Good Girls Have Secrets

Chapter 29

At the hospital, I feel better, but I don't tell them. Instead, I nod or shrug when the doctor asks me questions. I could answer, but I don't want to.

Admitting me for the night, once again I'm wearing a horrible paper-thin gown. Drawing my blood and sticking me with an IV, they conclude I'm severely dehydrated.

Sitting in the room, my body hums. The sound of a cup dropping in the hall, sends shock waves through my body, putting me on edge. Wishing I could take a sleeping pill, I'm on the edge of losing it. One more step and I will be completely crazy.

I recall my car packed with my belongings at the Union, the folder of papers in the backseat, and the fact that I haven't even called Isabella to see if I can stay with her. Rocking back and forth, I bury my face in my pillow to muffle my screams.

I can't do any of this. I can't take care of myself let alone a baby, bills, furniture, food, an apartment. All I do is mess up. I don't have any friends. I ruin everything. I'm tired. Tired of everything.

Hearing the door open, Aunt Beth peaks in, asking, "Can I come in?" Taking one look at me she says, "Oh honey, are you okay?"

Shaking my head, no, the tears start to fall again. "I...I...I can't do this."

"Can't do what?" She asks confused.

Waving my hands around like a crazy person, I sob, "Any of this. My life. I can't do it anymore."

Pulling me into a hug, she tugs on the IV line, when she sits on the bed, causing me to jump. "I'm so sorry." She scoots the line out of the way. Stroking my head, she coos, "It's going to be okay. You're going to get through this."

"No, I'm not. Everything is a mess." I cry into her shoulder.

"Let me pray over you." Feeling the warmth of her breath on my head, her words vibrate through me. "God. Please help Maddie to believe that nothing is impossible with you. That you are going to help her through this. Remind her how much I love her. That you love her."

She continues to pray, but I'm not listening anymore. I just let out all my tears on her shoulder. I'm surprised by the moans and wails that come out of me. I hear her say amen and then whisper, "Let it out. Just get it all out." It's like years of pain flow out of me all at once.

When I'm finally done, I lean back, sniffling, "Can you hand me that box of tissues?" Looking at the wet marks on Aunt Beth's shirt, I try to wipe it away. "I'm sorry I soaked your shirt."

Looking down, she smiles, "It's okay."

Wiping my nose, I sniffle. "Thank you. I feel a lot better."

"Good." She pulls up my IV hand, which is quite bruised. "Does it hurt?"

"A little, but not bad." Then I ask, "Did they tell you what's wrong with me?"

The look in her eye changes. Like she doesn't want to tell me. She finally says, "Let me talk to the nurse to see when the doctor will be down. I don't want to explain it wrong."

Feeling nervous, I can't help but wonder if they think I have cancer or something. Or maybe there's something wrong with my heart. Do I need surgery?

A few minutes later, Aunt Beth returns with the doctor I saw earlier. I guess the doctor to be in her early thirties. She's not very pretty. It appears she's more of the intellectual type. Her kind smile puts me at ease. There's something about her voice that's soothing.

"Maddie. You're looking better. How are you feeling?" She pulls out her stethoscope and listens to my heart.

"I'm feeling a little better. What's wrong with me?"