Carol stared back at him, her eyes glassy, but holding a glimmer of understanding. “You mean, how did I wind up in the gutter.” She looked away. For a moment Cohen thought she might not answer, but then she began to speak softly. “I was a good kid, you know. Studious type. Wanted to be a teacher like my mom.” She laughed weakly. “My kid sister Amy was the rebel. I was the goody-goody who never touched drugs or booze.”

Cohen studied her without interrupting. He had seen the look before. It was the face of a witness or suspect who had been bottling up a story for a long time and was ready, anxious even, to unload.

“At college, I had this roommate who introduced me to stuff.” Her voice trembled as her shaking became more prominent. Cohen resisted the urge to wrap an arm around her shoulder. “She was real arty. Convinced it was the ‘intellectual’ thing to do. Nothing serious. We smoked some weed. Dropped a few hits of Ecstasy. And we drank a fair bit.” She paused. “Too much, probably. But I got my degree and then got into a post-grad program at Berkeley in education.” Her voice cracked and she swallowed. “My parents were very proud.” She shrugged her arms and then grimaced in pain. She fell silent.

Cohen stared at her. He wanted to know more about this person whose complexity he had only begun to appreciate. “What happened in grad school, Carol?” he pressed.

“One day, a friend of mine dragged me to this party. I didn’t even want to go.” She breathed more rapidly and hugged her blanket tighter. “I was given this pipe to smoke. I was so fucking naive, I just assumed it was hash.” Her voice wavered. “You know? I was hooked from that very first puff.”

“Heroin?”

She nodded and sniffled. Tears began to well in her eyes. “You wouldn’t believe how fast you fall.” She looked down and spoke to the floor. “I didn’t lose my virginity until college. And by the time I went to grad school, I’d only ever slept with two guys. But by year’s end I was turning five or six tricks a night to pay off that fucking habit.” She swallowed. “I tested HIV-positive a couple years later.”

“And your family?” Cohen asked, gently.

Carol shook in her seat. “They tried so hard … ,” she choked out through her sobs. “For years, they tried. Mom, Dad, Amy—a teacher now, by the way—they just couldn’t cope anymore. The last time I walked out on rehab, they gave up on me. I just couldn’t give the shit up.” Cohen handed her a wad of Kleenex and she used them all to wipe away the mucus and tears, but the effort seemed to exhaust her. “I don’t blame them.” She panted heavily. “I would’ve done the same thing.”

Cohen mustered a smile.