In the Small Hours

Michelle Ryan sits in her bed, cigarette hanging from her mouth, back leaning on the headboard, fingernails clawing into the comforter. “Why doesn’t she call?” Her heart races, the thrum vibrates in her ears. “Where is she? God, I’m so sorry. I hope she’s all right.” Michelle tilts her head to the nightstand; a half glass of wine lies next to an empty bottle. Her eyes dig into the red numbers on her clock, 3:13 AM.

Michelle’s shaky hand reaches for the wineglass. The phone rings, disturbing the beat of her thumping heart. Her mouth opens, the cigarette sticks to her lip for a moment, and the butt falls from her mouth, landing on the bedding. She freezes. Another loud jangle chimes, Michelle’s body pops erect, and she grabs the cigarette before it smolders and snubs it out in an ashtray. Her arm darts forward to pick up the phone in the middle of the third ring, her breathing heavy. “Hello.”

“Ma.”

“Sam. Sammi, is that you?” She whispers not to wake her husband. “Where are you?” Michelle’s restless legs tap the mattress.

“Ma, you need to listen to me.”

“What is it, dear?” Her hand smooths the edges of the sheets.

“I love you. You know that, right? I’ll always love you.”

“Honey, is something wrong?” Her busy hand rubs a hip.

“I didn’t mean to say those things to you. You know that right.” Samantha sniffles. “I was selfish. There was a party, and I wanted to go.”

Michelle rises from the bed and paces the floor. “It’s okay Sam. Why don’t you come home? Everything’s fine. I love you too.” She grabs a wineglass from the nightstand and takes a sip.

“I can’t, ma. I’m in a little trouble.”

Michelle stamps over the rug to the window and pushes the drapes aside. “What’s wrong dear? Tell me. Did the car break down?” She peeks out the window, hoping to see her daughter outside. The street, sidewalks, and her yard are empty. Michelle Ryan rakes her hand through her hair, taking in a deep breath. “I’ll wake your father. He’ll pick you up. Where are you?”

“I’m not coming home, ma. I just need you to know I love you and I’m sorry I disappointed you.”

“No Sam. Everything’s fine. You should come home.” Michelle’s trepid body slinks across the bedroom, quiet as a mouse, and opens the door so it doesn’t squeak. “When I said never come back home, I didn’t mean it, you know that. Come home, please. I love you, it’s fine. Everything will be fine. Me and daddy, we love you, Sammi.”

“You’re not listening to me, ma. I can’t come home.”

Michelle trudges through the hallway. “You’re scaring me, Sam. You’re scaring me.” She enters her study. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“I went to a party to meet a boy. That’s why you and I fought. I needed to get out of the house, and I wanted to hang with him. I like him.”

Michelle’s body trembles, her intonation cracks, and the syllables break. “What’s his name, dear?”

“It doesn’t matter, ma. He got aggressive way too fast, and I wasn’t ready to do what he wanted. Nothing happened between us, ma, but it was depressing, and I had too much to drink.” A deep, thick sigh leaves Sam’s mouth. “And that’s how I got in trouble. There’s no more time, ma. I need you to understand why I called.”

“I’ll come and pick you up.”

“It’s too late ma.”

“Okay, dear. Come home in the morning.” Michelle slouches over her desk, her hair cascading over her face. She uses a hand to hold herself in place. “That’ll be fine.”

“My time’s running short, ma. I need you to understand.” A raspy tone overtakes Samantha’s voice.

“The morning, yes. I’ll make you pancakes. They’re your favorite.” She brushes away the tears. “I was thinking earlier, our trip to Maine. Remember that honey? Your first time on skis? The snowsuit hung off your body, but you had a large radiant smile. How adorable.”

“I feel funny, ma. My body, my body isn’t…”

“You’re drunk dear. You just told me that, remember? I love you. Come home in the morning.”

“Floating. There’s too much light. Something’s not right. It’s weird. My body.” Sam’s speech is now hoarse. “I love you, ma. I called to tell you I love you. You need to know that. I won’t be coming home. I’m…”

“Samantha. Samantha. Honey. Are you there? Samantha, you’re scaring me. Hello? Hello?” Michelle looks at the phone. She presses the talk button three times. There’s a dial tone. “Honey, are you there? Damn thing disconnected.” She looks up, quivering hands cover her face. “Oh, honey, where are you?”

Michelle skulks back into her bedroom. She stares at her husband, peaceful in his rest. She lays in bed, covers herself with the blankets, and puffs her pillow. “Tomorrow. I can make it until tomorrow. Sammi will be home in the morning.” She crosses her arms, a cradle against her chest. “If only I knew the last time I picked you up off the floor and held you would be…” Tears fill her eyes. “Sammi, you grew too fast.” Michelle takes a long breath.

A loud peal echoes through the darkness. Michelle jumps and picks up the phone. “Samantha,” she yells into the receiver. “Where are you?”

“Mrs. Ryan. Michelle Ryan.”

“Yes. Who is this? You know what time it is?”

“Mrs. Ryan, I am Sargent Phillips, Brooksville Police Department. I’m afraid there’s been an accident involving your daughter. Can you come to the station?”

She rolls her legs over the side of the bed and sits. “What? Is something wrong?”

“Please, you need to come to the station.”

“Why?” Her brows pull together. “I just talked to her. Are you arresting my daughter? She’s only a teenager, you know? A couple of drinks, that’s what she had.”

“Ma’am, please.”

Michelle picks up the glass of wine from her nightstand. “I talked to her a minute ago. Samantha’s fine.” She empties the glass and swallows.

“I understand you’re in shock.”

“Put my daughter on the phone.” She stands, face red.

“Mrs. Ryan. The station please.”

Michelle’s husband, Timothy, rubs his eyes and sits. “Mish, what’s going on, honey?”

“Put my daughter on the phone now.” She throws the glass against the wall and pulls at her hair.

“I can’t do that, Mrs. Ryan.”

“Why not?” Her fist clenches around the phone, the plastic creaks. “She’s a minor and I demand to speak with her.”

“Mrs. Ryan, your daughter Samantha died on impact over a half-hour ago.”