Chapter 2

2

GINA

M y tabby cat stretched and purred beside me, nuzzling me awake. I reached a weary hand to scratch her ears. I called her Evil, and there was a whole backstory that went with that. Evil was destined to take over the world; she was just taking a minor hiatus to live with me in my Nashville apartment. As soon as she was tired of belly rubs and canned cat food, she was going to rise up and rule over us all. She already ruled over me, I thought sardonically, struggling out of bed.

Evil demanded to be fed, but I ignored her for a minute. Served her right for planning world domination. Despite the fact that I was currently single, there wasn't a single thing I felt was missing in my life. I had a hard time of it growing up. My mom and dad divorced when I was three, so I didn't really remember them together. My brothers and I bounced between them. When my mom lost her apartment, we went to live with Dad. When Dad got married again and his new wife imposed rules we weren't used to following, we went back to live with Mom. She was in and out of rehab, and we stayed with our grandparents.

I went to four different high schools in four years. My younger brother Lincoln, joined the military right out of high school and we hadn't seen him since. My older brother George, wasn't so lucky. He got caught up with the wrong crowd, became addicted to oxycontin and then heroin. I watched it change him. He went from a sweet little kid to a thief and a liar. I never knew what he would steal from me next. I locked up all of my valuables, any cash I had or jewelry Dad had given me. If I forgot something even for one day, it disappeared, and I never saw it again.

He started going out at night and wouldn't return until breakfast. At that point we were living with our mom, and there were lots of fights.

"Where have you been all night?" Mom would yell.

"Cleaning up after you!" George would shoot back.

He was right. She had no business telling him to stay clean and go to sleep. She stayed out all night sometimes too. She couldn't hold a job. One week, she was a waitress or a cashier; the next, she would be stocking shelves. She was even an airline stewardess for a few months, taking trips to foreign places and buying us little gifts from the airport. That was when she was sober.

As soon as she began drinking on the job, she was fired, and we were back living with our grandparents. I left home as soon as I could, leaving George alone with Mom. They fought constantly, but I couldn't stay and play referee anymore. It was exhausting being the only level-headed person since I was the one who didn't drink or use drugs.

I studied hard and got into a good nursing school. Any money we had as a family had long since been spent. I took a job at a restaurant and worked my way through college. There were scholarships and loans—I did whatever I had to do to set myself free. After college, I moved to Nashville and found a job at an inpatient drug treatment center. It was coming full circle.

I didn't hate my parents or my brothers. I felt sorry for them. Life was hard all around, and people just wanted to escape. The trouble was that the drugs they used became the problem instead of the solution. I wanted to help other people face their demons and reclaim their sobriety one person at a time. I just wasn't ready to help my own family yet.

With the money I made as a nurse, I was able to afford a cute little apartment downtown. There were coffee shops and theaters I could walk to. Friday nights there were bands to see in upscale bars and plenty of restaurants to sample. I was close with a couple of the people I worked with and had made friends all around the city.

Some of my friends were casual drinkers, but I was suspicious even of a beer or two. I had seen how quickly it could escalate into life-destroying habits. Someday, I might be able to go back home and try to get my mom and my brother into recovery programs like mine. But for now, I was content helping strangers and living my best life with people who had never known the siren song of drink.

Besides, I had Evil to think of, and she had plenty of negative energy to go around. I fed her and cleaned out her water bowl before getting dressed or else she would cause chaos and knock over every item in her sight. Scrubs and clog charms were the work fashion, and while some of my colleagues spent extra money to get cartoon characters or hearts and stars, I stuck with plain old green. I loved all my coworkers, but some of them didn't have the experience I had. Some of them grew up in loving homes and had never known an alcoholic or an addict.

Kids might appreciate loud colors, but I knew our patients would be soothed by the tasteful mint of traditional hospital scrubs. When there is so much going on in your head, it's nice to have neutral tones on the outside. So, I just went with the scrubs provided by the treatment center, tying my hair up into a bun.

