Okay, he said quietly, more to himself than to her. Okay. He pulled out his own phone and dialed a number he knew by heart. Angela, the woman who watched Ella after school, picked up on the second ring. Angela, I need a huge favor.
Can you take Ella to her performance tonight? Something came up at work and I can't I can't make it. The silence on the other end lasted only a second, but it felt like an eternity. Of course, Harry, but she's going to be disappointed. I know.
His voice cracked on the words. Just tell her I love her. Tell her I'll watch the video a hundred times. Tell her I'm sorry. He ended the call and turned back to Carara, who was now leaning heavily against a table.
Come on, he said, taking her arm to steady her. I'm going to take you somewhere safe. She didn't resist as he guided her toward the door, her heels clicking unevenly on the marble floor. Where are we going? She mumbled.
Harry didn't answer. The truth was he only had one option. Her phone was dead. She didn't know her own address, and he couldn't leave her alone in a hotel room in this condition. He was going to take her to the only place he could keep an eye on her until she sobered up, his home.
The drive took 20 minutes, and Cara drifted in and out of consciousness in the passenger seat. Halfway there, she suddenly grabbed his arm. "Stop the car," she gasped. I'm going to be sick. Harry pulled over to the side of the road just in time.
Carara stumbled out and vomited onto the grass, her body heaving while she gripped the car door for support. Harry found a bottle of water in the back seat and handed it to her when she was done. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice raw. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He helped her back into the car and kept driving.
When he pulled into his driveway, the house was dark. Angela must have already left with Ella. The realization hit him like a physical blow somewhere across town. His daughter was about to perform the biggest moment of her 8-year-old life, and she would look into the audience and not find her father's face. He had done the right thing.
He kept telling himself that as he helped Carara out of the car, as he guided her up the front steps, as he unlocked the door to his modest two-bedroom house, the right thing. But sitting in the darkness of his living room, listening to a stranger's breathing from the couch while his daughter performed without him, Harry couldn't help but wonder if the right thing was going to cost him everything. Harry didn't sleep that night. After settling Carara on the couch, he found a clean blanket in the hallway closet and draped it over her. Her silk dress was wrinkled and stained from the evening's ordeal.