I was a terrible person, just like everyone had tried to tell me for years.
I pulled the car over to the side of the road and jumped out, barely making it into the trees before I began throwing up. At first, I assumed it was the guilt that had upset me to the point of nausea, but then the vomiting didn’t stop.
Sam had rushed over to help, which basically consisted of gently rubbing my back until I squawked about wet wipes in the glove compartment.
He brought the wipes and a bottle of water which helped me scrape together a tiny speck of dignity again.
Eventually, I was too weak to keep leaning over, so I moved to a cleaner spot and sat down in a heap. Sam looked horrified, but I quickly realized he was scared for me.
“Let me call an ambulance,” he said.
I shook my head weakly. “No. I’m fine.”
That bold-faced lie was almost enough to surprise a laugh out of me. Instead, I closed my eyes and groaned as another wave of nausea rushed over me in a cold, clammy sweat.
“What have you eaten?” he asked.
I thought back to the tuna sandwich I’d had for lunch which was a graphic enough memory to bring up another harsh attempt at emptying my stomach.
“Oh, shit, baby,” Sam said, realizing what he’d done. “I’m sorry. Horrible question, never mind.”
After it was clear the bad stomach wasn’t simply a delayed hangover, I admitted maybe I did need to go to the hospital. Sam found a couple of plastic shopping bags in the car from the stuff he’d purchased at the home store, and we made a makeshift vomit receptacle for me before getting back into the car.
At this point, the only thing still coming up was bile, but I was making such horrific noises, I wouldn’t have been surprised if Sam had dropped me off at the ER and bolted back to Rockley Lodge.
Of course, he did the opposite. He carried me inside the hospital and demanded I be seen as soon as possible. Thankfully, the emergency room wasn’t very crowded, and we were shown to an empty bed in one of the triage bays fairly quickly. Throughout the whole time, Sam kept a tight grip on my hand.
“Hi, my name is Summer Waites, and I’ll be taking care of you this evening,” a young nurse said. She had the same dirty-blonde hair as her brother. We’d met a couple of times, but I wasn’t sure if she’d remember. “I hear you’ve been vomiting.” She bustled around the bed to take my vitals.
“You’re Winter’s brother,” I said.
She grinned, revealing a dimple. “Sister, but yeah.”
I felt my face heat. “Sorry. Brain not working.”
She reached for my hand and squeezed it as she took my temperature with the other. “That’s okay, sweetie. We’ve met a few times. You own the spice shop and a particularly sweet bow tie collection, if I’m not mistaken.”
At the reminder of the shop, I felt another lurch in my stomach. Things were not going my way.
Sam chuckled. “How come I haven’t seen any of your bow ties yet?”
Summer told him he’d have to stick around long enough to see them, and then she turned to me. “Truman, did you take any medicines or strange substances today?” When I spent too long thinking about it, she turned to Sam. “Is he under the influence of any pharmaceuticals that you’re aware of?”
Sam shook his head. “I don’t think so. He prefers homeopathic remed… wait.” He brushed my hair back from my face where it was damp from cold sweat. I felt like an ugly mess. “Have you taken any of your herbal supplements or teas today?”
I remembered telling Sam the other night about the various homeopathic teas I made. He’d asked a ton of questions and listened with active interest as I’d told him all about the ancient stories that went along with the healing properties of many of the botanical elements. “Nothing.”
I really didn’t want to be alone right now. I felt vulnerable and lost, wrong-footed and untethered. Everything that had seemed within my grasp only a couple of days before was suddenly nothing but a poisonous fog.
My friendship with Mikey and Tiller would end as soon as they discovered my culpability in the December hit-and-run. Same with the affectionate paternal relationship I’d always had with Pim and Bill. Obviously I couldn’t rely on Barney anymore, and I even felt like Chaya might feel differently about me when she found out about the secrets I’d been keeping.
Sam’s face was tense with worry. “Anything else you ate that you can think of?”
He was so sweet. No one had treated me with such careful attention and concern before. Well… maybe Barney, but his attention had been suffocating. But why was Sam being so nice to me when I was a horrible person?