She eased me into her car and put the seat almost flat. The warmth of the heated leather instantly calmed me, but it also made me aware of my body. An agonizing mass of pain.
“Sleep,” Pippa soothed, “just lie back. Here, have some water, darling, you look like you need it.” I gripped the bottle of Evian and glugged down as much as I could. A rush of migraine flooded the back of my eyes.
“Where’s Beanie?” I gasped.
“Right here at your feet. Soaked and muddy. Thanks, Beanie, for messing up my brand-new car, I’d just had it detailed at that valet place in Carmel.”
I let out a groan of relief, lolled my floppy head back on the headrest. “I thought you were Dan. The black car.”
“His old beaten-up thing? I take that as a huge insult.”
“I couldn’t see for all the rain—”
“The weather’s gone mad, hasn’t it?” Pippa started the engine and put the car into drive. In my side passenger mirror, I caught a glimpse of Kate staring after us, longingly.
Her golden goose was fleeing the nest.
I collapsed into sleep, Beanie’s head resting on my bashed-up feet.
Forty-Five
The next week or so was a haze of agony and bone-aching limbs, sleepless, endless nights, and demons bashing at my brain. I was withdrawing from the pills, and it was a roller-coaster ride through a flaming inferno. But I was resolute about Pippa not taking me to the doctor, to not let me persuade her however much I begged. I knew what would happen; any doctor, even if it was to wean me off the medication, would prescribe me more of the same, or worse, something else equally addictive, and the cycle would begin all over again. I wouldn’t have the willpower. At first, I’d feel fabulous. Confident. On top of the world. Then the same old dependency would rise up like a merciless sphinx and eat me whole. I would not be its victim anymore. I had things to live for: a career, a beautiful home.
At least… I did.
Now I needed to re-evaluate my life.
Pain was my new middle name. Pippa acted as nurse, administering me vitamins, Tylenol, liters of mineral water, bowls of chicken soup, bananas for potassium, Imodium to stop the runs, and hot bath after hot bath of Epsom salts to sweat out the poisons. My head felt like it belonged to a giant. My stomach a vomiting, retching gargoyle. I hoped my liver was okay.
I had lost track of time, but at least a week must have gone by.
Pippa laid a wet washcloth on my forehead. “You’ve got to hold on in there, darling. In a couple of weeks, you’ll be your old self again. Then you can start going to AA or NA meetings. Maybe a trip to England would be a good idea. When you’re better you can work on getting those nasty people out of your house.”
I mulled all this over in my scrambled-egg mind as I lay in bed, in Pippa’s lovely spare bedroom, my eyes focused on the red and green parrots darting about on her pretty French wallpaper. It was only now, away from Cliffside, away from the nightmare of the triplets, and clean for the first time in ages—without mood changers flowing through my veins—that I could be objective.
“Your old self,” Pippa had said. What or who was my old self? I didn’t even know anymore. In any case, I didn’t want my old self back. I wanted a new self. Someone strong. A person who could hold her own against bullies, against people parading as friends, who, in the end, always wanted something from me. Against men who knew what was best for me, the “protectors” of my world. Every time I had trusted someone, a man, in particular, he had shown me he had his own selfish agenda. My father, my husband. Like the wedges of cash and Juan’s dodgy dealings with his VIP client, I had blocked my ears and eyes to it.
Hear no evil, see no evil.
I could only blame myself.
From now on I’d be in control of my own destiny. I would not be a victim anymore.
Forty-Six
Pippa had gone shopping for the day. Humming tunes all morning, she was obviously thrilled to get out of the house. Looking after me all this time must have made her feel like a prisoner in her own home.