Page 3 of Poisoned Promise
“I don’t care about Michael,” I snap. “What happened to my son?!”
“He was pulled from a car wreck. He’s a little banged up and bruised and he did break his arm, so we’ll need the details of your insurance as soon as you can provide them. Someone from Social Services will also be paying you a visit.”
“Social Services?” I stop dead while the doctor keeps walking to the next door and lays her hand on the handle.
“Of course,” she replies with a smile. “Two fourteen-year-old boys were joyriding in the middle of the night. There will be some tough questions to answer.”
Shit.
Social Services is one thing but something like this?
She hasn’t said it but I can tell by the look in her eyes that she’s already called the cops.
That faint shadow that exists in the eye of someone who thinks I’m a bad mother, a terrible parent for being unable to keep control of my teenage son, who, in his infinite wisdom, has decided that pushing the boundaries of our carefully crafted existence is the smartest thing he can do.
I brush past her and into the room where the sight of my son, Alex, sitting up in bed, finally eases a fraction of the tightness in my chest.
“Alex!”
“Mom!” He lifts his brown eyes to mine and they immediately flood with tears. “I’m so sorry!”
“What the hell were you thinking?!” I snap loudly, causing the nurse working on Alex’s cast to flinch in fright. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? Oh my god!” Rushing forward, I reach his bedside and draw him tightly into my arms while my heart punches up into my throat.
He’s alive.
He’s alive and that’s all that matters.
“I’m sorry,” Alex wails. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
Cradling him close, pain clogs my throat so I don’t speak and instead gaze up at the off-white tiles on the ceiling.
A hundred questions rush through my mind and worry clashes with anger that threatens to boil over, but underneath there’s an undercurrent of hopelessness.
These past couple of years, Alex has really thrown himself into his troublesome teens.
Fighting at school, skipping class, stealing from the market and now this?
Parenting doesn’t come with a handbook and having no one to lean on means all of this?
It’s my fault.
Alex’s tears soak into my shirt, and I hold him close while the nurse finishes dressing the cast and quickly explains that we’ll need to be back in a few weeks for a check-up.
Then she leaves with the doctor, and as silence weighs heavily in the room, I draw back from Alex and sit on the edge of the bed.
“What the hell were you thinking?”
“It wasn’t supposed to go like this,” Alex mutters, his face darkening now that his initial tears of fear and upset had subsided.
“Which part? Sneaking out in the middle of the night? Are you trying to get yourself killed?!”
“No!” He protests. “We were just joyrid?—.”
“Joyriding?!” Anger fizzes beneath my ribs and I stand abruptly, pacing away from his bed. “Are you fucking kidding me Alex? Do you have any idea how terrifying it was to wake up to that call and find you gone?”
“You weren’t supposed to find out,” he mutters.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have crashed the fucking car then, should you?”
