Yeah, Val’s very frightened. So I do most of the talking. Most of the questions are easy and expected. But there are a few important decisions to be made. I act as Val’s official advocate. Lateesha is cool with that.

For example, I know that one of the best, and also toughest, rehab spots is located in a repurposed Catholic Church in Bushwick, Brooklyn—Our Lady of the Rosary. It’s a live-in program. And I know a few of my mothers have come out of Our Lady of the Rosary pretty clean and ready to go. Of course I also know a few who have not made it work at all. “The gals with the pin-cushion arms,” Troy calls these women.

Val is shaking badly. She’s crying. She’s pulling nervously at her hair. I decide not to tell her that her program will be in a church. We can fight about that when she gets there.

“Now,” says Lateesha. “Let’s figure out childcare for the kiddies you’re leaving behind, and the new little one.” God, how I wish everyone in this line could be treated as patiently and respectfully as Teesh is treating Val.

“I don’t have any other kiddies that I’m leaving behind. Plus I can take care of my one and only baby. I don’t need no one,” Val yells. Her voice is loud enough to be heard over the noise and shouting of the packed MSS office. The nearby men and women look at us.

What the hell is she up to? Is she just about to go crazy on me?

“You’re gonna be in rehab, honey,” Lateesha says. “Don’t you understand that?” Lateesha isn’t fazed by anything.

“You’re going to be living at the place, Val,” I say.

“I can’t do no rehab without my baby.”

Lateesha speaks directly to me. “I can tell you right now that we don’t have much to choose from anyplace in Brooklyn. If we change the rehab location to someplace like the Bronx, we could get the baby closer to the mother. Of course that depends on who’s going to be tending to the newborn. That’s something we have to settle first and foremost.”

And then…well, an angel must have started whispering in my ear. I suddenly got a minor brainstorm.

I look at Lateesha and say, “I think we may have a good solution for this. Right near me in my neighborhood is a woman who specializes in foster care for infants. Let me see if she’s available.”

“Is she licensed and on record with us?” Lateesha asks.

“Oh, I’m sure she is,” I say.

This is a complete lie. But I also know it’s a good idea.

I’m standing a few feet away from a sign that says NO CELL PHONE USE. I ignore it and I text Sabryna, my best friend and downstairs neighbor.