Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [129]
Bill put a hand on Brady’s shoulder. “Chill, bro. It’s all right. At orientation we’ll tell you the only places around here that are off-limits. Otherwise, treat this as your home. Okay?”
“Okay, I just—”
“It’s your home, Brady. Really. Stay out of the kitchen and the medical office unless invited, and of course you can’t leave without an escort. Otherwise, inside you need to get used to coming and going as you please. Now the nurse is on duty and she has something that will help your cravings. Follow me.”
On the way down the stairs and through the large dining room, Bill told Brady, “You know, you earned your spot here. If you were doing dope inside, you couldn’t have been doing it without your sponsor’s knowledge, so it was part of whatever you were doing to cooperate. You’re here because they believe they can trust you and that you’re a good candidate for success. It’s time you started looking at yourself in that way.”
“I appreciate that. Man, something smells good.”
“Dinner is family style, and believe me, it’s always good.”
Bill introduced Brady to a plump young nurse he guessed to be Italian or Greek. If he hadn’t been so strung out, he might have concentrated on her. On the other hand, despite all the talk about trust and coming and going as he pleased, it was not lost on Brady that there was at least one sweeping camera in a corner of the ceiling of every room. No one was getting away with a thing in here.
The nurse proved efficient. She shook his hand and pointed to a chair. Once he was seated, she pulled out a card. “Methamphetamine?”
He nodded. “Not good stuff, though,” he said.
“Of course not. Not inside. Pill or powder?”
“Just pills.”
“So, no snorting or injecting.”
“No, ma’am.”
“How long?”
“About three years.”
“How dependent?”
Brady shrugged. “I need it and want it; that’s all I know.”
“What’s it like when you don’t get it?”
“Like now. Anxious, irritable, want it more than I want anything else.”
“Your release physical shows you in fair health despite the dependence. That’s good. We have medication for you. It’ll help, but you’re going to go through withdrawal for about forty-eight hours.”
“Really? That’s all? I can handle that; I know I can.”
44
Adamsville
Thomas assiduously avoided burdening Grace with his troubles. But she didn’t appear to need him to keep up her spirits. While her body deteriorated, her mind seemed sharp and her interests keen. She always wanted the latest news from the church, from the family, and from his work.
The women’s missionary society had taken on what they called the privilege of attending to Grace during the day when Thomas was at work. He took over later in the afternoon, and of course Ravinia spelled him Tuesday and Thursday evenings. Needless to say, it fell to him to be with her the rest of the night until a volunteer arrived at dawn. Though by nature a private person, Thomas couldn’t imagine being able to cope without the help.
He had traded his and Grace’s old double bed for a single he pushed to the wall to allow plenty of room to come and go from her bedside. The doctor urged him to use the bedpan only as a last resort and to help her to the bathroom at least twice every twenty-four hours, averring that even that little exercise would do wonders for her circulation, her soft tissue, and—as important—her state of mind.
Thomas was amazed at the latter, as she never seemed to complain except to rue that she had become so dependent on so many people. “Oh, to be able to simply do things for myself again,” she would say.
Thomas fought to hide his despair over her condition. It did her no good to see it in him, and he could tell that his discomfort troubled her more than her own. Her voice was weak and she spoke softly, often seeming to have to recover and build strength before speaking again. But she loved to ask questions and seemed fascinated—and hopeful—about his frequent conversations with Ravinia. “I keep praying,” she said.
“I know you do.”
“I pray for you all day. Do you feel it?”
Thomas