of beer, or maybe even a joint. And because Hannah was perfect, almost robotic, really, Kim was pushing the panic button. By the time Lisa reached the phone, she was calm enough to answer.

  “Lisa, it’s Kim.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  There was a pause, probably less than a second but long enough to make Lisa’s stomach plunge. Kim said, “Ronni’s at CPMC. Pediatric emergency.”

  “What? Why?”

  “It’s okay. She’s stable.”

  Stable? Lisa didn’t like the ephemeral sound of the word. Panic threatened to paralyze her throat, but she choked out the words, “What happened?”

  “They were drinking,” Kim continued. “I don’t know how they got the alcohol. Someone must have sneaked it in. Ronni fell.”

  “What do you mean, fell?” Lisa’s voice had become loud and shrill. “What happened? What’s wrong with her?”

  She could hear Kim crying softly on the other end of the line. “She took some drugs, too. And … she fell … through the glass coffee table. She cut herself.”

  “Oh God.”

  “She cut her eye.”

  “Oh God!”

  “You need to get down here,” Kim sobbed. She seemed to have given up any semblance of calm. “Hurry!”

  Lisa hung up and turned to find Allan behind her, naked, bleary, concerned. “What happened?”

  Tears streamed down Lisa’s face, but her voice sounded surprisingly normal. “You need to take me to the hospital.”

  THE EFFICIENCY WITH which Lisa and Allan were ushered toward the pediatric OR waiting area was concerning, but it was the sight of Hannah, curled up in a chair like an abandoned kitten, that turned Lisa’s guts to liquid. She’d expected Kim’s tearful countenance; she’d heard it in her voice on the phone. But Hannah’s appearance was shocking, terrifying… . This was a girl who’d witnessed carnage—a car accident or a murder. Her ghostly pallor highlighted the black streaks of mascara that she’d unsuccessfully wiped at—or more likely, her mom had wiped at—smearing her face with gray soot. She wore a man’s sweatshirt, probably Jeff’s, making her neck and wrists look fragile and birdlike as they emerged from the large garment. Lisa looked at Hannah’s hands; they were a girl’s hands despite Hannah’s height and maturity, and they were stained red. Blood … her daughter’s blood.

  Kim hurried up to Lisa, wrapping her in her arms. “She’s going to be okay.”

  Lisa’s body froze in response to the hug. She didn’t want comforting from the woman who had let this happen to her daughter. “Where’s Ronni? Where’s the doctor?”

  Kim instantly dropped her arms. She looked hurt, embarrassed, awkward. Lisa felt a quick flash of pity for her. Kim tried so hard to be the perfect mom, to do and say all the right things. She’d look on this incident as a personal failing. But Lisa pushed her empathy aside. Nothing mattered now but her child.

  “I’ll get the doctor.” It was Hannah, suddenly come to life despite her inert appearance. She hurried toward the nurses’ station. They watched her for a second before Kim turned to Lisa.

  “I don’t know how this happened. I told them the rules… . No drinking, smoking, boys, or drugs. I thought I could trust them.”

  Lisa wasn’t in the mood for Kim’s excuses, but Allan said, “They’re teenagers. They can be sneaky.”

  Kim continued. “Hannah’s never done anything like this before. I didn’t think she drank. I thought I knew her. I thought …” Emotion robbed Kim of her voice, and Lisa felt a minor swell of satisfaction. She wanted Kim to hurt, to feel at least an iota of the fear and dread Lisa was experiencing. But how could she? Hannah was here, tearful, traumatized, but basically fine. Not the perfect angel her mother thought she was, but fine.

  Allan put a protective arm around Lisa. “The doctor’s coming,” he said, his lips in her hair.

  The doctor, younger than Lisa would have liked but with an authoritative air she appreciated, approached. She had a clipboard and pen held to her chest. “Are you Veronica Monroe’s mother?”

  “Yes,” Lisa answered. “Can I see her? How is she?”

  “She’s stable.” That word again. “But I’m concerned about her eye. There are several tears in the retina and damage to the optic nerve.”

  Lisa tried to form a sentence but found her tongue useless in her mouth. Allan stepped in. “What does that mean?”

  “It means she needs surgery if she wants to keep that eye.”


  “Of course she wants to keep it!” Lisa had regained the power of speech. “She needs it. She’s sixteen.”

  “We’ll do what we can. I’m waiting on a consult from an anesthesiologist. Given her state of intoxication, it could be risky to put her under.”

