Thank God. Relief hit her hard. So much so that she felt the lack of the lunch she’d skipped and the dinner she hadn’t yet eaten, in the form of a light-headedness that took her breath for a moment.
Sandy was going to be fine. Her heart was fine.
She’d been scared. So scared.
The doctor was watching her. And Lucy took a firm grip on emotions that had been declaring war on her all week.
“How do BALs rise so high?” She asked the only question that she could grasp at the moment. She was a cop. She knew about legal limits. She’d tested more drunk drivers than she could count. And had never, ever seen anyone with levels higher than two or three times the legal limit.
“By consuming large amounts of alcohol in a very short period of time.” Dr. Sherman folded his hands on the table in front of him, his expression softening to one of…she hoped it wasn’t pity.
But was fairly certain that it was.
“We’re talking the equivalent of twenty-one or more shots of eighty proof in a five- or six-hour span.”
For Sandy, consuming an entire fifth in an evening wasn’t all that unusual. If she could get hold of one without Lucy or Marie knowing about it.
Which meant that not only had her mother had a stash, but she’d pretty much downed it all at once. Like she’d been drinking a bottle of water.
“It’s my fault,” she said aloud. Registering the sympathy on the doctor’s face, she added, “I made her face something this week that was too much for her. She told me, but I wouldn’t listen.”
Sloan Wakerby’s imprisonment wasn’t worth losing Sandy over. If her mother couldn’t testify, then she couldn’t testify. Lucy wasn’t going to push her anymore.
Or was it knowing that the man sat there in jail, with full knowledge of where Allie was without telling them, that was too much for Sandy to handle?
“It was your quick thinking, calling an ambulance for her as soon as you saw the state she was in, that saved her life.”
“She was having trouble breathing and showing all the signs of a heart attack.”
At forty-five. Sandy might drink a lot, but she was always there for Lucy. Always. Lucy couldn’t imagine it any other way.
“We’ve got her on an IV, fluids and vitamins, and she’s fully stable. As a precaution, I’m also keeping her on oxygen for the night. As soon as the alcohol has cleared her system, she can go home. Maybe as early as tomorrow morning.”
The constriction that had ahold of her throat was loosening. “I’d like to stay with her tonight, if that could be arranged.”
“Not a problem. Would you like me to write an order for a cot? Or there’s a reclining chair in the room.”
“The chair will be fine. Can I see her now?”
“We’re waiting for a room number. As soon as we get one, we’ll let you know and you can meet her up there.”
She’d be with Sandy soon. All would be well again. “Thank you, Doctor.”
Lucy wondered why they were still sitting there. Why wasn’t the man going about his next order of business?
Dr. Sherman looked up from what she assumed was her mother’s chart. “I see that your mother’s been through rehabilitation?”
“Yes, sir,” Lucy said quickly. “Several times. She wants to be well, Doctor, and I understand that that’s half the battle. You can rest assured that Marie, her caregiver, and I will be incredibly diligent from here on out. We won’t leave her alone at all.”
Dr. Sherman was shaking his head before she was finished speaking. “Your mother needs to be committed, Ms. Hayes. I’m sorry, but there’s just no easy way to say that. She needs to be in an assisted-living facility with locks on the doors and twenty-four-hour supervision for at least six months. Probably a year or longer.”
“You want me to lock her up?” Sandy was grief-stricken, not crazy.
“Those alcohol clinics are expensive and obviously not enough for your mother. My experience tells me that a program isn’t going to work for her. She needs something that lasts much longer—that doesn’t just dry her out, but that keeps her out of contact with any possibility of alcohol for a much more extended period of time. Assisted living, if I prescribe it, will be covered under your insurance.”
Lucy folded her hands on the table, too. “I appreciate your concern, Doctor, but I am not going to have my mother committed.”
She didn’t have a medical degree, but she knew Sandy. And it didn’t matter if they locked her mother up for ten years. If Allie was still missing, Sandy would take a drink the first time she was out. To fill the pain of her daughter’s absence.