“Lexie?”
“Yes,” I manage. The sound of my own voice is strangled and strange to my ears.
“I didn’t know, really, if you’d want me to call you or not.”
She sounds calm. A good sign, I decide. Not the voice of a woman who’s calling with terrible news. Unless she’s in shock. I’ve heard people can sound very calm when they’re in shock.
“Uh, it’s okay,” I say. “What —?”
“It’s about Devlin.”
What’s taking her so long? Can’t she just tell me — whatever it is — get it over with? I say nothing and wait.
“He, well, he asked me to call you, actually.”
He asked her … that means he must be alive.
My knees buckle. I sink to the floor in relief. I barely hear what she says next. Only a few words penetrate. Treatment centre. Something about visitors.
“You can imagine what this means to me,” she’s saying.
“What did you say the name of the place was?” I blurt. I don’t want to hear how happy she is about it. She’s the one who put him on the street in the first place. Threw him out for stealing some old jewellery! I remember how she called me back then. I think she expected me to tell her “great job” or something.
“New Valley Treatment Centre,” she says.
“Is he allowed visitors?”
“Well, yes, but it’s limited. That’s why I’m calling. Devlin was hoping you might go to see him. He can have one visitor for a half hour this evening. Supervised. And you have to call first to be put on the list.”
“I’ll be there,” I say. “Thanks.”
I can tell that she wants to talk more. She says something about how terrible the past months have been.
“For a lot of people,” I say. I wonder if she knows any of the things her son has done for drugs. “Uh, I have to go now. But thanks for letting me know.”
She says goodbye reluctantly and hangs up. In seconds I’m on Canada411, getting the treatment centre’s number. A man answers on the second ring.
“New Valley. This is Bill. What can I do for you?” His voice is rough. I decide he’s a heavy smoker.
“I’d like to make an appointment to visit Devlin Mather this evening.”
“Devlin, huh? Your name?”
“Lexie Malton.”
“You a relative?”
“I’m his girlfriend,” I say without thinking. “I mean, I used to be.”
“Seven o’clock.” Bill sounds bored. “If you’re late, you won’t get in. If you’re high, you won’t get in. Personal items have to be locked up. There’s no touching or kissing. Visits are half an hour. No exceptions.”
“I’ll be there,” I say. I try to sound responsible — like I’d never think of being late. Or high.
“One other thing,” Bill says. “Crying makes it harder for them. So try not to.”
“Okay.”
My stomach is in knots all afternoon. Oscar phones to see if I want to catch an early movie with Vaughn and Niki. I’ve already made up my mind to tell him the truth.
“I can’t make it tonight. I had a call from Devlin’s mother earlier. He’s in rehab and she wants me to go talk to him. I said I would.”
“He’s in rehab?”
“Yes.” There’s silence for a half a minute or so.
“Well, good,” he says. “I hope he gets straightened out.”
“So, you don’t mind?”
“What, because you used to go out with him?”
“That would bother a lot of guys.”
“Should I be bothered about it?”
Maybe. Probably.
“No,” I say.
“So, don’t worry about it.” He pauses. “You want me to meet you somewhere after?”
I doubt I’ll feel like talking then, but I don’t want to say that. “I’ll call you,” I tell him.
At dinnertime I can hardly eat. It’s a bad night for that, too, since Andrea made the meal. She has this very mistaken idea that she’s a great cook. Worse, she acts like you’re deliberately insulting her if you don’t eat what she makes.
I poke at the limp broccoli and dried up baked cod on my plate. I see that Lynne is doing the same. Even Barb, who’s the least fussy, isn’t eating with any enthusiasm.
“I wish these girls appreciated good, healthy food,” Andrea tells Dad. What she means is: make your bratty daughters eat.
“Come on now, girls,” Dad says. “Andrea puts a lot of work into the meals she makes.”
“It’s not very good,” Barb says. I pretend to cough to cover a smile.
“Now, Barb, honey,” Andrea says, “it’s not nice to talk that way. You could hurt someone’s feelings.”
“But it isn’t,” Barb insists. Then she realizes she was being corrected. She claps her hand over her mouth and laughs and says, “Sorry!”
I’ve passed half of my fish under the table to Kramer while Andrea was looking at Barb. It’s the best I’ll be able to do. I doubt the existence of an animal that would eat the soggy broccoli. I mush it into the potatoes and try not to gag while I force it down.
It’s my turn for dishes. I rush through them, mentally rehearsing things I can say to Devlin. There’s barely time to change and put on a touch of makeup.
“I’ll be back around eight,” I say as I head toward the door. It’s a relief, and a bit of good luck, that no one asks where I’m going.
I lose ten minutes waiting to transfer buses and get to New Valley with about three minutes to spare. I’d expected a hospital-like building, so I’m surprised to find myself in front of a big, old-fashioned house.
The door is locked. I guess there’s no walking right on in to this place. I stab at the doorbell.
“Yes?”
“I’m, uh, here to see Devlin Mather.”
“Your name?”
“Lexie Malton.”
