Chapter 14
Dylan
Today beganthe first day of Sheri’sdetox.
Claudine picked up the kids before I left for work and begged me to let them stay with her overnight. She promised she’d take them to daycare the next morning, right after breakfast. I assumed it was because she wanted to scope the place out, which made me feel less worried. A second opinion, that’s what Ineeded.
No, what I needed was for their mother to be healthy enough to help me make decisions I didn’t want to make alone. I didn’t like that I was getting used to it—being the only one who did any of the important stuff—I wanted someone to share the responsibilities with, along with all its ups anddowns.
All day at work, I snapped at everyone because I was feeling bitter and uncomfortable about everything. By the end of the shift, each person I lashed out at offered me their own asinine advice about mysituation.
“You need to get laid,” Frank said, winking and gyrating his hipswildly.
Lena smirked. “You got any life insurance onher?”
“You need to get laidreally good,” Frank explained again, this time using other pornographic movements that weren’t so pornographic whenhedemonstratedthem.
“Don't let her use that junk they put right in their veins. That'll make all her hair fall out, and she's got beautiful hair," Vinny saidgravely.
Frank talked about me getting laid a dozen more times. The last piece of guidance he bestowed on me was, “Hey, I know. Why don’t you have the hot cop arrest the wife and then have athreesome?”
I sometimes really wondered if this family did a ton of inbreeding at one time down its geneticline.
Miraculously, they let me end my shift at four o’clock so I could head straight to the rehabilitation center for a spousal interview. I felt sick the entire drive there.What would they ask me? What if all of this was my fault somehow? What if this didn’t help? What if it did? What if it did help and we still both felt miserable in this god-awful relationship? What if I was stillunhappy?
* * *
Recovery,The Center for Alcohol and DrugRehabilitation.
The place was pristine. Whiter than any building should be. My eyes hurt from standing in the front lobby, waiting for someone to call me in. People walked through the waiting area calmly, serenely speaking in awkwardly happy tones.Callie would get a kick out of this. Those were my first thoughts: how white the place was, and whatCalliewould think.Great.
"Mr. Sanborn?" The receptionist wiggled her fingers toward me as if she was asking to hold my hand. "Please follow me. It's just thisway."
I was appalled when her icy fingers grasped solidly onto mine—not in a handshake—she was honest to God holding my hand, like she was my middle school girlfriend. Then she started to swing ourarms.
“Okay, that’s enough,” I growled, yanking my hand back before she started making me compose a campfire song with a kazoo. “I’m sorry, but I’m here for Sheri Sanborn. She’s supposed to be in her first full day of detox—” The crazy woman went for my hand again. “And if you hold my hand again, I might flip the fuck out.Seriously.”
“Right.” She smiled tightly. “Mr. Sanborn, this is all a part of the atmosphere of thisfacility.”
"Look, I have two young children at home who need at least one of their parents there tonight." I lied. I didn't care. The crazy woman wasn't touching me again. "As far as I have seen, this place is a trash compactor for my money. I don't need any new age bullshit. I need you to help my wife. That's it. I don’t need my hand held. I'm allright."
She cleared her throat and bustled off ahead of me. “Right this way, Mr.Sanborn.”
She led me into a large cream-colored office. The walls were covered with soft pastel paintings of landscapes and gave off a tranquil feel. I instantly needed adrink.
“Mr. Sanborn, welcome.” Behind the desk stood a gangly man with a soft smile and shiny bald head. "I'm so glad we could have the chance to meet you tonight. Sheri is currently responding well to her firstday."
"I'm sorry, I didn't get your name," I said, reaching out and offering him a firmhandshake.
“Matthew. I’m the head counselor here.” He gestured to a seat in front of his desk. “Why don’t you have a seat, and we could get you up to speed on Sheri’s treatment plan. I know you have two small children to get backto.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. They must have cameras in the hallway. I looked around for evidence of listening devices or video monitors. I foundnone.
“So,” he began, clasping his hands together, “Sheri is a heroinaddict.”
“Yes,” I said slowly, suddenly feeling a hot flash ofguilt.
Matthew cleared his throat and smiled. “Okay. Sheri’s detoxification process will be determined by her unique body composition and metabolism, her choice of drugs, the duration of her drug use, and any other addictions that may apply toher.”
