Page 10 of We Drank the Dawn

“Hey!” Her peppy voice relaxed my shoulders a bit. “How are you?”

“Tired. I’m on my way to Hastings right now.”

She huffed in annoyance. “Oh, I forgot you have that stupid meeting. How long until you get home, you think?”

I swallowed, the dots in my vision making me a little dizzy. “Uh, hopefully before nine.”

She whined. “Okay. I just got back from the gym. You left your water bottle at home, by the way.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Did you grab some water at the office?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you okay? You sound stressed.”

I shook my head in disbelief at her uncanny ability to perceive my moods and needs. Ever since my epilepsy diagnosis two-ish years ago, Sarah became so vigilant, determined to watch out for me.

I hesitated, not wanting her to worry. “I’ve got a migraine, but it’ll go away here in a bit.”

“Are you still driving?”

“Yeah.”

“You should stop.”

I should’ve kept the info to myself. “I can’t stop, Sarah. I’m already running late.” The light finally turned green and I hit the gas pedal, accelerating quickly. “I’ve got eight more minutes to drive.”

“You haven’t had a migraine in a long time.”

Knowing exactly where her brain was heading, I gave a soft chuckle. “I also haven’t had a seizure in a long time.” I tried to infuse my voice with some energy. “I promise I’ll be fine.” As if defying me, my vision threw a few more specks into my peripheral.

Like a hound on a trail, she sniffed around. “Did you take your medicine this morning?”

My “of course” died on my lips. Did I? I wracked my brain. “I think so?”

“Peter, if you didn’t take your medicine, you need to come home and take it.” Movement on her end of the line filled my ear. “Hang on. I’ll check your pill box.”

I waited for a second.

Her voice came back on the line, raging. “Peter Thompson! You didn’t take your medication yesterday or today.”

“What?!”

Worry colored her voice. “You need to come home to take it.”

Going out of the way to grab my meds would put me at Hastings Honda thirty minutes late, but she was right. My routine had been off kilter recently because of poor sleep. I’d been rushing out the door every morning this week.

Panic shot through my chest. The migraine tracked if I was behind on medication.

And if I was already having a headache…

Sarah must’ve been thinking the same because she said, “Why don’t you pull over? If you’re having a headache, that worries me. I’ll meet you with your meds.”

Before I could reassure her that I was fine, a wave of nausea bucked my torso, my equilibrium momentarily riding a nonexistent wave in my gut. Forget the meeting—she was right. I had to stop because having a seizure behind the wheel was worst-case-scenario territory.

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. I’m…trying to find a spot.” My hand lifted, landing heavily on the left-hand turning signal. I glanced into my rearview mirror, blinking hard to see who wouldn’t let me over.