When they’d almost made it to Emma’s calculus class, Sadie spotted Piper standing by a locker talking to Kylie Miller. Piper hadn’t wasted time finding a replacement friend.
“Well, looks who’s back,” Piper said. “I heard you had surgery.”
Emma nodded. “I don’t mess around.”
“What happened?” Kylie asked. She looked so innocent in high-waisted jeans and a lace-up sweatshirt. Sadie wondered how long it would take for her to see through Piper’s bullshit.
“I just tripped,” Emma said. “No big story.”
“She tripped all right,” Piper said with a smile. “I watched it happen.”
“That must have been scary,” Kylie said.
“I helped get her to hospital,” Piper said. “The bones were sticking out of her ankle.”
“That’s not the way I remember it,” Sadie said.
Piper shot Sadie a nasty look. “Maybe you should check your memory.”
“It’s time for class.” All Sadie wanted to do was get away from Piper. Talking to her gave her a hollow feeling in her chest.
“Why do you let her talk to you that way?” Emma asked, making her way down the hall away from Piper.
“I don’t know.”
“She’s a bitch,” Emma said.
“I know,” Sadie said, following Emma into math class. “I’m sorry.” The words hung in the air, sounding trite and meaningless the second she said them. There was so much more she wanted to express, that she missed the closeness between them, that she would do anything to repair their friendship, that thinking about the way she’d destroyed Emma’s skating career made her want to vomit. Maybe if she worked super hard to prove to Emma how much their friendship meant to her, one day they could be a pair again—if not on the ice, then everywhere else.
Emma maneuvered herself into her chair and leaned her crutches on the desk. Sadie hung Emma’s backpack on the chair, hoping her friend would say something, anything to give Sadie hope that things would eventually be okay, but she didn’t. Emma unzipped her backpack and took out her laptop. She didn’t even bother turning around to say goodbye.
When Sadie got home from school, she was surprised to see both of her parents sitting at the kitchen table. Whatever was going on, it couldn’t be good. Was it about Aunt Alison? Sadie knew she’d been moved from the ICU to a regular hospital room a few days ago, and from everything her mom said, she was getting better. Sadie had stopped asking to visit because her parents always came up with some reason to postpone. Initially, they said she should wait until Alison was moved to a regular floor, but now that she was there, her dad said it would be better to wait until she was transferred to the physical rehabilitation place. It could be a while before that happened. Sadie missed her so much. She missed their text conversations, and their shopping trips, and just having her around.
“Hi Sadie,” her mom called in a perky voice. “How was school?”
“Fine.” Sadie got the sense her parents didn’t really want to hear about school right now. She dropped her backpack in the front hall and walked into the kitchen.
“Can you sit with us for a minute?” her mom said. “There’s a few things we need to talk about.”
“What’s going on?” Sadie looked at her father. He was slouched forward, his elbows on the table and his forehead resting on his palms. “Dad, are you okay?”
“He will be,” her mom said. “We’ll get through this as a family, but right now we need you to sit down.”
Sadie didn’t want to sit down. “Is it Aunt Alison?”
“Alison is fine,” her mom said. “She’s moving in the right direction which is all we can ask for right now.”
“Then what is it? Can you guys just tell me what’s happening? Whatever it is, I can handle it. I promise.”
“Your father has had some difficulties at the hospital—”
“Cynthia, don’t sugarcoat it,” Grant said. “I got myself into this. I should be the one to explain.”
“I’m trying to help you, Grant. You don’t need to snap at me.”
“I’m not snapping,” he said. “I’m just trying to take responsibility for my actions.”
“Can you guys stop arguing and focus?” Sadie said.
Her father rubbed his temples. “Okay, I’m just going to say it. My hospital privileges have been suspended. I’m not allowed to operate until I get some help.”
“You were fired?” Sadie asked.
“Not fired,” her mom jumped in. “Just put on hold. It’s only temporary.”
