Page 143 of Such Sharp Teeth

“It’ll be okay. It’s not that bad, I promise,” Ash says. They do our best friend handshake. “You got this.”

“You’re leaving?” I ask Ash.

“Yeah,” she says. “They don’t allow more than three people in here. Even if they did, Scarlett doesn’t need an audience.”

“That’s correct,” Scarlett says.

“Love you,” Ash says, waving and blowing kisses on her way out.

“Bye, sweetheart!” Mom says. When Ash is out of sight, Mom turns to me. “I had to call her to babysit you.”

“Me? Why?” I ask as the room spins.

“You can barely stand! Come, sit.”

“I’m good,” I say, propping myself up against the wall. I attempt a cool-guy lean.

“How you doin’?” I ask Scarlett.

She winces.

“Sorry,” I tell her.

She grabs the side of the bed.

“You’re all right, honey,” Mom says, standing. “You’re all right. Breathe through it.”

I feel utterly useless.

“I’m okay,” Scarlett says, still wincing. “Rory, can you get my speaker? It’s in my bag. I wanted to have some music on.”

“Sure,” I say. When I lean down to reach for it, I get so dizzy, I almost fall over.

“I’ll get it,” Mom says.

Scarlett plugs her phone in, and soon there’re the Ronettes singing “Be My Baby.”

Mom sings along. I join in, then Scarlett. We’re rusty; it’s been a long time since we sang together. We used to sing all the time. In the car. While making dinner, washing dishes, folding clothes, pulling weeds. The three of us.

We still sound pretty good, I think.

When the song is over, we smile at one another and applaud.

“The Morris Girls!” Mom says.

“The Morris Girls,” Scarlett and I echo.

And it’s all downhill from there.

—

It’s agonizing to watch. Scarlett writhes in bed, attempting to stifle her screams in the hospital pillow. Mom keeps telling her to breathe. Matty stands there holding ice chips, looking panic-stricken. His hand shakes, and the ice rattles around in the cup.

I can’t tell if the music is helping or making things worse. Right now Scarlett is on her side, silently crying while “Once in a Lifetime” by the Talking Heads plays.

And you may ask yourself, “Well, how did I get here?”

I may, David Byrne. I may.