Page 27 of Bourbon Girl: part 5 of 6
I closed my eyes again, exhaustion pulling at me. My stomach ached. My throat burned. My head throbbed. And somewhere in the back of my mind, a question formed:
Had Marilyn tried to help me, or had she tried to kill me?
November 25, Tuesday
evaporation lossthe natural reduction of liquid due to aging conditions
THE COTin my van had never felt so uncomfortable. Every position triggered nausea or cramping, reminders of the poison that had ravaged my system less than twenty-four hours ago. The hospital had released me that morning with stern warnings about rest, hydration, and watching for recurring symptoms. Tracy had driven me back to the campground, helped me into my van, and promised to check on me every few hours.
Now I lay curled on my side, staring at the metal wall six inches from my face, trying to decide if the queasiness was leftover doll's eye toxicity or just hunger. I hadn't eaten since before the tea, and the thought of food made my stomach rebel.
My phone rang, the sound jarring in the cramped space. Keith Banyon's name appeared on the screen.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Bernadette." He cleared his throat. "Listen, I need to talk to you about Thursday. About Thanksgiving."
"Okay."
"Kirsten and I talked," Keith continued. "And she's... concerned. About having you come to dinner. She thinks it might give our daughters the wrong impression."
"The wrong impression," I repeated quietly.
"They might wonder if you're—if I could be—" He struggled with the words. "They know you're searching for your father. If we invite you to our family Thanksgiving, they might wonder if I'm that person. And I'm not. We both know I'm not."
"I know."
"Kirsten's worried about causing confusion or pain. Our girls are at that age where they read something into everything." His voice carried genuine regret. "My family means too much to me to cause them that kind of worry or doubt. I hope you can understand."
I closed my eyes, pressing them shut against the burning sensation. Of course I understood. Keith had his own family, his own life, his own priorities. I was a complication he'd tried to help, but helping me couldn't come at the cost of his daughters' peace of mind.
"I understand completely," I said, keeping my voice steady through sheer force of will. "Please don't worry about it. I appreciate the invitation."
"I'm really sorry, Bernadette. If circumstances were different—"
"It's fine. Really."
"Are you sure? Do you have somewhere else to go for the holiday?"
Lie or truth? I chose the easier path. "Yes. I have other plans."
"Okay. Good. I'm glad." He sounded relieved. "I do want to stay in touch, though. If you need anything, or if you want to talk about your mom, you can always call."
"Thank you, Keith."
"Take care of yourself."
We said our goodbyes and I set the phone down on the narrow shelf beside my cot. For a long moment, I just lay there, staring at nothing, feeling the weight of rejection settle over me like a blanket.
Then the tears came.
Not dramatic sobs, just quiet tears sliding down my face and soaking into the thin pillow. I cried for the family I'd never had and the father I couldn't find and the connections that keptslipping through my fingers no matter how hard I tried to hold on.
November 26, Wednesday
tanninsnatural compounds from oak that impart structure and bitterness
THE TOURbus rolled into Goldenrod's parking area and I felt my entire body tense. I'd been dreading this stop all morning, knowing Dylan would be working inside. My stomach still ached from the poisoning, and I wasn't strong enough for another confrontation.
