Audrey stares blankly across her kitchen and I rethink the entire pitch I just launched. “Say something,” I insist, my plan unraveling by the minute within my head. Her mouth opens and I wait, impatiently, for any confirmation that this is the best shot we’ve got. She turns her back, looking through the kitchen window and my mind swarms for a plan B. But there is no plan B.

Twenty-thousand is no small debt.

When I left the club last night, I brainstormed the entire drive home on how much cash I could get my hands on. As soon as I locked myself into my small two-room cottage, I called the numbers on the back of every credit card in my wallet. The grand total of my available cash tallying to a not-so-staggering $4,867.34 — every cent of which, I had transferred into my checking account. Add that to my mere savings of $1,100 and we’ve got a quarter of what is owed to Paul.

I tossed and turned the rest of the night desperately clinging to any idea to get my sister clean and pay off the debt she owes to Paul without getting either of us killed.

“It’s the only way Audrey.”

She turns, facing me with tears in her eyes. “I can’t let you strip, Mia. At least, I’m not going to be the one to help you get on that stage. Even I have boundaries.” Her voice is calm, but my blood boils with her proclamation. All I asked of her was to talk to Jimmy, the owner of the club where she works. Last night, I saw firsthand the outrageous amount of money those women make, but does she seriously think I’m begging to strip? The thought of getting on that stage—naked—isn’t my ideal solution, but it’s all I have and I’m all she has.

“You have boundaries? Really, because that nasty mother fucker that was rubbing up against me last night, didn’t look like you’ve been shooting for the stars in your standards, Audrey.” She takes my jab, showing no reaction other than the straightening of her spine.

“Paul isn’t really a bad guy. I think I can work something out with him.”

“No! You can’t trust him, Audrey!” I get up, pacing the length of her living room, my eyes scanning the fancy townhouse. Hardwood floors, built in entertainment center, cherry wood cabinets and granite countertops in the kitchen. I’ve always wondered how she could afford to live here. It’s easily four times the size of my run-down cottage and has every top of the line upgrade. I naïvely chalked it up to her bartending job. After last night, I know. Paul was helping her, as she put it. What he was doing was putting her in a place where he owned her.

“Let me talk to him,” she whispers, her voice quivering when she does. I turn, studying her. Her hands and fingers shake and she won’t look me in the eyes and I realize this may be harder than I thought. Last night she told me her addiction was more recreational, that it didn’t own her like it once did. The brunt of the money she owed Paul was for the $1,600 a month rent she was typically unable to make because the club took on more bartenders in recent months, cutting her hours and splitting her tips as a result. But as I stand here, studying her obvious aversion to eye contact, fidgeting hands, I realize I am once again the naïve one. An addict is an addict. There are no lesser forms of it.

“No! We’ll talk to him. I should have a quarter of his money in my account by tomorrow. We’ll take it to him and get him to agree to a payment plan. Then you will get on a plane to Texas and live with Aunt Donna. She’s willing to give you a safe place to live, food to eat, and pay you a small amount to help out on her ranch—”

“I’m not going, Mia.”

“Yes, you are.” I ignore the defiance in her eyes. It’s the same challenge that presented itself over and over to my parents before their death.

“I don’t want to live with Aunt Donna. She’s never liked me and I don’t want to live in the middle of nowhere.”

“I don’t care if you don’t want to live there. She’s willing to have you and it’s the only place you can be safe while this gets sorted out. Once I’ve repaid Paul, we’ll figure something out.”

She stays quiet, but I know she’s sulking. Truth is, I can’t force her to go, but if she wants my help or any relationship with me at all, she’ll go. Her silence tells me she heard the determination in my voice.

“You need to pack your stuff and stay with me until you leave for Texas. I don’t want him knowing where you are. You can pack what you’re going to keep and we’ll call that second-hand place to come buy the rest.”

Her head snaps up and her eyes widen. “You’re going to sell all my stuff?”

“You’re damn right we are and your car, too. You don’t need the payment and we’ll put everything toward what you owe to Paul.” I glance around her townhouse. She has a large TV, nice furniture. “You don’t need anything but your personal stuff. The other things are just material.” I look back to her. Her eyes glisten with tears. “It can all be replaced, Audrey. You can’t.” I say the last softly. She does a hard swallow before giving me a subtle nod.