seventeen

The receptionist at Hilltop Rehabilitation was friendly but guarded.

“Who did you say you were?”

“Constance Prentice,” I replied. “I’m here to see my mother, Elizabeth Prentice.”

The woman leafed through a leather-bound date book. Of course, there was no paperwork for my unannounced visit, but I waited with an air of impatience as if I had actually gone through the proper scheduling procedures. I stepped back from the desk and pretended to look around for someone senior to the receptionist.

The rehabilitation center was a bit unusual for Long Island. I had expected a Gold Coast mansion with soft hills and park benches. This facility, a little over an hour east of Cold Spring Harbor, well into the flatlands of Suffolk County, had a California open feel, lots of glass and polished wood beams. In the distance, perfectly coiled rows of grapevines highlighted the East End’s growing wine industry. What a strange view for recovering addicts, I thought.

The interior of the building screamed spa. Meditation areas dotted the main floor as if at any moment a patient might care to sit and reflect on their train wreck of a life. The airiness and open public seating implied sharing. As much as I liked the redistribution of garbage, I wasn’t much for sharing emotions. My mother and I were similar in that respect, and I wondered how she and her new housemates were getting along.

The initial stage of my mother’s rehabilitation involved a long stay under well-supervised medical care. My brother’s death, coupled with my father’s disappearance and her chronic drinking, had triggered a nervous breakdown. The unraveling had scared me, and I had visited her at the hospital often. Hilltop Rehabilitation, where “new beginnings unfolded,” was a new location for my mother as she had recently been promoted out of the hospital psych unit. It was my first visit to Hilltop.

“Have you been here before?” The desk lady asked.

“Yes,” I lied.

“Well, this is highly unusual. We’re very careful with visitation paperwork.”

“One of the reasons my family chose Hilltop for my mother,” I lied again, unfolding my arms in gratitude of Hilltop’s airtight visitation policies. “The thing is, it’s my birthday today, and it would mean a lot to both us if we could see each other briefly.”

The woman’s expression softened. My fib proved just enough for her to pick up the phone and start the approval process. While she worked her way through layers of security, I found my way to a meditation pod, but my mother’s ears must have been burning.

“Constance,” she said, swooping into the lobby her arms stretched open. She was dressed for an outing, even carrying her pocketbook, as if she had been awaiting my arrival. Her eyes were crystal clear and her skin translucent. It was an amazing transformation, and I could feel the renewed strength in her body as she folded me into a bear hug.

She whispered in my ear. “Get me out of here.”

“A walk?” I said loudly. “You read my mind.” I took her hand, and we dashed for the door.