"There is a huge difference between trying to help and trying to fix someone," I said. "Trust me, I know."
As if to illustrate what I had said, there was a commotion upstairs. "Just trust me," I could hear my father saying.
I waved Trent out the front door and promised I would call him someday. He left and I shut the door just before my mother flew down the stairs.
"Who was it? Was it the waitress? I didn't tip her well enough, I know I didn't," she said.
"Mom, are you okay? What are you talking about?" I had seen the wild look in her eyes before and it froze my heart.
My father came down the stairs and caught her in his arms. "Barbara, darling, I told you that I took care of the tip. There is nothing for you to worry about. How about I call the restaurant and tell the manager what a great job the waitress did? That'll fix it," he said.
He steered her back up the stairs. My mother's worries were descending into gibberish, yet he responded with calm, soothing answers as if he could talk her out of it. I knew he had been through this dozens of times before, but it bothered me how he thought he could just brush it aside. She needed help, that was not normal, but my father was determined to fix it on his own.
When he came downstairs ten minutes later, I was still waiting in the foyer. "What did Trent want? It sure was a surprise to see him here. Boy trouble?"
I cringed at his easy tone. "How's Mother?"
"Oh, you know how she gets. Just overtired. She'll be fine after she rests," he said. He brushed past me and headed for his office.
I followed him and stood in the doorway before he could close the door. "She just needs to rest?"
He refused to look at me. "She didn't sleep well last night. And we spent most of yesterday out running errands, so of course she's tired. Everything's fine."
"Then, can you help me?" I asked. "Or, more specifically, can you help Owen? I think he's in trouble with the police."
"Quinn, just because I'm a criminal lawyer does not mean I'm going to help every loser that gets himself in trouble."
"Owen's not a loser, you know that," I said. "His roommate was selling drugs and when neighbors started noticing, he decided to make Owen take the fall for him."
"Then if Owen's innocent, he has nothing to worry about."
"Except that he's been set-up. His roommate made it look like he was the one dealing drugs. And because Owen plays video games for a living, people are more inclined to believe it. I think he really needs your help," I said.
My father took four angry paces away from me then marched back. His face was a dark red as he pointed a finger at me. "And you think I should help him? Why should I help the man that dumped my beautiful daughter when she needed him the most? Did you know that? Owen broke up with Sienna! Can you believe that? That loser broke up with your sister. He hurt her and that made her hurt herself."
"You think that is why Sienna committed suicide?" I knew my father had always been looking for someone to blame. The hardest part of my sister's death was realizing that she did it to herself. There was no real reason for it. It had just happened.
"He just dumped her flat and left her to pick up the pieces. Can you imagine what that did to her?" my father asked. "It’s no wonder she felt so sad."
"What happened to Sienna was a tragedy," I said, "but it was no one's fault. And it had nothing to do with Owen."
"Why are you defending him?" my father yelled. He paced back and forth again. "What is it about Owen Redd that makes my daughters lose all rational thought?"
"I'm not the one acting irrationally," I said.
My father stopped sharply and turned to face me. "No? You're just running around with the man that broke your sister's heart. Have you even thought about how that looks? Do you even care what it does to your sister's memory?"
My knuckles went white as I gripped the doorframe. "Sienna cheated on Owen. Months before. She cheated on him, he caught her, and he broke up with her months before what happened at college," I said.
"Let me guess," my father said. "He told you that. Quinn, honestly, I thought you were smarter."
"I can prove it," I said. "I was in Sienna's room tonight and I remembered what her password is for her email. If you need proof, it will all be in there. You know she needed to lay everything out in black and white."
"So, you found out that she cheated and you did not say anything?"
I tried to form a response, knowing full well my father wanted to turn all of it on me. Then we both heard the muffled sob on the stairs.
"Barbara? Barbara, it's not what you think. Please, darling. It’s not at all what you think," my father called. He pushed past me and ran towards the front staircase.
"You told her? How could you? I'm her mother. How is that going to make her feel about me?" my mother cried.
"Mom? Are you okay? What are you talking about?" I called. I ran to the bottom of the stairs, but they were already gone.
I could hear her crying and my father pleading with her. He kept telling her over and over again that we were not talking about her. I knew when my mother's downswings hit, one of the worst signs was paranoia. Still, something about her reaction made me wonder. We had been talking about Sienna cheating on Owen. Why would my mother think we were talking about her? Had she cheated on my father?
I knew my father wanted privacy. He wanted to fix what was wrong with my mother and pretend like nothing had happened. Instead, I went upstairs and found him pounding on the hallway bathroom door. My mother was locked inside and sobbing.
"Quinn, go downstairs. I can handle this," my father said. He rattled the door handle hard and threw his shoulder against the wood. "Barbara, just open the door, darling."
"She's not making sense," I said. "You have to know this is a really bad sign. We have to get her to come out."
"Everything's fine, Quinn. Just go downstairs," he said.
"Mom? Tell me what's going on. Are you okay?" I called through the door.
"No, no, no, I don't want you to know. My baby, my baby, no one is ever going to look at me the same again. It’s too much. Too much," she said.
"Barbara, stop! Just stop. I'm coming in. You're fine," my father said.
There were sounds of drawers opening and slamming closed. My mother was searching for something while she muttered, "Too much, too much."
My father stopped, frozen against the solid wood of the door. "My shaving kit is in there," he said.
"Take the hinges off," I said. My father started pulling on them as I ran for the pliers I knew were in the hall closet. We pulled the hinges loose and took the door completely off the frame.
Inside, my mother was standing over the sink. She had tried to cut one wrist and blood had sprinkled all over the white porcelain sink. She had then tried to wipe up the mess with her uninjured hand and stood holding a bloody tissue.
"Barbara, no. Why?" my father asked. He sank to his knees in the hallway.
I stepped around him and took hold of my mother's injured arm. "It’s not deep. She went across, not down. Here, Mom, let me stop the bleeding. Don't worry, I'll clean up too," I said.