My Life After Now - By Jessica Verdi Page 0,57

one Wicked, one Legally Blonde: The Musical, and half a Ragtime cast album later, I heard a noise downstairs. I quickly turned the volume down on “Wheels of a Dream” and listened. My dads were home, and there was a lot of indecipherable yelling layered on top of the sounds of feet pounding as they moved around frantically. I could also hear Lisa, but she wasn’t yelling so much as moaning. In pain? Despair? I strained to hear but couldn’t make out any words. What the hell was going on down there?

Unable to just listen any longer, I ran downstairs and gasped at the sight before me.

Lisa was balled up on the floor of the guest room, clutching her stomach and screaming in agony. There was blood covering her lower half and slowly spreading onto the carpet beneath her. Papa was on the phone, pacing the room and trying to explain what was happening to, I assumed, a 911 operator, his face panic-stricken. Dad was kneeling beside Lisa, futilely trying to get her to stop wailing long enough to tell him what had happened.

I was frozen in place.

Did I do this?

Did my attack on Lisa send her pregnancy into distress?

My offhand thoughts about not caring about the baby came rushing back to me.

“I didn’t mean it!” I cried. “I’m sorry!”

Suddenly, I was out of my body. The scene became muted and I felt like I was watching everything through a scrim. My feet stayed on the floor, but my spirit lifted up and floated over the room.

Dad hung up the phone and said something to me. But he said it to my body. My detached spirit didn’t hear. He rattled my shoulders, trying to get a reaction. Unsatisfied, he ran out of the room in the direction of the front door. The ambulance must have been here.

A moment later, two men in EMT uniforms rushed in and pushed past my hollow body. One tended to Lisa, taking her pulse and listening to her stomach with a stethoscope. The other turned his attention to Dad and Papa, trying to get answers. Dad and Papa responded, gesturing wildly. But to spirit-me, everything lingered in perfect silence. The men lifted Lisa onto a stretcher and took her away. Dad and Papa followed close behind, their clothes stained with Lisa’s blood.

I remained suspended above the now-still room.

But then my gaze landed on something, and I was violently sucked back into my body. I pried my feet off the ground and ran over to Lisa’s bedside table, which Dad and Papa must not have noticed in the commotion.

Laid out on the table was an open, near-empty bag of cocaine.

28

Two Lost Souls

“Miss Williams has suffered what is called a placental abruption,” the doctor explained.

I’d shoved the cocaine baggie into a Ziploc and followed my dads to the hospital. When I found them in the emergency room waiting room, I showed them what I’d found, and Papa informed the medical staff. The three of us sat, shell-shocked, in the waiting room for several hours, not being told anything about Lisa’s status.

But now, finally, we were getting some information.

“What is that?” Dad asked.

“It’s when the placenta, which is the organ that provides nourishment to the fetus, detaches from the uterine wall. It’s rare to see in healthy pregnancies; however, the use of cocaine during pregnancy does greatly increase the chances of it happening.”

Dad rubbed his temples. “Is the baby okay? Is Lisa okay?”

The doctor nodded. “There was only a partial uterine separation, so we were not forced to do an emergency C-section. Because Miss Williams is just now entering her third trimester, the chance of birth defects would have been very high should we have had to deliver. But we were able to stabilize both mother and fetus through blood transfusions and the administering of IV fluids.” He paused to give us each a meaningful look. “They were very lucky.”

Dad shook the doctor’s hand. “Thank you so much. We appreciate everything you’ve done to help them both.”

“A word of advice—keep an eye on her. It is absolutely crucial that she not engage in any more illicit drug use during this pregnancy. Consider today a wakeup call,” he said sternly.

“We will,” Dad said, nodding profusely. “When can we take her home?”

“I want to keep her here for a few days to monitor her for shock and the fetus for any signs of distress. If all goes well, I would say she can probably go home this weekend.”

They were still