Sunday, October 28
I had spoken with Kate at The Meadows a few times by phone but, aside from my short, futile meeting to convince her to snitch on Joe Ames, I hadn’t visited her there. Both she and Adam Larken said she needed time to work on “her program.” Today, however, was a family day—when family members and close friends were invited to sit in. Kate had called on Tuesday and, in an uncharacteristically timid voice, asked me to come for lunch and the early afternoon meeting. Although Sundays were usually reserved for David and Lily, I felt compelled to say yes. This was clearly important to Kate.
David and Lily sailed out the door, hand-in-hand, Lily on Cloud Nine because she had a brunch and matinee date with Dad. I felt a stab of jealousy, at both of them, as I watched them leave.
Even my favorite music failed to lift my mood as I drove the deserted back roads to the treatment center.
This meeting would take place not in the intake unit—where we’d had our initial meeting with stone-faced Donna—but in The Meadows’ main lodge. A pleasant gray-haired woman at the information desk checked my name against a list on her clipboard and handed me a form to sign. By doing so, I agreed to keep in confidence the personal information revealed by the patients. I scribbled my name and set off for the dining room.
Walking down the gleaming hallways, I marveled at the difference between The Meadows and the dark, dingy hospital in the movie “Clean and Sober.” Kate was lucky her mom could afford this place.
She waited for me outside the dining room, looking much like Lily waiting to be picked up after her first day of school. Did they think I wouldn’t show up?
“How ya doin’?” I asked, after a quick hug.
“Better. I think I’m finally doing better.”
Indeed, she looked better: some of the luster had returned to her hair, and her skin had the healthy glow of someone who’d spent time outside. Although tense, she appeared well rested.
“Thanks for coming,” Kate said. “You’re the closest thing to family I have around here, and I feel a lot closer to you than my family.”
“Hey! I’m glad to be here.”
“One more thing, Caroline. Just for today, can we pretend you’re not my lawyer?”
“Sure. Let’s do that.”
Kate and I sat at a round lunch table with a young male patient—I judged him to be about nineteen years old—and his parents and younger sister. We discussed the weather for about two minutes and then fell into awkward silence.
But Adam Larken worked the room like a bride at her wedding, moving from table to table, welcoming the visitors and easing the patients’ nerves with his light-hearted comments and laughter. Everyone seemed more relaxed as about twenty of us, including six patients, left the dining room for the meeting.
The conference room with its plush carpeting, soft lighting and reasonably comfortable upholstered chairs, was decorated in mauve and soft grays, the walls adorned with tasteful watercolors. A coffee service sat on a sideboard. At first glance, the room was welcoming and calming—that is until we realized the chairs were arranged in a circle and we’d all be face-to-face with strangers and demons being confronted.
We hovered around the coffee area making small talk, postponing the inevitable. Finally, Adam asked us all to take seats.
“Your presence means a lot to us,” Adam said with his engaging smile. “Our program is based on the twelve steps of A.A. and N.A. We’re all working on step one: we’re admitting we’re powerless over alcohol or other drugs and our lives have become unmanageable. Some of us are already working on other steps as well.
“This afternoon, we’re going to have a kind of open meeting. Each of us will share a few experiences of powerlessness so you have a frame of reference for our treatment. Then we’ll go on to share some positive strides we’ve made in the program. You’ve all agreed in writing not to discuss confidential information about the patients outside of the facility. As in A.A., our participants are to remain anonymous. Please honor this pledge.”
We all nodded.
“I’ll start,” he said. “I’m Adam. And I’m a cocaine addict.”
I hoped my gasp was inaudible. This articulate, together counselor was addicted to cocaine? I noticed some of the other guests fidgeting uncomfortably in their seats.
“I can tell some of you are surprised or shocked,” Adam said, “but I suspect you’ll be even more taken aback when you hear my story.
“I came from a wealthy family in Whitefish Bay, with every material thing I ever wanted. I was loved, but I didn’t know it. As a teenager I started hanging with an older, faster crowd. We did every drug imaginable, but cocaine was my favorite. It gave me a sense of invincibility and well-being I’d never experienced before.”
He paused and sipped his coffee, glancing at the wide-eyed audience around him. “At first it was easy to get coke. We all had plenty of spending money and shared our stashes. But before too long, I didn’t want to share with anyone, and I didn’t have enough money to buy as much as I was using.
“Some of my friends began dealing coke in order to support their own habits but that never occurred to me. Instead, I sold things: my stereo, jewelry, sporting equipment. Eventually my car. My parents never noticed many of my things were gone, but I did have to explain why my car was missing. I said it’d been stolen when I was in downtown Milwaukee. Naturally, my father called the police and the insurance company, so I had to make sure the guy I sold it to kept the car away from our neighborhood.”