“Why?” Sadie had thought the complications after Alison’s surgery were just bad luck, but maybe her father had actually done something wrong.
“I have a problem. This is not something I ever thought I would have to say, not to anyone, and certainly not to you, but it’s time for me to be honest. I’ve been taking pills for a while. For longer than I care to admit.”
“Why?” Sadie asked.
“The why isn’t important,” Cynthia said. “Right now, we need to focus on how to help your father recover and get him back on his feet.”
“And those pills you found in my nightstand?” Grant said. “I took them from my patient.”
“You did what?” Cynthia said. “You stole pills from your office?”
Up until now, Sadie had gotten the sense her parents were a united front, that they both knew the whole story and were working together to clear the air, but clearly there were some things her mother didn’t even know.
“I didn’t steal them exactly,” he said. “I collected them. To get pills without a prescription.”
“Charming,” Cynthia muttered before sighing and rubbing her face with her fingers. “Is there anything else you’ve refrained from telling me?” she asked quietly. “At this point, we might as well get it all out in the open so we can start picking up the pieces.”
Her father rested his head back on his hands. When his shoulders started shaking, it took Sadie a minute to realize what was happening. He wasn’t making any noise, but he was definitely crying. She couldn’t remember having ever seen her father break down like this before, and it made her scared: scared for Alison, scared for her mother, but most of all, scared for him. He wouldn’t be the same person without his scalpel, and his patients, and his annual listing in Boston Magazine.
He took a napkin from the holder on the table and blew his nose. “I really messed up. It’s all my fault.”
Cynthia said nothing but raised her eyebrows, before reaching out to rub his arm.
“It’s okay, Dad,” Sadie said. “What’s the next step?”
“The hospital won’t let me return until I get treatment,” he said.
“And we think inpatient rehab will help your father get better as soon as possible,” her mom added, still rubbing her dad’s arm. Sadie realized that she hadn’t seen her parents this close in months and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen them touch each other. It was gross, but she couldn’t help feeling a little bit hopeful, too.
“I check myself in on Friday.”
“How long will you be gone?” Sadie asked, her spirits plunging again.
“It’s thirty-day program,” Grant said. “Up in Maine.”
“A perfect chance to clear your head and get everything straightened out,” said Cynthia.
“Wow,” Sadie said. Even though Sadie hadn’t spent much time with her father lately, she couldn’t imagine being away from him for a month. She was so used to hearing his deep voice on the phone, his heavy footsteps on the stairs, the whir of the blender before dawn. What would she and her mom talk about for so many days together? She guessed she’d find out, whether she liked it or not.
CHAPTER FORTY - TWO
Grant
April 15, 2019
IT WAS HIS TENTH DAY OF REHAB at Arden Cottage and Grant was just beginning to feel vaguely human. Tapering off Oxy had been no joke. It had started with sharp abdominal pains, like someone was stabbing him in the intest
ines with a scalpel, followed by constant nausea and profuse watery diarrhea. He still had a constantly runny nose, ever present low-grade headache and fine tremors in his hands, but the other symptoms were finally starting to subside, his body acclimating to functioning without pills.
Grant looked out the window at Penobscot bay, the sun peeking over the horizon. Cynthia had surely paid extra for the view, but he didn’t dare ask how much. The daily yoga classes, perfectly cooked organic meals, and attentive staff made the place feel more like Canyon Ranch than inpatient rehab. Every time Grant went into crow pose or took a bite of spring ramp and morel quiche, his mind immediately turned to finances. If he wasn’t operating, he’d be taking a significant hit. His partners would surely float him a salary on leave, but nothing close to his normal take home pay. The next time he spoke with Cynthia, he’d have to remind her to curb the pedicures, massages, and unnecessary shopping.
“Good morning, Dr. Kaplan.” His nurse entered the room. “Open, please.”
Grant opened his mouth and she placed the Suboxone film under his tongue. At first it had seemed odd to substitute one addiction for another, but apparently, people who took meds had less chance of relapse than those who went cold turkey. It was the mainstay of treatment now, they’d said.
