Myron still wasn’t buying it all—something just didn’t make sense here—but when he tried to push it, Kitty just shut down and started to cry. Then, when she was sure Mickey wasn’t listening (Myron was sure he was), Kitty begged him for her stash back, “just one last hit, please,” using the logic that she was heading into rehab anyway—what harm could it do?

The rehab’s sign was small and read, THE CODDINGTON REHABILITATION INSTITUTE. Myron took the private road up past the security gate. From the outside the place looked like one of those vinyl-sided, faux-Victorian bed-and-breakfasts. Inside, at least in the reception area, it was an interesting mix of luxury hotel and prison. Soft classical music played on the overhead speaker. A chandelier hung from the ceiling. There were bars on the ornate arched windows.

The receptionist’s nameplate read, CHRISTINE SHIPPEE, though Myron knew that she was much more than a receptionist. Christine was, in fact, the hands-on founder of the Coddington Institute. She greeted them from behind what might have been bulletproof glass, though “greeted” might be too strong a term. Christine had a face like a yield sign. Her reading glasses hung from a chain. She looked them over, clearly finding them wanting, and sighed. She slid the forms to them through the kind of chute you see at a bank.

“Fill out the paperwork, then come back,” Christine said by way of introduction.

Myron moved over to the corner. He started writing her name, but Kitty stopped him. “Use the name Lisa Gallagher. It’s my alias. I don’t want them finding me.”

Again Myron asked who “them” referred to and again she claimed to have no idea. No reason to argue right now. He filled out the forms and brought them back to the receptionist. She took the forms, put on the reading glasses, and started checking for errors. Kitty’s body quake picked up steam. Mickey put his arms around his mother, trying to calm her. It wasn’t working. Kitty looked smaller now, frailer.

“Do you have a suitcase?” Christine asked her.

Mickey held it up for her.

“Leave it there. We’ll go through the contents before we deliver it to your room.” Christine turned her attention to Kitty. “Say good-bye now. Then stand by that door and I’ll buzz you in.”

“Wait,” Mickey said.

Christine Shippee turned her gaze toward him.

“Can I go in with her?” he asked.

“Nope.”

“But I want to see her room,” Mickey said.

“And I want to mud wrestle with Hugh Jackman. Neither is happening. Say good-bye and then move on.”

Mickey did not back down. “When can I visit?”

“We’ll see. Your mother needs to detox.”

“How long will that take?” Mickey asked.

Christine looked at Myron. “Why am I talking to a kid?”

Kitty still had a bad case of the shakes. “I don’t know about this.”