My sister snorted. “We’re not the ones who need to do our best,” she said. “Maybe Daddy should have thought of that—”

“That’s enough, Kate,” said my mom. “Now is not the time.”

I opened the door, but before I could get out, Mom gestured at me to take off my headphones.

“I can hear,” I said.

“Please leave your devices in the car.”

“But then how is he going to tune everything out?” asked my sister.

Heat is bad for electronics. Also, someone could break in and take them. This seemed like a nice neighborhood, but there could still be criminals wandering around. It was Las Vegas, after all. Everyone probably needed money to gamble. I said all that to my mom.

“Here,” she said and held out her hand. “If you don’t want to leave them in the car, I’ll put them in my purse.”

Then she grabbed a big carry-all bag from the back of the car.

My mom pressed the buzzer at the front door and it was opened by a tall man with no hair. He had very high cheekbones and smooth, dark skin. He looked sort of like a movie star.

He said hello and asked us in. The place had a front desk, like a hotel, and there was a wall with water running down it and lots of white chairs with pillows. I was worried the place was going to look like a hospital, but it was actually nice. That was good. My dad’s into nice things and he’ll probably feel better sooner in a place like this.

My mom followed the bald man to the counter and they talked for a while. I was looking around, sort of taking it in, like you’re supposed to do if you’re a writer. In one corner a man was talking to a woman who sat across from him. She was crying. I looked away. I hate to see people violating Rule #3. Anyone who cries while visiting someone at a treatment center is definitely showing their unlucky hand.

Kate tugged on my arm. “Come on,” she said. “We have to get searched.”

I actually thought she was joking.

“Don’t be a dummy. You can’t just walk in here. You have to get checked for contraband.” I could tell she loved saying the word “contraband” and knowing that I didn’t know what it meant.

Kate was wearing her old-man pants and a checked yellow blouse with puffy sleeves, and her hair was lumpy. She looked pretty contraband-y, if you ask me, especially if contraband means terrible. She was also too pale from lack of carbs.

“Rodney, come over here please,” said my mom. She had on a dress and her black hair was down and curly, the way my dad always tells her he likes it. That was interesting. I guess she doesn’t totally hate him.