“Group therapy starts in five,” she said on her way out.
Grant groaned. He hated group. Even on a good day, talking about feelings seemed like a complete waste of time. Doing it with a bunch of strangers while fighting symptoms of withdrawal was even worse, but it was a requirement of the program, so he’d have to show up. The last thing he wanted to do was flunk out of rehab after failing in so many other unthinkable ways.
When Grant dragged himself to the dayroom, the staff was arranging the seats in a circle. The white linoleum floors and institutional windows screamed hospital, but a multicolored throw rug, a couch, and a few upholstered chairs warmed up the room a bit. Grant chose a seat and nodded to those who had already gathered. Finn, the social worker who led the group, sat in a straight-backed chair, a pile of folders in his lap, while Xander, a twenty-something graduate student in a black knit cap slouched on a loveseat, arms crossed over his chest. A few others straggled in and sat down.
“Welcome back,” Finn said. “I know this isn’t easy. The last thing you want to do is talk about your failures, but trust me, that’s the best way to free yourself from your addiction and start your life over. If I got through it, so can you.”
Finn talked about his own recovery at nearly every session. He seemed so put together—dressed in pressed khakis and a button-down shirt, his hair neatly parted to the side, stylish blue plastic glasses perched on his nose—it was hard to believe he’d once battled addiction, too. Then again, Grant had been fooling people for years, getting dressed for work, seeing patients in the office, and performing hundreds of successful surgeries without raising suspicion. Addiction could be incredibly sneaky, an evil-eyed monster hiding in the most unsuspected of places.
“We had a good discussion yesterday on the topic of isolation,” Finn said. “No matter how isolated you feel through the process of recovery, you are never alone. Not only do you have all of the wonderful staff at this facility, you also have each other.”
Grant looked around the room, avoiding eye contact. He couldn’t imagine leaning on Xander, the go-to source for prescription pills at Boston University, or sharing his secrets with Tori, a housewife from Wellesley; Kevin, a plumber who’d become addicted after knee surgery, certainly wasn’t the kind of guy Grant would confide in.
“Today, we’re going to discuss another feeling that often arises in the recovery setting. Shame. It’s a common emotion during this time and it’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Finn smiled. “Let’s start with a show of hands, and don’t be shy. Who has felt shame about their addiction?”
Tori slowly raised her hand to waist height. No one else dared.
“Tori, thank you for your honesty. Can you elaborate on that thought?”
“I guess.” Tori put her hand down and gathered her blond hair over one shoulder. A several-carat diamond ring projected dots of sunlight onto the wall, making it hard for Grant to focus on what she was saying. “I mean, I’ve always felt like I needed to be perfect, have a spotless home, the newest car, the most accomplished children. All that pressure got to me. If anyone knew I was using pills to keep me going, I’d be mortified.”
“A common feeling for sure. And for everyone else, if you can’t be honest in this room, then you’re making recovery even more difficult than it needs to be.” Finn looked around for his next volunteer, nodding at Kevin to go ahead.
“I don’t know.” Kevin adjusted his Patriots cap. “I’m not the first one in my family to deal with addiction, but somehow it seems worse. All the rest were run of the mill drunks: my pop, my grandfather, my uncle. Always sauced. It’s almost like I’m rejecting the tried-and-true Donnelly tradition. Like I couldn’t even get my addiction right.” Listening to Kevin’s Boston accent made Grant think about patients he’d cared for over the years, blue collar types from Charlestown or Jamaica Plain who were always grateful for his surgical treatment. They would often send tokens of appreciation to the office: homemade shepherd’s pies, boxes filled with Mike’s cannolis, or carrot cakes from Modern Pastry. He missed being in the operating room, the gnawing emptiness growing larger with each day away from the hospital.
Finn nodded. “Shame often centers around family in one way or another. That’s an important point. Xander, how about you?”