  “What do you mean risky?” Lisa cried. “You can’t operate?”

  The doctor suddenly looked anxious to leave. “We’ll know more after the consult. I’ll leave the permission forms with you.” She handed the clipboard and pen to Lisa. “Once you’ve filled these out, someone will take you to see your daughter.”

  Lisa stood motionless, staring at the documents in her hand. She felt numb, weighted down, unable to move. “You should sit down,” Allan said, steering her toward a bank of chairs. Lisa sat and let him take the clipboard from her hands. “I’ll fill these out,” he said softly.

  “Can I get you something? Coffee?” It was Kim, hovering a few feet away.

  Lisa looked up at her. Kim’s face was red, puffy, contorted with fear, anxiety, and guilt. Lisa was suddenly filled with an almost overwhelming urge to hit her. But she didn’t. “I don’t want anything from you,” she said.

  jeff

  THAT NIGHT

  Jeff gripped the steering wheel tightly and tried to keep his focus on the road. Beside him sat Caitlin, staring rigidly ahead, while the other two girls—Marta and someone … he couldn’t remember her name—huddled in the back. One of them was crying softly, and the pungent odor of sick emanated from their vicinity. He felt bad for thinking it, but he really hoped the stench wouldn’t permeate the Tesla’s interior.

  “She’ll be all right,” he said, as much to fill the silence as to provide comfort. He hoped the girl in the back would stop whimpering. It was driving him nuts.

  “We were so fucking stupid,” Caitlin said, her voice angry. The profanity seemed entirely appropriate given the circumstances.

  “Yeah … Well, we’ve all been there… .” Jeff was trying to sound young, relatable, but he was afraid he sounded patronizing. His words hung in the air for a moment before he continued. “What did you drink?”

  Caitlin answered. “Vodka. Rye.”

  “And champagne …” The voice—cold, accusatory—came from the backseat. He looked in the rearview mirror at the two girls leaning against each other. He couldn’t tell which one had spoken.

  “I brought fucking Xanax,” Caitlin continued, the string of f-bombs incongruous with her wholesome, freckled look.

  “Shut up, Caitlin,” one of the girls in the backseat said.

  “What?” Caitlin snapped back. “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “This isn’t your fault,” Jeff said. “It was an accident.” He glanced into the backseat again, but the girls didn’t meet his eyes.

  “I knew this was a bad idea, but I just …” Caitlin paused, decided not to continue.

  “Look, you’re kids,” Jeff said. “You’re supposed to make mistakes. Unfortunately, Ronni was hurt. But she’ll get through this and you’ll all learn from it.” No one spoke. He decided to continue. “And, uh—” He cleared his throat. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention that I gave you the champagne.”

  He felt like a creep as soon as he said it, like some pedophile asking his victims to keep quiet. He should have kept his mouth shut. These kids had been drinking hard liquor and taking pills! A few sips of bubbly didn’t cause Ronni to fall through the glass table. He listened to the loaded silence. Even the sniveling had stopped. Finally:

  “Sure.” It was Caitlin. She glanced quickly over her shoulder at the girls in the back, but they stayed mute.

  Marta was the first to be dropped off. Jeff walked her to the door and explained the situation to her parents, Ana and Octavio. He may have downplayed Ronni’s injuries, but until they knew the extent of them, he could see no reason to alarm everyone. When Octavio expressed his dismay at their covert drinking, Jeff spoke up. “Don’t be too hard on her,” he said, his eyes resting on Marta snuggled under her mother’s protective wing. “I think the shock of all this is punishment enough.”

  He repeated the process with Caitlin’s mom and finally drove the other girl home. Her name was Lauren, he finally recollected. But if he’d met her before tonight, he didn’t remember.

  “You don’t have to take me up,” Lauren said when they pulled up to a luxury high-rise apartment complex in SoMa.

  “I’d like to explain to your parents,” Jeff said. “They’ll be worried.”

  “My dad’s not even home. And my stepmom won’t care.”

  “Maybe not …” His voice was firm. “But I’d still feel better.”

  As they rode the elevator up to the twenty-first-floor penthouse, Jeff wished he’d accepted the kid’s offer to leave. The ride felt interminably long. Lauren stared at the floor, picking at the sides of her fingernails. She’d thrown up at the sight of Ronni’s blood, or Ronni’s damaged eye, or just from all the booze and drugs. It was in her hair and on her clothes. The stench threatened to overwhelm him. Finally, thankfully, the elevator dinged to signal they’d arrived.

