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“You might want to stay here. I have no idea what the apartment looks like today.”
“If you think I’m afraid of a little dirt, you don’t know me very well yet.” I open my door and step out.
“Dirt’s not what I’m worried about. I’m more worried about the roaches, the filth, the drug-dealing neighbors, and the general state of the household.” He walks around the car to stand by me. “You sure you want to go up?”
“I’m sure.”
He nods and squares his shoulders. “I have no idea what we’ll find.” He takes my hand in his and we walk toward the front door. My heart is in my throat and I don’t even know why.
The peeling paint isn’t the worst of it. The worst of it is the smell that hits us when the children’s mother opens the door of the apartment. The scent of trash and dirty diapers assaults my nose, and I have to force myself to keep my hands down by my sides, rather than cover my mouth and nose with them.
“Oh, it’s you,” a blond woman says, as she swings the door wide.
Mick’s eyes meet mine and I see a flicker of worry. “Hi, Patsy. How are you?”
She scratches up and down both her arms at once, her arms crossed. “Oh, trying to get by. You know how it is.” She looks at me. “Who’s this?”
I extend my hand to shake, and Patsy takes it hesitantly. “I’m Wren. I talked Mick into letting me come with him for a visit. I hope that’s okay?”
Patsy waves her hands in the air, dismissing my question as ridiculous, and then she starts to scratch again. She leaves deep red welts on her skin. She’s coming down off something. And she’s coming down hard.
“Patsy, are you okay?” Mick asks.
“Oh, yeah. I’m fine. It’s warm in here. I’m sorry it’s so warm.” She starts to babble as she wanders around the tiny room.
“Patsy, is there anything I can do to help you?” Mick asks quietly. “You haven’t been taking anybody’s calls.”
“I…um…I think I need some help,” she says quietly. “I just wanted one hit. Just one. But it didn’t stop with one. And I need to call my sponsor and go back to rehab, but if I do, I don’t have anyone to watch the kids, and if the city gets involved, they’ll all be separated.”
“Maybe not,” Mick says.
But she’s right. I know she’s right. My sisters and I came out of that same foster system.
“There’s no one who can help you, Patsy?” Mick asks. “A neighbor? A friend? Your mom?”
“There’s no one,” she says quietly, and a tear finally spills down her cheek. “My mom fell and broke her hip. And the friends I have left… Well, you know how that goes.” She scratches her arms, and I see red blood bead up on her forearm.
“Where are the kids, Patsy?” Mick asks.
She waves toward a bedroom. “In there.”
“Can I go check on them?”
She nods and Mick goes into the bedroom.
I sit down gingerly beside Patsy on the dingy sofa while Mick checks on the kids. Suddenly, he rounds the corner with a baby in his arms, a toddler clutching his finger, and two very skinny, very dirty slightly older kids walking next to him.
“Patsy,” he says. “Call your sponsor. The kids and I decided that we want to have a sleepover at my house.”
Patsy jumps to her feet. “What?”
“Give me the number for your sponsor. Right now.”
“I can make the call.”
“Do it while I’m here,” Mick says firmly. He bends over so he can look into her eyes. “You’ll let me help you, right?”
“Of course.”
