Free Dumping Billy by Olivia Goldsmith Page A

Elliot finished for her.
    “And I’m the emotional one,” Brice said with an exaggerated sigh. “Somebody’s got to do it.”
    Kate had to get Bina home and onto her own couch before it became necessary to carry her. She knew once Bina was forced to stay here, Brice and Elliot would dig themselves in deeper. They were kind, but they couldn’t help Bina now, and Kate knew she had a big job to do.
    “You’re coming to my apartment,” she said. “It isn’t far, and you could use the fresh air.”
    “She’s welcome to stay here,” Elliot offered, and Kate knew his kindness was mixed with equal parts of curiosity.
    “Show’s over,” she said. “Say good night, Gracie.” She pulled the dazed Bina up from the couch and began to walk her to the door.
    “Good night, Gracie,” Elliot and Brice chorused.

 
    Chapter Eight
    L ater, Kate could not remember much about the nightmare of getting Bina back to her apartment that night. It was called “selective memory” in her textbooks—some things were just too gruesome to keep in your consciousness. In the four long blocks from Elliot’s apartment to Kate’s, Bina alternately wept, sang, tripped, wailed, and sat down at one point on the sidewalk, refusing to move. Kate didn’t think Bina had tried to throw herself in front of a bus or wet herself, but she couldn’t be absolutely sure of either. It was lucky that Max had been home and heard her trying to get Bina up the stairs. Asking no questions, he took over. Kate didn’t remember if he carried Bina up the stairs in his arms or over his shoulder. She did remember holding Bina’s head as she vomited violently and washing her up. Max left her to that thankless task. Kate made an executive decision not to put Bina in her bedroom but instead to tuck her up on the sofa. Made in haste, it was a decision that Kate would not regret.
    The next morning Kate was up early, brewing coffee, laying out the Tylenol, and waiting to call in sick to work. One look at the bedraggled, unconscious Bina gave Kate a pretty good idea of how she was going to spend her next twenty-four hours. She took down her favorite coffee mug. It was the only gift she could remember her father giving her. A ceramic one, the handle shaped like Cinderella. When she was little Kate used to imagine that Cinderella was bending over the top of the mug and looking into whatever liquid would be put there, as if it were a wishing well. She thought of calling Mrs. Horowitz or even trying Jack before he left, then thought better of it. Kate didn’t mind being involved, but she didn’t want to become the puppeteer pulling strings. Bina—despite many childlike qualities—would have to decide on her own what actions to take, and Kate would support her as best she could.
    When the phone rang, Kate glanced at the caller ID, picked up the receiver, and without preamble said, “Yes, she’s still sleeping. No, I’m not going into school today, and no, you can’t come over.”
    “Good morning to you, too,” Elliot’s voice said briskly. “Can I at least drop off a couple of bagels on my way up to Andrew?”
    “Forget it. I don’t think Bina is going to want to eat anything, and if she does, I have plenty of saltines.” Kate poured the hot coffee into her Cinderella mug. She was careful, as always, to avoid the little blond head peeking over the rim.
    “God, Brice and I feel so bad for her.”
    “At least you’re not feeling as bad as her . . . I mean, she is. Bina doesn’t have the genetics to handle a hangover,” Kate told him. “You shouldn’t have let Brice pour that booze down her throat.”
    “Well, he’s not apologizing for getting her drunk, and I think it was the best thing for her,” Elliot began.
    “Well, it wasn’t the best thing for me,” Kate retorted, peeking at Bina. It wasn’t a pretty picture. “I’ve had quite a mess—literally and figuratively—to clean up.”
    “Oh, the poor girl,” Elliot said, his sympathy real.