Race to Recovery (Full Throttle) (2 page)

“It’s not the MGM Grand, but the mattress is good and someone comes in to change the sheets about twice a week and between patients. The first door is the bathroom, the second is a closet. As I said, keep this door locked when you’re not here to prevent your neighbour from coming over for an uninvited look around. We haven’t had many thefts but people with addictions don’t always act rationally. Your room door also locks but two staff members on every shift carry a master key – in case of emergencies mainly, but we do occasionally check the rooms to make sure no one is breaking any of the rules.”

“So searching my bag at the door wasn’t good enough? You’re going to rifle through my drawers too?”

Dr. Hurd smiled dryly. “We only search a room if we suspect the person of using, or dealing to other patients. It’s happened very rarely. We do try to respect our patients’ privacy. The hallways and common rooms are under 24-hour closed circuit surveillance and we keep a digital copy of all recordings for two years. The bathrooms are not watched, of course, but there is a small camera in each room.”

“You can’t do that!” Brant snapped.

“The camera is a narrow focus surveillance camera with no microphone so anything you say in this room remains private. The camera only records who comes through the door. It does not capture any other part of the room so we won’t see you changing or sleeping. This is to deter theft.”

“We’re not criminals,” Brant snapped.

“Even hotels have surveillance in the public rooms and hallways. The people here can be unpredictable; it’s just part of the healing process. And, if I may say, the only reason you aren’t criminals is because you stopped using. I don’t think you obtained that little yellow bottle from a doctor. Now, if you’ll drop your bag off here I have your key for you and we can finish the tour.”

As they stepped into the hallway again a young red-headed woman stepped out of a room across the hall. She flashed them a smile and then sauntered off, her narrow hips swaying.

Dr. Hurd’s lips tightened. “There is one other policy you will need to be aware of. We do not permit romantic or sexual relationships between patients. You are here to heal yourself, not distract yourself or anyone else. Also, we do not permit any verbal, physical, or sexual harassment of other patients.”

“You must have trouble enforcing that,” Seth said.

“We understand that sometimes two patients who both react aggressively to the withdrawal process may have conflicts of either a verbal or physical nature. Often threats are uttered and we have had blows exchanged. We see harassment as the continual and deliberate mistreatment of another person. Breaking any of these rules results in the person being removed from the facility.”

“It sounds like you run a tight ship,” Seth said, nodding.

“It sounds like prison.”

“You’d get far less privileges and privacies in prison,” Dr. Hurd pointed out. “And you can leave whenever you want. Of course we ask that patients don’t come and go. Once you’re checked in you stay until you choose to check out, or we are forced to remove you, or a doctor says you’re far enough along to the healing process to no longer need our services. Let’s finish the tour and then you can get some dinner, if you’re hungry.”

He led the way back down the stairs. “Down the hallway there are the offices of our administrative team and our staff psychologists. You will be required to see one of our resident psychologists as often as they deem necessary as part of your recovery process. Your first appointment will be tomorrow morning, just an assessment. They’ll inform you of how often you’ll be seeing them.”

“What if I don’t want to go at all?” Brant said. “I don’t need a shrink; I need a place to get over the withdrawal without alerting my father, that’s all.”

“Then you’ve come to the wrong place. Our mission here is to provide healing and the tools required to enable you to stay away from your habit in the future.”

“It sounds fine,” Seth said, jabbing the side of Brant’s foot with his toe. “I think Brant will adjust just fine.”

“Sure,” Brant grumbled. “I’ll stay.”

Dr. Hurd frowned but nodded. “Then let me show you the dining room. The Doctor handed Seth a small card. “Seth, just hand them this card, it’s for a complimentary meal. This way please.”

The dining room looked like a cross between a school cafeteria and the lunch room for a fancy office building. One wall was dominated by a serving counter where patients and visitors could grab cold drinks, hot coffee, and whatever meal the kitchen staff had prepared.

There were several long tables complete with benches that made Seth think ‘high school’ and Brant think ‘prison’ but there were also smaller round tables that sat two to four people. The room was maybe a third full and only a handful of people looked up from their food or conversation to eye the new comers.

They made their way to the counter and each grabbed a tray from the stack. Today’s dinner was meatloaf in gravy or tomato sauce, a choice of cold pasta salad or white rice, and a salad bar.

Seth smiled at the staff, thanking each of them as they scooped food onto his plate. Brant followed behind, sullen, answering direct questions with barely understandable grunts and offering no other conversation.

“You could try some manners you know,” Seth said under his breath as they waited in line at the till.

Brant grunted something that may have been affirmative but he wasn’t paying any real attention to his brother. His eyes had settled on a petite blonde sitting alone at one of the round tables. She had a delicate face with a narrow chin and fine features. Her hair was that white blonde color that babies often boasted only to have it replaced by darker shades as the years passed by. She wore a pale knit cardigan and ate with tiny movements, staring only at her plate.

She’s like a living work of art or a porcelain doll. I wonder who she is,
he thought.

