Chapter 30
Nan
Malcolm and I had fallen into the habit of sharing a pot of tea after he finished the evening round of dog walking. When he heard my footsteps on the back stairs after I finished checking on Dani, he called out, “Chamomile or Earl Grey?”
“Chamomile. Not that I’ll be able to get a wink of sleep tonight. But . . .”
Malcolm scooped tea into a strainer and placed it in the pot to steep. I took a flowered plate out of the cupboard and filled it with a half-dozen oatmeal cookies.
By this time, Malcolm knew my kitchen so well that we were able to complete the preparations in silence. Though this wasn’t the normal procedure, I was glad he left me to my own thoughts. I had so much on my mind.
When everything was ready, Malcolm carried the tea tray into the dining room. Blixen, Nelson, and Lovey padded along behind him, then curled up in a pile in the corner.
“Is she asleep?” Malcolm asked after pouring the tea.
“Out like a light. She didn’t even bother drying her hair after her shower. The pillow was soaked so I slipped another one under her head. She didn’t even stir. But she’ll feel better in the morning after a good sleep and a good breakfast. We need to get some weight back on her,” I said, more to myself than Malcolm.
I sipped my tea. Malcolm reached for a cookie, chewing in silence for a time.
“But you know it’s going to take more than that, right?”
“Sorry?” I looked up. For a moment, I’d forgotten he was sitting there.
“You know it’s going to take more than a shower, a good night’s sleep, and a bit of a weight gain to put her back to rights, don’t you?”
“I know,” I said, trying to keep the tension from my voice.
Malcolm was just trying to watch out for me, keep me from getting hurt. I appreciated that, but I’d been handling this situation on my own for a long time. If Malcolm hadn’t happened to be in the car at just that moment, he would never have known about Dani’s addiction and I’d still have been handling it by myself.
“I called some of the rehabs I’d been in contact with before. There’s a bed available in Newberg starting tomorrow. I’ll drive Dani out first thing in the morning.”
I closed my eyes, took in a deep breath, then exhaled in a long, slow whoosh, feeling the tension drain from my body.
“This is an answer to prayer, Malcolm. An answer to prayer. All those nights I’ve lain awake, wondering where she was, worrying that she was freezing, or starving, or had overdosed. You have no idea. . . .”
A tear of relief rolled down my face. I pressed my hand to my cheek and wiped it away, then opened my eyes. Malcolm was watching me.
“I’m sorry I never told you, Malcolm. You were always so good to Dani. Every time you asked about her, I wanted to tell you—”
He shook his head and lifted his hand, stopping my explanation.
“It’s all right, Nan. I understand. It was a private matter. You and I haven’t known each other very well for very long.”
“It’s not just you. I haven’t told anyone outside of the family.”
“Not even Grace and Monica?”
I shook my head.
“I think about Dani all the time, day and night, but talking about it is just too painful. That’s why, until I met Monica and Grace that night in the parking lot and asked them home for tea and turnovers, I had no real friends. I cut off contact with almost everyone who knew Dani before. I felt like, if they knew what had happened to her, they’d think it was my fault.”
“Nan,” Malcolm said, his voice chiding. “You were a wonderful mother and Dani is a wonderful girl. If she made a mistake, a bad choice along the way . . .” Malcolm reached across the table and took my hand.
“Don’t cry. Don’t. The drugs that are out there today are so powerful,” he said. “No matter how much you try to warn them, kids do all kinds of foolish things. It doesn’t take long to go from experimentation to full-blown addiction.”
“It wasn’t just that,” I said, my voice catching as I tried to stem the tears. “Dani was only five when Jim died. It was terrible for all the kids, but Dani took it harder than the others. She was the baby and I’d had two miscarriages before she was born. At that point, we realized we probably wouldn’t have more children. I babied her, we all did. But she and Jim were so, so close. Everybody kept saying, ‘Oh, kids that age are so resilient, she’ll get over it,’ but she didn’t. Not ever.
“She’d always been such a sweet little girl, so sunny and eager to please. But after Jim died, she changed. Looking back, I really think she was depressed. You don’t think of a child that age suffering from depression, but . . .” I placed my hand over my mouth and looked away, collected myself so I could continue with the story.
“And, the thing is, sometimes there were glimpses of the old Dani, especially when she was interacting with people outside the family. Sometimes I felt like there were two different Danis—the person she was and the person she wanted people to think she was. That’s the side you saw.”
Malcolm nodded. “She was always capable and responsible around me, upbeat. And so good with the animals.”
“That part was real,” I said. “Dani adored animals, related to them better than she did people, I think. That was the reason I started keeping chickens and then got the goats. Taking care of them seemed to calm her. But the part you didn’t see was the moody, manipulative Dani. She used to lie about”—I shrugged—“well, everything.
“When she was twelve, I noticed that the door of the liquor cabinet was open. When I checked, the key was hidden in my great-grandmother’s copper kettle, where I always kept it. The bottles were at the same level they had been when I put them away after the holidays, once I’d finished baking fruitcake and had the neighbors over for New Year’s Eve. But when I opened the brandy bottle, I realized that somebody had watered it down and added food coloring so I wouldn’t suspect anything. I blamed the boys. They swore up and down that it wasn’t them, but I grounded them for two weeks. Back then, I just couldn’t make myself believe that a twelve-year-old girl would be sneaking liquor.”
“Self-medicating,” Malcolm said, nodding.
“That was the beginning. When Dani was sixteen, Kyle got injured playing soccer, damaged the knee ligaments. The doctor prescribed Percocet. Kyle didn’t like the way it made him feel, so he didn’t finish the prescription. Dani took the bottle from the medicine cabinet and . . .”
