Chapter 27: XII. Colder-2

I couldn't make out what my mom was saying. But her tone was angry. It reminded me of my dream the other night. I slipped back out of consciousness and I couldn't hear anything else. *** I felt something cool on my forehead. I blinked a few times and my vision focused. I was in my living room. Mom was sitting beside me with a concerned look on her face. She was dabbing my forehead with a cool cloth. "Oh, honey, you're awake!" she exclaimed. "I was this close to taking you to the emergency room." I tried to lift my head. I didn't have a headache. I was just really foggy. "Here." Mom handed me a glass of water. "Next best to IV fluids." I obediently took the glass and drank thirstily. "What happened?" I asked her. "You passed out on the beach," she told me. "You're dehydrated. Did you drink much yesterday? I've been racking my brain but I can't remember if I saw you drinking anything. Not even the coffee at the salon." I remembered running. I didn't think I remembered passing out. I finished my glass of water and Mom poured me another from the pitcher she had on the coffee table. "Where's Shea?" I asked. I immediately looked to our kitchen and dining room, but he wasn't standing there. Had he gone outside? Mom frowned. "He was never here," she replied. No, that can't be right. "I heard him," I insisted. "I came to for a bit, and I heard his voice." I was certain of it. Mom shook her head. "No, hon, you must have been dreaming." I wasn't dreaming. Shea and Mom had been talking. Arguing, even. They sounded just like they did in the dream I had the other night. Well, then … maybe I had been dreaming? "Then how did I get here? You can't have carried me here all the way from the beach!" I was getting emotional. I had been certain I had heard Shea's voice. I had been certain he was here, for me, and everything was okay. Shea had to have been the one who found me on the beach and brought me back home. "Oh, Sara, you've seen those videos online of those moms who can lift cars off of their children. I went looking for you after you weren't answering your phone and I found you down the other end of the beach," Mom said fluidly. She rubbed my arm comfortingly. "You've had a hard start to the day, hon. Just rest, drink your water. I want that pitcher gone before half twelve." Half twelve? "What time is it now?" I asked her. Mom check her watch. "Eleven forty-five," she replied. Smiling, she got up, and went into the kitchen. I heard her filling up the coffee pot with beans. I stared at the glass of water in my hands. I can't have dreamed that. I sounded so real. I spied Mom out of the corner of my eye flitting about the kitchen. She wouldn't lie, would she? I didn't want to call my mom a liar, but I wasn't crazy. I hadn't imagined Shea being here. I wasn't concussed. I didn't have a head injury she could blame hallucinations on. The argument I heard today sounded just like the argument I dreamt on Friday night. But it got me wondering, what if it hadn't been a dream? What if there really had been an argument between my mom and Shea on Friday night? I found myself going over the words my mom had used in my "dream". She accused Shea of being dangerous. She didn't want me around his "lot". Was that supposed to be his friends? Did she think he was in a gang? Mom kept emphasising I wasn't like him. Like what? He's a guy and I'm a girl? I went over and over the words she used in my head, and the only thing that made sense to me was that my mom had beat him down to the point where he wouldn't come around anymore. I didn't want to believe it, but it could explain everything. I kept watching her out of the corner of my eye. Something was sticking out to me in and amongst the dozens of theories that were now swimming around in my head. Mom knew something. Mom knew something about Shea that she didn't want me to know. The way she had been berating Shea said more than it just being a simple fear of teen pregnancy. She was genuinely worried for my safety. Something else was sticking out to me. She had said, "You can't even protect yourself!" What was that supposed to mean? Why would she say something like that? My head, like it had been on the beach, was racing a million miles an hour. Why had Shea been at my house at that time of night? What reason would he have to speak to my mom at that time if were not an emergency? And what kind of emergency, what kind of desperation, would take him to my mom in the middle of the night? She was a doctor, too, and not just my mother. Had … had Shea been hurt? I looked over at my mom again, and she had disappeared into the laundry room. For the first time in my life, the person I trusted most was not my mom. She was lying to me, and I was going to find out what about. I threw off the blanket that she had covered me with and grabbed my car keys from the table near the front door. I was already out the door and in my car before I heard Mom yell in protest. I couldn't help but cry as I drove. What the actual fuck had happened to my life in this past week? Everything seemed so simple in New York. I went to school, I got good grades, and I was all set for getting into a good college. I had a great relationship with my mom, and we were a team. And now, after moving to her home town, everything had gone to shit. Mom had changed. I had changed. I had learned there was more to life than college prep and homework. Meeting Shea had stirred something inside of me that I hadn't known was there. I was opened to a whole new world of experiences that I had previously shut myself off from. I wasn't about to let my mom take that away from me without a fight. It took me driving past Sally's to realise that I had no idea where I was going. I only knew one address from Shea's group of friends, and I started towards Zoey's house without hesitation. Zoey's house, or mansion, looked much different in the daylight. Or rather, much cleaner when there wasn't cups, vomit, and food littering their front yard. I parked in front of her gate and was grateful when I found that it was unlocked. I quickly jogged up to her front door with no shame and knocked loudly. I then realised that there was a doorbell by the pot plant on the porch. I pressed it, and a loud, traditional chime sounded.