Notecards resting in my lap, I had a bowl of soup in front of me that I could neither smell nor taste. “Hello?”
“Hey tootsie, you got a minute?” It’s rare that my Dad ever sounds so serious on the phone. In fact most of the voicemails he leaves are just him singing songs with my name in it. Sarah Maria. Sarah Smile. Sarah-Sarah, no time is a good time for goodbye.
“Mhmm,” my stomach suddenly felt encased in stone. I waited for him to say my brother’s name, but it didn’t come.
“It’s little Scotty. He’s on life support.” My cousin Scott was seventeen years old.
“We don’t know what happened yet. He went out with friends in the city last night. Sometime late he was brought to Baptist and then transferred to Oschner ICU. They didn’t get ahold of Scott til noon today.” Scott is Scotty’s father, my Dad’s brother. “His liver is failing. They’ve said something about possibly drugs—ecstasy, but he’s all beat up. I hardly recognize him.” He heard me sniffle. “I’m