Winter Solstice in St. Nacho's (St. Nacho's #5) - Z.A. Maxfield Page 0,78
touch with him or go behind his back to glean information from Minerva.
If I spent a few minutes here and there worrying about how Thuong was doing or thinking of ways to make what he was going through easier—while still respecting his wishes and keeping my boundaries in place—it probably didn't add up to a whole lot of time out of my day.
Probably.
My finger might have hovered over his contact a bit. I might have started and deleted a couple of emails. Or ten. I didn't spend hours staring at his picture or writing him letters, only to tie them with ribbons and hide them in a cigar box for posterity.
To my very great surprise, it wasn't only Thuong I longed for.
The itch under my skin to see Thuong collided with my desire to explore Santo Ignacio. Going back felt inevitable, as if some cosmic wind pushed me westward.
Then Mom had the brilliant idea to see if Thuong could use Chloe's old scooter, and that's all the excuse I needed to google the number at Minerva's little store. While I was doing that, Suzanne slipped up behind me. She read the screen over my shoulder.
“Rune Nation? Don’t tell me. You need time off.”
“Actually, I don’t.” I wasn’t scheduled to work the following Wednesday, so she wouldn’t need to make any changes.
If I went. Which I knew I shouldn’t.
“This is about your addict, isn’t it?”
“It’s pretty offensive to refer to a friend of mine as ‘my addict.’”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
She sounded so hostile, I turned to see if her tone matched her expression. “I’m not sure I have to answer. What I do on my time off is my business.”
“Criminy.” She sighed, “I’m not your enemy, Luke. I’ve been where you are, and I’ve got experience with this. It’s like watching a car crash in slow motion."
"Mom got the idea to give him Chloe's old scooter, is all. I'm planning on dropping it off and coming straight back."
“Don’t do it.” She wrapped her hand around my wrist.
“I just want to—”
“You want to help. You want to fix things.” She glanced pointedly at my fanny pack. “You think you can make sure no one gets hurt on your watch.”
“What’s wrong with that? Is it so bad, wanting to help?”
“No, it’s nice. In emergencies. You saved his life, honey, but you can’t run after people to make sure they don’t get any more boo-boos. You can’t smooth the way so they never have to work for what they want. You’ll go crazy and they won’t learn a thing.”
“That’s not what I’m doing,” I argued. “I was taught that when you care about someone, you show up.”
“But addicts are different. You know this, but you’re such a starry-eyed dope you only see the progress and not the pain.”
“Noted.” Starry-eyed dope kind of fit me. “But there has been progress. I’ve seen it.”
She gave an impatient sigh. “So what you’re saying is he’s different? He’s got this? He’s the exception, not the rule? Oh, honey.”
“I don’t know if he’s an exception.” I let my hands drop to my sides. “I don’t know if he’ll make it, but I want to believe he can.”
Her mouth twisted. “Here’s the best piece of advice I can give you, and it’s coming from a place of love. Walk away now and not after your iPad goes missing, or your computer, or your car. Don’t wait until he drains your bank account or, God forbid, gives you HepC or HIV because honest to God, Luke—”
“Oh, come on, Suzanne. People recover. Do we just send every addict to an island so we don’t have to interact with them like they used to do with lepers?”
“You’re wrong. Addicts never recover. They are in recovery for the rest of their lives. And they pine for their one true love—whatever drug that is—forever. Why can’t you find someone who isn’t already in a serious relationship? Someone who can love you back for real?”
I closed my eyes, took a breath, then opened my eyes again to meet her gaze. “I hear what you’re saying. I really do. But abandoning a friend in need isn’t in my nature.”
“I know.” She gave a tight shake of her head. “Whatever you have to learn, I hope it doesn’t cost you more than you can pay.”
“Wow.” I tried to play that off with a laugh. “That’s like a curse.”
“Isn’t it just?” She turned and walked away.
I stared after Suzanne for a long time, thinking about what she’d said.