It was Tuesday, March 21st. Now twenty-seven weeks along, Helen was bracing herself for what was to come in the third trimester. In the meantime, however, she was going to take it easier than she had before. A week ago, she'd recommended to Bitsy that Dakota take over her duties (more specifically, the heavy ones that she wasn't allowed to do in her condition). Surprisingly, Bitsy agreed. However, Helen had to warn the younger woman that Bitsy would be difficult to work for.
Meanwhile, in the week since Ambrose had died, Bitsy was still numbing herself with alcohol. Shampagne tried to comfort his owner as best as he could, but it seemed it wasn't helping. This meant that Helen had to assume primary responsibility of the dog while Bitsy tried to self-medicate with cocktails and Xanax. It was honestly a little surprising how attached she was starting to become towards the dog. She couldn't tell if it was pregnancy hormones or what, but it was still slightly unexpected that she felt this way. All that time plotting and scheming to get rid of him just for a better shot at his owner's inheritance... perhaps it'd been unnecessary. After all, from an outsider's perspective, it seemed rather silly that she would be jealous of a dog for any reason. Besides, she could really use some companionship and practice right now.
Knowing that there were only three months left before the baby was supposed to arrive gave Helen more hope here than she'd ever felt at any other point in her life. Of course, with the baby keeping her up all night like usual, she was prone to sleeping in more often, no matter the quality. On this day, she slept in until around 12:30 PM. At that time, Shampagne (who had been sleeping right on top of Helen's bump) was spooked awake by the baby kicking beneath him. He proceeded to jump down onto the floor and then scamper off. This in turn woke Helen up, and she began her attempt to rise out of bed. It was certainly no easy feat these days. Struggling to get up anywhere didn't exactly inspire confidence in her. Neither did getting eyeballed by strangers and familiar faces everywhere she went, for that matter. All it did was remind her of how much she'd physically changed over the last several weeks.
After four attempts, she finally managed to push herself up to her feet. Took her long enough.
"Just three more months and then my center of gravity will come back. It's only a matter of time." She patted her stomach. "Easy, girl. Your hula dancing is the last thing I need right now while I'm trying to walk."
She then began making her way into the living room, feeling the weight of her pregnancy with every step she took. As she settled onto the couch, Shampagne followed closely behind, sensing her discomfort. The dog then curled up beside her, offering a sense of warmth and companionship that Helen desperately needed.
Helen sighed. "Oh, Shampagne. Never in a million years did I think you'd want to spend time with me, but here we are."
The dog didn't respond. He couldn't anyhow.
"You know, I can't help but worry about Bitsy right now," Helen continued. "I know she's grieving, but at the same time, I think she's hurting herself with how she's going about it. What are we going to do?" She leaned back. "There's got to be some way we can help her, but how?"
Suddenly, she heard a knock at the door.
"Huh, I wonder who that could be?" Helen asked herself.
She started trying to get up again, only it was much harder than when she'd tried to get out of bed. This time, it took five tries before she finally stood up. Once she managed to gain steady footing, she started waddling over to the door and then opened it. Standing before her was Dakota.
"Oh..." Helen wasn't all that surprised by Dakota's presence. "Hey, Dakota."
"Hey, Helen," Dakota replied. "Is Bitsy up yet?"
"I'd hope so, why?"
Dakota stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, a worried expression etched on her face. "I've been trying to call her all day, but she hasn't been answering the phone. I'm getting really concerned about her."
"Me too. I think Ambrose's death has been affecting her more than she wants to admit."
"Judging by how she acted at the funeral, I think that goes without saying."
"Yeah. So..." Helen paused for a moment. "Is there any way we can help her?"
"That depends. What kind of 'help' are we talking about here?"
"Actually helping her?"
"'Kay, I guess I'll see what we can do."
After approaching Bitsy's bedroom door, Helen hesitated for a moment before knocking. She waited a few moments to give Bitsy time to answer, but no one answered and the door didn't open.
"Hello?" Helen called out to her. "Bitsy, are you in there?"
Again, there was no answer.
Dakota decided to chime in. "Bitsy? Can we talk to you for a sec? You haven't been responding to my calls."
Again, there was no answer.
"Okay, something's definitely wrong," Helen said. "She should've said something, anything."
"You think we should try to barge in?" Dakota asked.
"You can do it, but I can't. Doctor's orders."
"Oh, right. Well, let me see if I can break down the door or something. Here goes nothing."
Dakota took a step back as she prepared to force the door open by any means necessary. After she took a deep breath, she braced herself and pushed against the door with all her might. The wood creaked under the pressure, but it didn't budge. Undeterred, she pushed again. This time, she managed to force the door open. She then rushed in, with Helen waddling right behind her. They were somewhat shocked to find Bitsy unconscious with an empty glass of a Moscow Mule cocktail and an empty bottle of Xanax on either side of her.
"Oh my God..." Helen uttered in shock.
"What?" Dakota asked.
"I think I know why Bitsy wasn't answering your calls. She must've overdosed."