A buzzing sound tells me I can go in. A few steps past the door I find a windowed office with a sign over it that says ALL VISITORS MUST SIGN IN. A thirty-ish woman with frizzy blonde hair is inside. She pushes a clipboard with a visitors’ sheet on it toward me and says, “Sign here. Then go down the hall, second door on your right. Your first time here, right?”
I nod.
“Put anything you have with you — purse, bag, whatever, into one of the lockers in the hall. Take the key with you and give it to the counsellor on duty when you get to the visiting area.”
I do as instructed and then go on to the door to the visiting room. It too, is locked. I knock. Seconds later it’s opened by a slim guy who looks to be in his early twenties. He’s wearing a T-shirt with Snoopy dancing on his chest.
“I’m Ray Li — a Recovery Worker here at New Valley,” he says. He reaches for the key I’m holding. “You must be Lexie.”
I try to hide my surprise and hope he can’t tell that I thought he was a patient.
“Devlin will be right along,” Ray says, waving me toward one of three unmatched couches in the room. “Take a seat. There are a few things we should go over before he gets here.”
Then he reviews the things I’ve already been told. Try not to cry. No touching or kissing. No extensions past half an hour. As he talks, I can tell that he’s checking for any signs that I might be high. He never says so, but I see the way he looks at my eyes. He stays in motion too — probably to see how well I follow his movements.
Then the door opens and Devlin comes into the room.
Chapter Ten
Ray ushers Devlin over to a couch at right angles with mine, then takes the third one himself. Devlin sits and stares at his hands. Aside from clean clothes, I can’t say he looks a whole lot better than the last time I saw him. The eruptions on his face are scabbed
over, but he still looks pale and sickly.
“Hi, Devlin,” I say. I’m perilously close to crying, in spite of the warnings.
“Hi.” He continues to avoid looking at me.
“I’m really glad you’re here,” I add.
He nods but the up-and-down motion quickly changes to side-to-side. “I’m sorry about the ring,” he says.
“It’s okay,” I tell him. I remember how I treated him that night. The way I looked at him — like he was dirt. “It doesn’t matter.”
“And everything else I did,” he says.
“No, I’m sorry,” I say. Tears are coming. I swallow hard and take a deep breath, trying to gulp them back.
He looks over at me. “You’re sorry?” he echoes. “What’ve you got to be sorry about?”
“Because it was all my fault.” I’m crying. I can’t help it. “None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for me.”
“How do you figure that?” He sounds honestly curious.
“Jayden’s party,” I manage. That’s as far as I get. There’s silence (aside from my sobbing) for a few moments. I wonder if Devlin is remembering that night. I wonder if he’s replaying the moment it all began.
* * *
The “quiet room,” Jayden called it. He smiled like we were sharing a secret. When the three of us were inside, he locked the door and produced a piece of tinfoil and a packet of white powder.
“Chasing the dragon,” he murmured. His eyes were bright. He tapped some powder onto the foil.
“What is that?” Devlin asked.
“This? It’s the real deal, my man.” Jayden pulled out a lighter and flicked it until a flame rose. “Heroin,” he said. The word rolled off his tongue, warm and reverent.
I leaned forward, fascinated and shocked at the same time. It was Devlin who spoke, Devlin who protested. As wasted as he was, it was Devlin who had the sense to voice objections.
“You’re worrying about nothing,” Jayden laughed. “You can’t get hooked by smoking it. I’m telling you, man — you gotta try this.”
He held the foil over the flame and, as smoke rose, he drew it into his lungs. It looked so harmless. Inhaling a little smoke. He leaned back, waiting. We were all silent for a moment. His face relaxed into a smile of utter bliss.
I wanted to know how it felt.
“Well, it can’t hurt just to try it one time.” That was me — drunk and curious and proving I wasn’t uptight.
Jayden’s smile widened. He prepared some of the white powder for me. Oddly, he pointed out a door at the side of the room.
“Bathroom. Right there,” he said. Then the flame flickered and I leaned in as smoke began to rise.
I inhaled, scared but excited, too. It flowed over me slowly, and then, suddenly, I felt an overpowering nausea. I raced to the bathroom, getting to the toilet just in time. My stomach heaved as I vomited, emptying itself into the bowl in splashes of mottled colour.
I didn’t care. The drug smoothed it all out — the unpleasantness of puking seemed like nothing. I felt a sort of floating peacefulness.
I smiled at Devlin.
“It’s nice,” I said, though it was an effort to speak. “Come on, try it.”
* * *
I’m drawn back to the present by Devlin shaking his head. “Why do you think that was your fault?” he asks.
“Because, I talked you into it. I believed Jayden when he said it wasn’t addictive if it was smoked.”
“That’s one lie we can’t seem to kill,” Ray says. “You can get hooked on heroin any way you use it — but people still think if they aren’t cranking, they’re safe.”
“Cranking?” I repeat.
“Shooting. Needles,” Devlin explains. “I was cranking within three weeks of the party at Jayden’s place.”
