Angela Morrison - Sing Me to Sleep

He doesn’t argue, lets me kiss him again. And again. And again.

There’s a sound at the door, and I jump up, flushed and breathless.

His mom, followed by a solid man about Derek’s height with silver and dark-brown hair, enters the room. My face burns and my antiperspirant fails.

“Hey, Dad.” Derek relaxes back on his pillows as if they didn’t just walk in on us making out in Derek’s hospital bed. “Meet Beth.”

His dad nods at me and winks. Why do these people like me so much? He actually walks over to me and kisses me on the cheek. “Welcome to the team.” He squeezes my elbow and smiles Derek’s melting smile.

His dad turns to Derek and raises an eyebrow. “Rough night?”

Derek reaches for my hand. “Slept like a baby.”

His mom takes up station on the other side of the bed. She examines his empty bag of formula on his feeding IV pole. “Did you take your meds yet?”

“No, Mum. You even beat Meg here.”

“She’s late.” She goes off to find the nurse.

His dad sits down in my chair.

Derek puts the head of his bed up again. “How was work?”

His dad shrugs. “The usual.”

I retreat into the bathroom. When I come back out, his mom is back with Meg and lots of pills. Derek dutifully swallows everything.

His mom notices me standing back by the closet. “I’m going to take Beth home while you get your therapy out of the way. Dad’s staying.”

I don’t want to leave. “Can’t I?”

Derek gets comfortable with his hands behind his head, challenging me to throw that fit I threatened.

“You get some rest, young lady.” His dad can’t help yawning. He picks up the vest and shakes it out.

“I don’t need to rest. Aren’t you tired?”

He shakes his head.

“Come on, Beth.” His mom puts her arm around my waist. “You’ve done enough for now.”

“I want—”

“We’ve got so much to talk about.”

I glance over her head back at Derek. He puts his hand over his eyes and shakes his head.

I stick my tongue out at him. “If that’s the case—sure.”

“When will you be back?” There’s an anxious note in his voice that makes my heart flip.

I glance at his mom.

“A couple hours.”

He points at his mom. “Don’t scare her off.”

His mom makes me phone mine on the drive to his house. My mom doesn’t yell at me, but she says I have to come home tonight and go to school tomorrow.

“But—this is an emergency. I need to stay with him.”

Derek’s mom puts her hand out for the phone. I obey.

“We’ll make sure she gets there. No, no. It shouldn’t be late. She’s been wonderful. All right. Good-bye.” She hands me back my cell.

I slip it into my bag. I don’t dare argue. She’s in control and wants me to know it. “I wasn’t wonderful last night—more like a disaster. Why are you making this so easy for me?”

“He says he loves you. Do you love my son?”

I nod.

“Then why wouldn’t I do everything I can to keep you around? I need an ally.”

“Against him?”

“For him. When he was almost five, a doctor told me he would only last two, maybe three more years. I’ve been fighting since then to prove that man wrong.”

“Derek—resists?”

We get stopped at a red light. “He fought therapy and meds when he was little. Fed his formula to the dog—stuff like that. But that’s all second nature now. He resists in other ways—dangerous ways. For a while it was girls. Then he got together with a nice girl in his choir. But he still needed to rebel. His entire life is drugs—so he didn’t go down that road.” The light turns green. She steps on the gas.

“How could you let him get that motorcycle?”

“He’s nineteen.” She shudders. “His dad was for it. What could I do?”

“He was crazy in Switzerland.”

“Ever seen him on a skateboard?”

Stupid adrenaline. “You should have—”

“Tied him up?”

“Padded cell.”

She puts on her left turn signal. “I caught myself looking forward to his hospital stays so I could watch him round the clock.” She makes the turn and shoots me a grim smile.

“The lockup?”

She nods. “But lately he’s taking living seriously.” She glances away from the road. “Thank you.”

“Me?” I roll my eyes and fling my head back against the neck rest. “I got everything so wrong.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I need to help.”

“You already did.” She reaches over and pats my knee. “Last night I was a thousand miles past exhausted—but how could I leave him? And then there you were. Derek’s angel.”

“I didn’t act like an angel.”

She laughs. “I had to take his word for it.” She focuses on the road, drives, silent for a moment. “Derek should not have played with your happiness like this. Not many girls would have stayed. It will get painful.”

“It can’t be worse than not knowing.”

“It can, Beth.” Her eyes catch mine. “It will.”

I draw into myself—refuse to hear her. He’s going to be fine.

We arrive at a small two-story house in a little town west of London. Derek’s bike is pulled up by the side door. We both shoot it nasty looks on our way into the house. She takes me in through the laundry room stacked with dirty clothes—like I’m a part of the family—and into an open kitchen and family room. There’s a waist-high, long black table, narrow and set on a downward slant behind the couch.

She notices me staring at it. “The vest needs help some days. I used to pound on the poor kid forty-five minutes four times a day to get him to cough up that gunk in his lungs. You can imagine how much he liked that.”

Cases of formula sit on the kitchen counter. She opens the dishwasher, and it’s full of all kinds of medical stuff. She finds a couple mugs in there. “You hop into the shower, and I’ll make us some cocoa.” She directs me to Derek’s room. “Don’t mind the mess.”

I wade through his dirty clothes, stop at the foot of his unmade bed, stare at his body’s imprint. There’s an IV pole next to the bed with clothes thrown over it. His computer is almost buried in papers and stacks of sheet music. On the way to the bathroom, I stub my toe on a keyboard floating in the mess. The bathroom is clean enough. His mom must have got it ready for me. I doubt Derek left those fresh towels laid out on the counter last time he was in here.

I take off my borrowed scrubs and get into his shower. The hot water feels so good. I’ve got tears and sweat and snot dried all over me. My hair is caked with hairspray from my performance updo. I find more pins while I wash my hair with his shampoo. I lather up with his soap, scrub until I’m tingling fresh, and rinse it all down the drain. The smell of him lingers on my skin even after I towel down.

My jeans are in my bag, so I put them on. I forego undies. Not usually my style, but the ones I peeled off are nasty. The bra is fine for another day, but my pink T-shirt is stained and crusty. Gross. What was I thinking? I borrow a white one from a folded pile on top of Derek’s dresser. His mom doesn’t mention it when I go back out.

My hair dries into a frizz while I sit in their kitchen and sip cocoa with marshmallows.

His mom leans across her steaming mug. “Tell me how you met—and everything. If I ask Derek, he’ll just grunt.”

I blow on my cocoa and try to figure out where to start.

“Please?” Her eyebrows lift. “It isn’t true what they say about mothers. We don’t hate our sons’ girlfriends. The sleazy ones—maybe. But we’re mostly delighted and a little startled when a wonderful girl loves our son. And relieved the son is smart enough to love her back. I’m grateful, Beth.”