I had a car, but I didn't use it often. It lived in the basement of the apartment building, in its designated spot. I occasionally took it out to drive into the country to sightsee with friends or to haul a particularly large grocery order back home. Most of the time, I walked everywhere. I could walk to work and back, and there were plenty of shops to keep me occupied within walking distance.

The sun was shining on what promised to be a beautiful day as I put on my little white sneakers, grabbed my brown-bag lunch, and started out. It only took me ten minutes to cross the five blocks to the treatment center. We were affiliated with Westview Hospital, but we weren't in the same building. The hospital stretched over several blocks, with different departments in different locations. The cancer ward was right across the street, and general admissions was next to that. We were part psych ward, part drug and alcohol treatment center.

I was hired on the night shift but worked my way up to days. Since my specialty in college had been substance abuse counseling, I only saw the detoxing patients. The two populations were kept separate, had separate entrances and separate staffs. All the nurses shared a cafeteria, though, so I heard plenty of gossip about who was acting up and why. Of course, it was illegal to share patient information, but that didn't stop people from complaining in general terms about the craziness of our shared jobs.

When I arrived at the center, I nodded to the person manning the intake desk and headed straight for the locker room. I dropped my messenger bag and slipped from my sneakers to the soft white Crocs all staff members wore. With that done, I clipped on my badge and went to start my day.

There was a large whiteboard in the main office that had all the nurses' assignments for the day. Attached to it were clipboards for each nurse to grab, updated with information about each patient. I selected my clipboard and flipped through the pages, paying close attention to the notes.

Two of my patients were being released today. Both of them had arrived in horrible shape and were now ready to begin their lives again. I was particularly proud of one young woman, a daycare worker who had fallen on hard times and been picked up for prostitution. One of the conditions for her release from jail was to check herself into a treatment center. She had been here for three weeks and had completed the state-mandated inpatient course.

She would be moving to a halfway house where she would get additional support. I usually reserved my friendship for other nurses, but in this case, I had made an exception. She was clearly working hard, and even though she had been forced to take advantage of our program, I could see it was working for her. When she first came in, she didn't eat, and she didn't sleep. Now she was getting a full seven hours a day at a regular time and eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner. She had learned to cook for herself and was on medication that would help her control her depression. I was sure she was going to be fine, and I looked forward to having that final "You can do it" conversation.

The other person getting out that day was a teenager who had been checked in by worried parents. He was going right back into the same situation that had brought him to crisis in the first place. I wasn't so sure he was going to make it. Sometimes it took people multiple tries before sobriety became a way of life. I had a suspicion we would see this particular kid a few more times before he was done with us.

The majority of my patients were staying on for the foreseeable future, and I would just be doing bed checks and handing out medicine. There were a few new arrivals as well, and that was always tough. I got to see people at their very worst. No one wants to check into a rehab clinic. There is never a good way to end up in one of our beds.

New arrivals often took a good deal of work. Not only did they need to be cleaned up and processed into the facility, but they needed a hand to hold and a shoulder to cry on. I spent many hours comforting grieving people who had lost friends, loved ones, and children because of actions they had taken while under the influence. They were broken and scared, and this place was their last hope. I liked to spend extra time with each of my new arrivals, and I made some quick mental notes to juggle my schedule.

"Are you up for Alien Crypt 5 tonight?" My best friend, Cindy, stepped up to the board to retrieve her own assignments.

"Is that the one with the guy with no hair?" I asked.

"Vin Diesel?" she guessed.

"No."

"The Rock?"

"No." I couldn't think of the actor. "It'll come to me."

"I'm not going to hold my breath, but no, Ryan Reynolds has hair."

"Oh," I laughed.

"Ted and I are going, and maybe Sharon's going to be there."

"Count me in," I said.

"When's your lunch?" she asked.

"I don't know," I answered. "I've got a couple new intakes, so it might take me a while."

"Okay." Cindy shrugged. "The movie's at seven tonight at the Cinemaplex."

"Cool." I nodded, pushing through the swinging gate that surrounded the main office to start my day.