Nelson and Lovey were asleep, but Blixen, who had been watching us the whole time, got up from the floor and passed across the room to rest her muzzle on my lap. I stroked his head, took in big, slow breaths. Malcolm picked up the teapot and added more tea to my cup.
“My mother always said a cup of tea makes everything better.”
“Wouldn’t it be great if that were true?” I tried to smile. “Anyway, things went downhill pretty quickly after that. She held it together at school, but home was a different story. We had terrible fights. She stole money from me. I caught her red-handed so she couldn’t lie about taking it, but she told me she’d spent it on her friends, treating everybody to dinner. I punished her, but I believed the story. Maybe I wanted to. Of course, the truth was she used the money to buy illegal prescription drugs.”
I sighed, drank some tea. It was getting cold.
“Chrissy was the one who finally figured it out. One day, Dani and I had a huge fight. She packed up her bags and said she was going to live with her sister. Honestly, it was a relief to see her go. I was just worn-out with her. And I really thought that spending some time with her sister might be good for Dani. They were very close when Dani was little. For a few days, it seemed like it was going to work out, but then Chrissy caught Dani raiding the medicine cabinet and, well . . .”
I let the rest of the story lie. There was no need to say more, at least not right then. It wasn’t like the story of Dani’s spiral into addiction and homelessness was all that singular. Thousands of parents across the country could have told a similar tale. Malcolm squeezed my hand.
“This wasn’t your fault. You know that, don’t you?”
I bobbed my head obediently.
“So Chrissy keeps telling me. And I’ve said it to myself, a million times or more.” I pressed my lips together. “Saying it is one thing. Believing it is something else entirely. It’s hard, Malcolm. Every single day.
“About a year after Dani disappeared, I went to the liquor cabinet and realized that the vodka bottle was nearly empty and that I was the one who had emptied it. After that, I started stepping up my volunteer work, spent more time gardening and helping out at Rainbow Gate. In theory, I was supposed to be rescuing the dogs, but I think it was the other way around.” I lowered my head, gazed into Blixen’s beautiful brown eyes. “Whoever said that diamonds are a girl’s best friend never had a dog.”
Malcolm nodded. “Sometimes I think they’re the only truly selfless creatures on God’s earth. Well, some of them,” he said, reaching out to scratch Blixen’s head. Blix closed her eyes, sighed her contentment, then tipped her head to one side, making it clear that her ears needed attention as well. Malcolm obliged.
We sat there for a few minutes, sipping tea in silence. When, at last, all of Blixen’s itches had been thoroughly scratched and she went back to the corner, Malcolm took a final sip of tea.
“Would you like me to drive you to Newberg in the morning? It’s a bit of a trek.”
“Thank you, but no. I think Dani would feel more comfortable if it was just the two of us.”
“All right. But if you change your mind, all you need to do is call.” He got to his feet. “I suppose I should be going.”
I walked him to the door. After kissing me good night, chastely this time, on the cheek, he dropped into his thickest Scottish brogue and said, “It’s a lang road that’s no goat a turnin’.”
I smiled. “What?”
“Something my mother used to say—It’s a long road that’s got no turning,” he said. “You’ve walked this road a long time, Nan. I imagine you’ll be walking it a long time yet. Come tomorrow, God willing, you and Dani will be walking in the same direction, the right direction.”
“I hope so.”
“So do I.”
He placed one hand on each side of my face and kissed me once again.
“Sleep well.”
* * *
I didn’t sleep well.
I lay awake wondering how long Dani would need to be in rehab and how I would pay for it. It wasn’t cheap and Dani didn’t have insurance. It could add up to thousands. But if that’s what it took to save her, then I’d find a way. Somehow. I’d sell the house if I had to.
I worried, too, about the detox phase of treatment. It was bound to be rough, and Dani seemed so frail. I worried about whether or not to tell the other kids but decided against it, at least for the time being. I worried about what would happen once Dani completed the program. Would she move into a place of her own? Into a halfway house of some kind? Would she be better off coming home for a few months? Or should she get as far away from Portland as possible?
Finally, sometime after two, I fell asleep and woke up again around six thirty when Nelson started scratching at the bedroom door, demanding to be taken out for his morning wee. Nelson didn’t have the most reliable of bladders, so I put on my bathrobe and crept down the hall.
On the way, I poked my head into Dani’s room, relieved to see her tangled blond hair on the pillow. I tiptoed downstairs, let the dogs out, then started brewing coffee and making toast. Later, I’d make some eggs. In the meantime, a good, strong cup of coffee and a piece of raisin toast should help ease Dani into the new day. She’d never been a morning person.
Once the toast was buttered and the coffee poured, I let in the dogs. They bounded into the house and up the stairs. I followed, carrying the tray. It wasn’t easy with only one arm, but I managed. I could hear the shower running in the guest bathroom and saw the light shining out underneath the door. I carried the tray into Dani’s room and set it down on the dresser.
“Think they’ll be able to teach you to make your bed when you’re in rehab?” I muttered, seeing the rumpled sheets and the quilt lying on the floor. “God knows I never managed it.”
I went back into the hallway and stood next to the bathroom door.
“Dani? I made raisin toast and coffee to get you started, but how do you want your eggs? Omelet or scrambled? Dani? Honey?”
Hearing nothing aside from the hiss of the shower, I pressed my ear to the door and called her once again, louder this time.
Nothing.
I knocked as hard as I could, waited a moment, then opened the door and pushed aside the shower curtain. Steam billowed out, but the shower was empty.
I walked quickly down the hallway, opening each door, checking each room, with Blixen and Nelson close on my heels, calling Dani’s name. Blixen let out a series of barks as if he, too, were calling for Dani.
Heart pounding, I raced down the stairs. The front door was open. Dani was gone. So was my purse and all the money inside.