Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 108905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
“I’ve got security on the premises,” I explained to the operator, while Neil scoffed as though I were having the worst overreaction in the history of overreactions. “I called them.”
“Are you in a gated residence?” the operator asked. Only in the Hamptons would that question be on the tip of a 911 operator’s tongue.
“We are, hang on!” I hit the intercom and shouted, “I need the gate open, right now!”
“Yes, Ms. Scaife,” the nightshift guy said immediately.
“Sophie, just stop!” Neil patted the air with his hands, gesturing for me to calm down. “Let’s talk about this.”
“Stay on the phone with me, ma’am,” the operator instructed.
“God damn it, listen to me, Sophie!” Neil shouted, and I flinched. We’d had arguments before. We’d had shouting fights. But not like this. He looked like he hated me.
Then, all that fight left him, either from the pills or his desperation. “Please, just let me do this. Please. Please.”
“Ma’am, if you are in danger, I want you to move to a room with a lock on the door.”
Was she fucking kidding me? I was supposed to just walk away and let my husband kill himself? I honestly didn’t think he would do anything to me. But if he wanted to try, I’d go down fighting for him.
“For god’s sake, Sophie, I am not suicidal! Hang up the phone!” he ordered.
“You’re not suicidal? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Ma’am?” a voice asked outside the door. Probably one of our security guys. “Is everything all right?”
“No!” I called back. Into the phone, I said to the operator, “Look, I have a baby in the house. I’m going to hand you off to a member of our security staff, and he’ll stay on the phone with you.”
I didn’t wait for her to give me permission. I opened the door and let our guys inside. “I need you to stay on the line with 911, and watch Neil until they get here. Can you do that for me?”
The guy looked nervously to Neil. Of course, because he was where the money was coming from. But Neil just rolled his eyes and said, “If it’s going to make her feel better, you might as well come in.”
I glowered at him and shoved my phone at the security guy. Ugh, how awful was it that I didn’t remember his name?
That wasn’t really my main concern at the time. I hated to bother Mariposa when I’d given her the night off but I hurried to her room, one door down from the nursery, and knocked. “Mariposa? Are you up?”
I shouldn’t have expected her to be, given the hour, but I still held out hope that I wasn’t waking her. I had to knock again before I heard her shuffling to the door. She opened it, blinking, her hair up in bantu knots and her feet in fluffy penguin slippers. “Is everything okay?”
“No,” I stated firmly. “I’m really sorry to ask you to do this, because it’s your night off, but I need you to take care of Olivia. Neil is…” What did I say? Neil is suicidal? Neil is being taken in by the police? Nothing sounded good. “Neil is really sick, and he needs to go to the hospital.”
“Oh, my god.” She crossed herself and put her hand over the crucifix necklace she wore. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Just take care of Olivia,” I said, because there really was nothing she could do. There wasn’t anything that anybody could do.
“It’s no trouble,” she assured me. I gave her grateful nod, but I couldn’t speak. I was too muddled.
I careened back to the bedroom and ran into two police officers entering the foyer, led by security. Their car was parked outside, lights swirling. I heard sirens in the distance through the open door.
“Are you the one who called it in?” one of the cops asked brusquely as we followed the security guard toward the bedroom.
“Yes. I’m his wife.” Too late I thought of the advice I’d heard people dispense so often before. Never call the police when someone is having an episode. But I hadn’t called the police. I’d called for an ambulance, and they’d sent the police.
God, I hoped our money really would buy us a more compassionate response. I hated myself for thinking that way.
“Ambulance is right behind us,” the second officer said from behind me, and he sounded markedly less tense. “Is he conscious?”
“Yes, conscious. Not combative, I swear. He’s mad at me for calling for help, but—”
“Sophie!”
I spun, nearly knocking into the officer behind me, at the sound of my mom’s panicked voice. She was wrapped in her coat, her hair askew. Tony was behind her, in a t-shirt and pajama pants.
“What happened?” Mom asked. “Are you all right? Is it Olivia?”
“No, it’s not Olivia.” My chest ached. The pressure built and built and burst my lungs, forcing air through my vocal chords to blurt, “Neil tried to kill himself!”