  Lauren had a key and she opened the apartment door. “Do you want me to wake her up?” she asked, pausing in the doorway.

  Jeff didn’t want her to. The mere thought of explaining the accident again left him exhausted. And while he had at least a passing acquaintance with the other girls’ parents, he knew nothing about Lauren’s family. Maybe the stepmother really would be indifferent, as the girl said. Or maybe she’d be angry. But he could already hear Kim chastising him if he failed on his mission. It was his job to inform all the parents. And his wife was right. The situation had to be explained. “Yes.”

  The girl didn’t invite him in, so he lingered outside the partially opened door, waiting. The apartment foyer was dark, but Lauren had obviously flicked a light switch somewhere deep in the spacious home. It threw a shaft of light across the gleaming hardwood floor of the entryway, highlighting a teak sideboard adorned with a fancy oriental vase. The whole place screamed expensive. Finally, he heard the rumbling of female voices and the rustling of movement inside. A few moments later, a woman in an embroidered kimono appeared: blond, petite, and young enough to be Lauren’s sister.

  “I’m Carla. Lauren’s stepmom.”

  Lauren, who had trailed behind her, gave a derisive snort that Carla ignored.

  She invited Jeff in and flicked on the light. “What’s she done?”

  Jeff cleared his throat. “It’s not Lauren’s fault… .” Jeff began, then relayed the night’s events.

  “Is Ronni okay?” Carla asked, pulling her kimono tighter around her.

  “I don’t know… . I’m heading to the hospital now.”

  “These girls and their partying… .”

  “Yeah,” Jeff agreed, not bothering to explain that, until tonight, Hannah had never partied. Or, if she had, he and Kim hadn’t known about it.

  “My husband’s out of town. She’s supposed to be at her mom’s,” Carla continued, referencing Lauren, who had disappeared into the depths of the apartment. “She’s grounded. For pot. But her mom never follows through.”

  Jeff pursed his lips, nodded. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say.

  “We all partied at their age. We all tried things. But Monique refuses to set any boundaries and Darren travels so much… .” Monique and Darren had to be Lauren’s divorced parents. “I can’t do anything. If I say one word, I’m the evil stepmother.”

  “I should really go.”

  “Of course. I’ll check on Ronni tomorrow. Lisa and I are friendly.”

  As Jeff rode down the elevator, he breathed a sigh of relief: mission accomplished. Lauren was clearly a troublemaker. Wealthy, divorced parents gave a kid the motive and means to rebel. But all the parents had been perfectly reasonable: concerned but not losing their shit, not pointing fingers or blaming.

  Of course, he still had to face Lisa.

  THE TESLA’S TIRES squealed on the concrete
of the parking garage as Jeff searched for a spot. The lot was packed, and the few available spaces had RESERVED signs on them. He could feel his palms on the wheel getting sweaty. The air in the concrete bunker was heavy and close. If he didn’t find a free spot soon, he was going to park in some doctor’s space. Fuck ’em.

  A “compact car” spot materialized and he jammed the Tesla into it. Thankfully, he was slim enough to squeeze through the narrow space the SUV next to him afforded. He scanned the dank lot for an elevator or a stairwell. Found it. He jogged down the stairs and across the street, into the hospital’s main lobby. An elderly volunteer with a bouffant hairdo pointed him toward the pediatric ER. Traversing a labyrinth of hallways, he finally reached the waiting area.

  He hurried to the reception desk. “I’m looking for my wife and daughter. They came in with—” He stopped, midsentence. Down the hall to his right, he saw Kim. She was talking to two uniformed police officers. Jesus Christ …

  “We have very strict rules in our house,” she was saying as Jeff approached. Kim paused when she saw him. “This is my husband, Jeff Sanders.”

  The officers, one male, one female, introduced themselves, but Jeff didn’t retain their names. He turned to Kim. “How’s Ronni?”

  Kim’s voice wavered. “She needs surgery on her eye.”

  “Is Lisa here?”

  Kim nodded.

  The male officer interrupted. “We’re trying to piece together the events of the night.”

  “Of course,” Jeff said. “We specifically told the girls no alcohol or drugs. They must have sneaked it in. I don’t know how they got it.”

  “Do you have liquor in the house?” the female officer asked.

  “Some. A little.”