Page 121 of The Treasure House

Dr. Nock passed me a box of tissues.

“You didn’t deserve to be in that position,” the tired guy across the circle told me. “It was a bad hand. And how is a kid supposed to make those decisions?”

“How would you feel if it was your daughter forced into making that decision?” Iris asked. “What would you tell her to do?”

The thought of Flo trapped in a cold walk-up apartment with Tina made me dissolve. Smart, funny, vulnerable Flo. She would be so scared and so alone. And I would tell her to do whatever she had to do to survive, no matter what it took. I couldn’t breathe or see through the tears.

“Sometimes it’s hard to give ourselves the understanding and compassion we give so readily to others,” Dr. Nock told me softly.

At the end of the meeting, Dr. Nock gave me the literature. And then he passed me Sweet Serenity Bear. I held the Care Bear close, oddly comforted by its stuffed weight in my arms. He was reassuringly himself, not looking at me any differently than he had before I’d sat in that circle. “The steps aren’t just for addicts, Zoe. Children of addicts often have addiction behaviors of their own, just without the substance abuse. Or,” he added wryly, “sometimes with the substance abuse.” He walked me to my car. “I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to join the circle.” Dr. Nock held the door for me as I got in, still shivering. “I hope you decide to come again. You don’t have to be alone.” As I drove off, he patted the side of the door, as he always did.

I didn’t want to go home. I couldn’t go home. I was too raw, too exposed. I messaged Suni and she told me to stay out as long as I needed.

Call us if you need us, she messaged.

She knew I was going to see Tina.

We’re always here for you.

I loved Suni fiercely in that moment. She’d been there for me in ways my mother never had. She’d even been a grandmother to my kid. She was a grandmother to my kid.

Why had I taught Flo to call them by their names and not Gran and Pop, or something that reflected their actual relationship? Why had I kept Suni and Wayne at a distance?

Because I was scared it was temporary, I thought feverishly as I pulled into the motel parking lot. Snow was falling in thick white curtains and I sat there in the flashing light of the motel VACANCY sign, my hands gripped tight on the wheel. I shivered, but not from the cold.

You don’t have to be alone, Dr. Nock’s calm voice sounded in my head.

I wasn’t alone. I had Flo. And Suni and Wayne and Ali and Lance and Tash. And Jake…

I didn’t know what I was going to say to Tina, but I knew I had to see her. Because whether I spoke to her or not, I was making a choice. Shakily, I made my way to her door. I knocked. My hands were sweating as I waited for her to answer. I knocked again.

“Mom?” I called.

There was no answer. I tried calling her. It went to voicemail. But Tate’s car was in the parking lot, so I knew they were here. I had a familiar poisonous feeling in my belly. I was just about to head to the front office to ask for a key when I heard mumbling from inside and the door swung open. The smell of cooked meth rolled over me.

“Angel!” Tina was vibrating with energy, her pupils enormous. She started talking a mile a minute when she saw me. “You caught me off guard. I haven’t cleaned up—”

“Where’s Tate?” I interrupted nervously, peering over her shoulder.

“Out,” she said, rubbing her face. “He’s out.”

“Out where? The car’s here.”

“He went in Dave’s car.”

“Dave? Who’s Dave?” But I knew. Dave would be some random dealer. How did they find these guys? Tina seemed to be able to score anywhere, anytime, even in a town where she knew no one.

She was so pepped up on meth she didn’t even notice the icy December cold. She was bare-armed in a tank top but she wasn’t even shivering. As I watched her, grinning, high as a kite, I knew exactly what I wanted to say.

“You can’t see my kid,” I blurted. “Not unless you’re clean.” I straightened my shoulders. “And you can’t see me either.”

“Jesus, Angel, it’s just a little holiday hit. Where’s your Christmas spirit?”

She wasn’t the mom I wanted. She wasn’t the mom I deserved. And she wasn’t the mom she deserved to be.

“I loved you,” I said, my voice cracking. Distantly, I was aware I was using past tense. “I missed you so much.” She blinked but didn’t seem to be listening to me. “But I’ve got my own life now and I’ve got responsibilities. I can’t do this.” I took a breath. “I don’t want to do this.”

“Do what?” She rubbed her face again. “Honestly, Zoe, you’re always so dramatic.”