“Believe me, Lucy, between the five of us we knew quite a bit about addiction and rehab and that’s something we discussed. It was Michelle, who is a social worker, who pointed out that simply giving an addict a free ride to rehab would be counterproductive. Addicts need to be accountable, she said, so we’ve come up with the idea of an interest-free loan program. Anyone who accepts the money will have to pay it back so we can help fund rehab for others. And we’re not going to pay the whole cost, either. Some medical insurance plans provide partial coverage for rehab, and family members can usually help, too. And there are charitable groups like the fraternal organizations and the police and fire unions that would probably want to help.”
Lucy had to admit the church ladies had come up with a workable plan. “I think you’re really on to something.”
“Well, we do, too, and we want to let everybody know all about it and get the ball rolling.”
“How soon will this money be available?” asked Lucy, thinking of Hank.
“At the moment, it’s just sitting in a bank account,” said Pam. “But that doesn’t mean we’re going to write a check to someone for ten thousand dollars. Every applicant will have to put together a financial package and formally request the amount they need and agree to pay it back on a regular payment schedule.”
Lucy could just see those church ladies nodding along. “I see,” she said, convinced that this was a rare opportunity for Hank, if she could convince him to take advantage of it.
“So you’ll write the story?” asked Pam.
“Of course,” said Lucy, struck by the absurdity of the question. “You’re the boss’s wife.”
“Great. We’ll write up an official press release and e-mail it to you today.”
The wheels were already turning in Lucy’s head, and she was convinced that simply writing up the details of the festival committee’s plan was not enough. For the story to have a real impact it would have to show how the plan made a difference in someone’s life, someone like Hank. But how was she going to pull something like this together?
First she’d have to convince him to agree to go to rehab, which he had said he wanted to do, but she wasn’t entirely convinced he really meant it. And then he’d have to start putting a financial plan together, which seemed like a daunting challenge for someone struggling with drug dependency. He would definitely need help for that part, probably more help than she was in a position to provide. And finally, she realized, as her heart dropped with a thump, she didn’t even know how to contact him. She knew he was no longer enrolled at the college, which meant he didn’t have a dorm room of his own but most likely couch-surfed among his friends or even slept in his truck. She knew he still had his pickup because she’d seen him in it at Blueberry Pond . . .
“What does my wife want you to do?” asked Ted, crashing into her runaway train of thought.
“Hot lead. See you later,” said Lucy, picking up her bag and grabbing her jacket as she hurried out the door.
Ted and Phyllis shared a puzzled glance.
“I thought I knew my wife,” he said, shaking his head, “but now it seems she’s brushing me off and giving news tips to Lucy.”
Phyllis just shrugged and went back to editing the classified ads while Ted reached for his phone to call home.
Lucy knew it was a long shot, but it was the only shot she had. The drive home to the house took fifteen minutes or so, changing into her running clothes took another five, and then she was back on the trail to Blueberry Pond. Libby was thrilled at this unexpected treat and ran ahead with her tail held high, tongue and ears flapping.
Lucy suspected she was being ridiculous as she ran along the familiar path. There was only the slimmest chance that she would catch Hank buying drugs at the pond, and an even slimmer chance that she could get him to agree to go to rehab, much less figure out a plan to submit to the church ladies. What will be, will be, she told herself, repeating it like a mantra as her feet hit the path in an even pace. What will be, will be . . .
With a series of sharp barks, Libby announced their arrival in the Blueberry Pond parking lot and Lucy miraculously spotted Hank’s parked pickup truck. She was panting as she approached the driver’s side window where she could see Hank’s head leaning against the glass. For a second she had a flashback to Ed Franklin’s murder.
Then Hank moved his head and he saw her and the dog. “Hey,” he said, rolling down the window
“Hey,” said Lucy, eyeing him skeptically. He was unshaven and seemed lethargic, and he looked as if he could use a shower and clean clothes. “Are you high?”
He considered his state carefully. “Coming down, I’d say.”
“You’re good for a talk?” asked Lucy, chest heaving from exertion and also a certain amount of anxiety. She’d never done anything like this before.
“Sure. But I don’t want a sermon.”
“Funny you should say that,” she began, launching into an outline of the church ladies’ plan.
When she’d finished, Hank shook his head. “It’s a great idea, but I wouldn’t know how to begin.”
“Your folks have got money,” said Lucy.
“I’d have to tell them that I’ve been using,” said Hank. “They don’t even know I dropped out of college.”
“Well, telling them would be an important step toward recovery. Believe me, I’m a mom and I’d rather know the truth about my kids. And besides, I think you’re kidding yourself if you think they don’t know. They certainly suspect something bad is going on with you.”
He sat for a while and Lucy wondered if