Adam shook his head. “When I stole some of my mother’s diamond jewelry and pawned it to buy coke, I got caught. My father gave me an ultimatum: either enter treatment or move out. He had me admitted here—at The Meadows. I lasted two days before I split—on a mission to score some cocaine.
“When I went home three days later, all the locks had been changed. I found an envelope and a letter from my father where the house key had been hidden. It said my treatment at The Meadows was paid for and I could return here when I was ready. But I wasn’t welcome at home until I was clean and sober.”
For the first time during his recitation, Adam’s voice quivered. “I felt so angry and rejected. I spent a year and a half living on the streets of New York City—hustling to keep myself supplied with cocaine. One day I looked at myself and saw with horror what I’d become, and I hitched a ride back here. True to his word, my dad had guaranteed my readmission.
“It wasn’t easy, but I completed treatment and high school. With God’s help—and my family’s—I went on to college and graduate school to become a counselor. I’ve been clean and sober for nine years, four months and twenty-one days.”
We sat flabbergasted for a moment, then burst into spontaneous applause.
The young man who had been at our lunch table went next. “My name is Robert, and I’m an alcoholic.”
Robert’s story, though less sordid than Adam’s, was no less moving. He’d been sober for sixteen days.
And then it was Kate’s turn.
“I’m Kathryn. I’m a cocaine addict.”
The naked reality of her statement stunned me, even though it wasn’t news.
“A lot of kids experiment with drugs in high school or college,” she said. “Not me. I didn’t want anything to stand in the way of my plan to become a doctor, like my father. But even after reaching my goals, I still felt inadequate. When someone finally convinced me to try cocaine, I couldn’t believe how good I felt. It was the most uplifting feeling I’d ever experienced.
“Like Adam, I had enough money to buy my cocaine at first. But the more I used, the more I needed. I gave up everything for cocaine.”
Kate glanced over at me. As her lawyer, I couldn’t allow her to make admissions of criminal wrongdoing in front of this group. I put my forefinger to my lips. I don’t know whether Kate caught the gesture or the panicked look in my eyes.
“I can’t really go into what happened from there,” she said. “But I can tell you I ended up in jail and did not come here voluntarily. Since I’ve been here, I can see how powerless I was… am… over cocaine. Now I want to stay and finish the program. I’ve been clean and sober for fifteen days.”
The stories of the four other patients reflected the same self-destructive patterns. One middle-aged woman was hooked on tranquilizers, prescribed by her physicians. A young man described himself as “addicted to everything”—inhalants, cocaine, speed and alcohol. The other two, a woman in her mid-thirties and a man of about seventy, were alcoholics.
After the patients finished their individual stories, Adam began a discussion and invited our questions. I was amazed at how much I learned and amazed at how comfortable I was with the hugs and warm handshakes we exchanged when the meeting broke up.
“There’s one more thing,” Adam said to us as we were standing around the room getting ready to leave. “Each of the group members has earned a twenty-four-hour pass this week. The only restriction is the pass must be spent at the home of a family member or close friend. They’ll be tested for drug and alcohol use when they get back here. Please be as supportive as you can if the patient spends a pass with you.”
Kate looked as relieved and exhausted as I felt as we walked toward the main entrance.
“You know you’re welcome to come stay with us on your pass,” I said to her.
“I’d really appreciate it,” she said. “I can’t imagine who else I could ask, and I was even reluctant to ask you.”
“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it. When would you like to come?”
“I dunno. What would be convenient for you and David?”
I stopped and faced her. “I’m not concerned about any inconvenience. I just need to know what you’d like to do while on pass. Do you have business to take care of? Do you want to discuss the case with me? Or do you want to just relax and do fun stuff?”
A look of pure bewilderment crossed her eyes.
“Gee, I hadn’t thought that far,” Kate said.
“Do you want to think about it and call me?”
“No,” she blurted—as if afraid I’d withdraw the offer. “Maybe you could pick me up one morning and drop me off to get my car. I could do some errands and meet you in the afternoon to talk about court. Then we could just have dinner with David and Lily and watch TV or something.”
“Sounds fine. How about Thursday? I’m off that day and none of us has anything planned Thursday evening.”
“Great! Thanks. I’ll let Adam know.”
“Okay,” I said. “About nine-thirty?”
“Yeah. That’s perfect. Caroline, thanks for everything,” she said, abruptly turning and walking back toward the residential wing.
It wasn’t the picture-perfect farewell I’d had in mind—especially after the emotionally charged afternoon—but I headed for the front door.
Just as I reached the reception desk, I heard Kate’s voice behind me. “Wait, Caroline! There’s something I want to give you.”
She handed me a long, white business envelope, bulging at the seams.
“Please read this, and you’ll understand better what I’ve been going through. Wait till tomorrow morning though. You’ve already had enough of this place for one day.”
She was gone again before I could respond. The envelope felt both physically and emotionally heavy in my hand.