“Can I take a pass?” Xander pulled his cap over his eyes.
“Let’s not make it a habit, please.” Finn flipped through the folders on his lap. “Grant, you’ve been quiet so far. What do you have to say about shame?”
“I’m not sure what to say.” Grant squirmed in his seat, his head starting to pound. The chair, which had seemed so cushy a few moments ago, now felt firm and unforgiving.
“There are no right answers in group. It’s about validating and accepting each other, no matter what feelings come to the surface.”
“Alright …” Sweat collected under the waistband of Grant’s sweatpants. Shame was an emotion he could definitely identify with right now. He felt ashamed that he’d fallen prone to addiction, ashamed that he’d let the problem fester for so long, and most of all, ashamed that he’d disappointed his family, colleagues, and patients, but admitting those things out loud was a different story.
“It’s okay to let it out, Grant.” Finn said.
“Yeah, no judgment, man,” said Kevin.
“Like we have grounds to judge,” Tori placed her hand on his. Her hand felt cool and dry. She was probably disgusted by the dampness of his skin, but he felt comforted by her touch anyway, by the unexpected human connection. Tori was more madeup than Alison usually was, but her straight blond hair and clear eyes brought his sister-in-law to mind. He took a deep breath and looked around at the random people in the circle, all of them trying to make addiction a painful part of their past, and realized he had to make the most of this program. He had to give it his all, if not for himself, then for Cynthia and for Sadie, and most of all, for Alison. He owed it to Alison to beat this thing and come out the other side a better man. No more half-assing it.
“You can’t make progress until you own up to how you’re feeling,” Finn said.
“Okay.” Grant’s right eye throbbed and watery snot dripped into his mouth. “This is really hard for me.”
“You can do this, Grant,” Tori said.
“Okay … I’m ashamed. I admit it. I’ve let everyone down. More people than I can count.” He took a ragged breath. “I’m not the man people think I am.”
“Thank you for sharing, Grant,” Finn said. “Shame is completely natural. It’s real and raw and important to face. One you come to terms with your shame and allow others in, that’s when the real work begins.”
Finn passed a box of tissues around the circle. The room fell silent
for a moment, pierced only by the sound of Grant blowing his nose. When Finn moved on to other topics, Grant was aware of voices, but he couldn’t focus on words, much less their meaning. This was the first time he’d shared something real in group, the first time he’d made himself vulnerable, and he had to reclaim his dignity. Like a turtle flipped upside down, his soft underbelly had been exposed and he needed to retreat back into his shell to protect himself.
CHAPTER FORTY - THREE
Alison
November 18, 2019
ALISON DROVE PAST MINUTEMAN PARK and put on her turn signal at the sign for Walden Pond. Last week, Svetlana had given her the go ahead to start driving. Being behind the wheel again felt exhilarating. For her first drive, she’d gone less than a mile to Whole Foods, her heart racing and hands shaking, but now it felt more natural. She steered mostly with her left hand. Her right foot wasn’t agile enough to switch between the pedals, so she made it work by keeping one foot on the gas and one on the brake.
After she parked, she grabbed her purse and cane. Her walking had been improving a little every day, but with sand and dirt paths, she’d need the cane to help her balance. Becca stood by the entrance to the trail leading to the beach, looking flawless in jeans and a fleece pullover. By the look on her face, Alison could tell Becca had no clue why they were here today. Since Nate’s show a few days ago, they’d only talked on the phone once. Alison had needed time to process everything that had happened there.
When Becca leaned in for a kiss hello, Alison turned her head, offering her cheek.
“Nice day for a drive,” Becca said.
“So nice,” Alison said.
On the trail to the beach, Alison led the way, her cane crunching in the fallen leaves. They were both quiet as they walked. Alison wondered if Becca had realized yet what she was about to say. The small beach was empty except for a woman walking her retriever by the water’s edge. Alison sat on a bench at the tree line and patted the seat next to her.
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