Seth glared at his brother and said, “It’s our turn.”

Brant grudgingly turned his attention back to his brother, the line, and the woman at the till. “Cash or room number?” she said, smiling cheerfully.

“Dr. Hurd gave me this,” Seth replied, handing over the laminated card.

“Thank-you!” She turned to Brant. “Room number?”

“Sixteen,” he said.

“Thank-you. We’ll add it to your tab. Enjoy you meals.”

“Thank-you, we will,” Seth said.

Brant just grabbed his tray and stalked off. He selected a small round table where he could see the girl out of the corner of his eye but was still far enough away that she wouldn’t notice the attention and take offense. Seth followed a few steps behind.

“I sure hope this is all part of the withdrawal because even for you those were some pretty bad manners. Mom would be embarrassed.”

Brant bristled at his brother’s remark. Chloe had said something similar in New York back when he’d first broken his foot in the car accident.
And then she ran off with that idiot, Trey Williams, leaving me to drive a race with a broken foot. If she had just kept her head and driven the damn race I wouldn’t have gotten hooked on the damn pills.

Seth could see Brant had lost himself in dark thoughts so he turned to his food and to examining the room and people around him. The whole place was a well-designed cross between homey and institutional with the colour scheme carefully chosen to be neutral and soothing. The art work was the same and served more to break up the long lengths of wall than to add artistic flair to the room. Not one of the paintings could be called a conversation starter and they were as far from controversial as possible.
Still, they’re technically accurate and better than anything I could paint.

The lighting was brighter here than in the common room.
Or maybe it only seems that way because the linoleum reflects more light than the carpet.

His gaze wandered to the other tables. There was a fair mix of men and women and he guessed they were all between the ages of thirty and forty making Brant one of the youngest in the room. He turned to his brother again and noted, not for the first time, that Brant’s appearance had aged since they had returned from New York. Seth had thought it was the stress but now he was rethinking that.
Maybe the others are younger than they look too.

His gaze wandered until it came to the lonely blonde. Her hair was so pale it looked thin and her shoulders were hunched defensively. She stared at her plate with the intensity of a person trying to be invisible.
She looks lost and helpless,
he thought, his heart aching for this vulnerable stranger.

He sighed and looked at Brant. “Did you make arrangements for me or am I sleeping in the car?”

“Don’t be stupid, you can’t sleep in the car,” Brant snapped.

“Thank-you for that. Did you want me to check in too?”

Brant glared. “You could check into a hotel.”

“With what money? And how the hell are you paying for this place, anyway?”

“I have a little money saved up, don’t you?”

“Sure I do, but I need tools and parts and I was hoping to get a new car for me before mine dies on the road and causes a wreck.”

“Look, just get the damn hotel room,” he growled and slammed his fork down on the table. “I’ll pay you back from my next cheque.”

“The sponsors won’t pay us anything more until you race again and the advance they gave you was eaten up by medical bills.”

“Well, I plan to win so it’ll be a fat cheque, all right? I’ll pay Mom back, I’ll pay you back, and I’ll still have some left over. Okay?”

“Fine. Have it your way. Do you want me to hang out here until eight?”

“Whatever you want,” Brant said with a shrug.

“Then I’ll go right after dinner to find a motel.”

“And just leave me here, bored to tears? Some brother you are.”

Seth shook his head. “I won’t miss these mood swings. Would you just make up your mind? Am I staying or going?”

“Staying.”

Seth sighed. “Fine.”

They went back to their meals and Brant’s eyes wandered back to the blonde only to find that she had finished eating and disappeared from the room. Cursing his brother’s timing and his own horrid luck he shovelled the food into his mouth without tasting it.

Seth noted the young woman’s disappearance with mild disappointment and a mental shrug. The food was nowhere near as good as their mother made but then Seth had thought the same thing about the food at the Plaza Hotel in New York City.
Still, the gravy is thick and flavourful, the meatloaf wasn’t too dry, the rice is fluffy and the salad is crisp. You can’t really ask more than that from a place like this.

After dinner they went up to Brant’s room, both scanning the common room for the blonde they’d seen at dinner. She wasn’t there but the redhead from the hallway gave them a sultry smile over the top of her magazine. Brant didn’t even notice, Seth only smiled politely and continued on his way.

Once alone in the only private place available to them Brant said, “You have to bring me food tomorrow, I can’t live like this.”

“Brant, the food is fine. Next time get the gravy instead of the tomato sauce.”

“Can it, Seth. A few chocolate bars for the evenings would be good. It’s too bad bread doesn’t come in sealed bags or I could live off of sandwiches for the week or so I’m here. Crackers will have to do. With peanut butter.”

“Brant, they’re serving real food here. Okay, the sauces sit under a warming light and the rice is probably of the instant variety but you could do far worse. I’ll see about getting you some snacks but that’s it.”

“A bottle of pop, too. Too bad about the coffee, I would kill for a real cup from a coffee shop, so hot it burns your tongue, and blacker than night.”