I gasp at that, but he nods and says, “It’s true. First time I bought direct from a dealer instead of getting it from Jayden. The guy told me the high was faster and better. He gave me some clean works and showed me how to fix.”
“Customer service,” Ray says with heavy sarcasm.
“Nothing was your fault, Lexie,” Devlin tells me. He leans forward, reaches a hand toward me. Mine goes to meet it automatically.
“No touching,” Ray reminds us. “Sorry.”
We snatch our hands back like they were about to touch fire. “I forgot,” I say.
“The no-touching rule will change as Devlin makes progress and earns privileges,” Ray says. After a brief pause he adds, “Recovering addicts have a better chance of success if there’s a support network in place for them when they leave here. To that end, we try to build a team of people who will take part in various roles through the recovery process. Devlin would like you to be a member of his team, if you’re willing.”
“Yes,” I say.
“It will mean being here during certain counselling sessions and meetings.”
“I have a job,” I say. “But I want to help. Can I still do it?”
“You have a job?” Devlin says. “Where?”
“At Subway.” I smile as I give him this simple detail of my life. I hope he knows it shows trust, and faith in him.
“We can work around your schedule,” Ray tells me. “Devlin still has another week before he gets started on that.”
“Another week?” I say.
“He’s been here for just over two weeks now.”
“You’ve been here for two weeks! Why didn’t you let me know before?”
“There are no calls or visitors for the first two weeks,” Devlin says. “Anyway, I was pretty sick.”
“Oh. Right.” I feel foolish for not realizing that. “Was it very bad?”
“Yeah. It was worse than I thought it was going to be. I knew about the puking and the chills and sweating part, but I didn’t know how bad it would be. Or how everything — even my bones — would ache like crazy.”
“Devlin had a rough time, all right,” Ray says. “He barely slept the first week, too, which doesn’t help. Withdrawal is never easy — but he’s past the worst of the physical stuff.”
“It’s gotta get better from here on in,” Devlin says. He turns slightly, to look directly at me. “I know one thing — I’ll never use heroin again. I promise you that.”
“I’m so glad.” My throat is tight with emotion and my words are barely a whisper. He hears me, though. I hope he hears more than the words.
Chapter Eleven
On the way home on the bus I can hardly sort out what I’m feeling. The one thing I’m sure about is that I do want to be with Devlin again. I wish I’d asked how long he’ll be at New Valley. We can start to have a normal relationship again as soon as he’s out.
I haven’t forgotten Oscar. There’s no choice but to break up with him. I hate the thought of it. And he doesn’t deserve it — he hasn’t done anything wrong.
I toy with the idea of waiting a while. After all, Devlin will be in rehab for weeks, maybe months. But I realize that would be worse than telling Oscar the truth now and getting it over with. Worse for the guilt I’d have to carry (and I’ve done a lot of that lately) and more unfair to him.
The very next afternoon I call him and tell him I’m coming by.
“I need to talk to you,” I say, hoping he’ll hear the hidden message in those words. I’m not sure whether guys get that sort of thing, though, so I don’t know what to expect when I get there.
It looks like he got it, all right. When I make it to his place, he lets me in without a hug or a kiss, and his smile is forced.
We walk silently into the living room and I sit on the couch. Oscar takes the chair across the room, facing me. He waits for me to speak.
“I, uh,” I start, then pause and clear my throat. My mouth is dry. “Could I
have a glass of water?” I ask.
“Sure.” He disappears into the kitchen. I fight the urge to get up and bolt while he’s out of the room.
“Thanks,” I say, as he returns and passes me the glass. When he’s back in his chair, I try again. “Look, Oscar, you’re a great guy. And I really mean that.”
He says nothing. I feel slightly irritated by his calm, quiet manner. I know he knows what’s coming. He could help me out a bit by saying something to move it along.
“I need to talk about … us.”
“So, talk.”
“I, uh, the thing is, it’s just not there for me. I like you — a lot, but not the way I should.”
“Not the way you like Devlin,” he says. “Or do you want me to think it’s a coincidence that you saw him last night and you’re here breaking up with me today?”
“It’s not the way you make it sound,” I say. “It’s that Devlin needs me right now. And honestly, I never would have broken up with him in the first place if he hadn’t got, you know, hooked.”
“So, you’re breaking up with me to go back out with a junkie,” Oscar says. His voice is matter-of-fact, but his eyes give him away. There’s hurt behind his composed front.
“He’s in rehab,” I say. “And he swears he’ll never use again.”
“I hope he doesn’t,” Oscar tells me. “I’ve got nothing against the guy. But I thought things were going pretty good with us.”
“They were,” I say. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
He says nothing for a few long moments. I search my head for words to make this less painful, but there are none. The urge to cross the room and put my arms around him is strong at one point, but I don’t. I know he’ll see it as pity (which it isn’t) and that will only make him feel worse.
Finally, when I feel that I can’t take another second of silence, he speaks.
“I think you’re making a mistake,” he says. “I mean, do what you have to do — I’m not telling you this to try to keep things going with us, that’s over no matter what — but be careful.”
Accomplice Page 4
