Page 20 of The Unraveling

“Oh, wait. Did you leave the prescription for Mr. Mankin? He’s going down to Florida to take care of his mom for a month because she’s having some surgery. He needs a paper script to fill down there when he runs out in a few weeks. Dumb insurance won’t let him fill it this early. Not sure if you saw my note in your messages. He called earlier to say he would pick it up first thing tomorrow.”

“Shoot. Yes, I did see the note. But I totally forgot. Thanks for the reminder. Let me write it now in case he comes in before I get here.” I set my purse on Sarah’s desk and went back into my office to grab my prescription pad. But when I opened my top right drawer, the place where I always kept it, it wasn’t there. I pushed around some papers. Not finding it, I checked the other drawers.

“Sarah?” I yelled. “Have you seen my prescription pad?”

“Last time I saw it, it was in the top right drawer.”

I pulled it out farther this time and rummaged through again. No luck.

Sarah walked into my office. “Did you find it?”

“No.”

“Maybe you used the last one?”

An ominous feeling washed over me as I remembered my husband sitting within arm’s reach just hours earlier. “Umm… Yeah, that must be it.”

CHAPTER 9 Now

The second day of the new year. Happy New Year! signs replace the glittering glow of Christmas lights and menorahs in windows. I pass a gym whose windows proclaim New Year, New You!

For once, they’re right.

It’s been a good month. I’m getting outside every day. Working out at the gym. I think I even see the beginning of toned muscles when I look in the mirror—who would have thought? Not me. But with my headphones in, the pulsing music pushing me, I’ve focused entirely on myself for once.

I pull at the mittens my brother gave me for Christmas—I stayed with him and his family, his two darling little girls. It’s true they reminded me of another little girl I’d never met. It wasn’t easy. His cheery family reminded me of all the dreams I used to have, of all the things Gabriel Wright lost. But I wrote about it and walked on the treadmill and somehow got it out of my head. And I was happy for my brother. Holidays haven’t always been easy for the two of us, with losing our parents to different illnesses when we were in our early twenties. All in all, I think I did pretty well. I’ve fought off the desire to return to an old path and wait until Gabriel strode along it. I’m in a better place now.

A few blocks later, I realize I’m close to my office, so I decide to walk by. It’s the first time I’ve even attempted it since I’d carried my boxes out the door months ago. In fact, I’ve avoided the block completely until now. But soon my suspension will be up, thirty-seven days and counting, and I’ll be returning to work, returning to my practice. One step closer to normalcy.

I turn right at the corner, see my building up ahead. My heart pounds as I step closer, but it’s a good feeling this time. Excitement, more than anxiety. A fresh start, not dreading the past. At least until I get to building number 988 and see my face plastered on the bus stop out front.

My heart thuds to a halt.

What the hell?

A close-up picture of my face is taped to the glass bus stop covering. Words are typed underneath, but my jittery eyes are so freaked-out it takes a solid minute for me to be able to focus enough to read them.

DRUG DEALERS AREN’T ALWAYS STREET THUGS

Dr. Meredith McCall prescribes drugs to known abusers.

Support Bill S0178 mandating permanent suspension for doctors who deal drugs.

Underneath is a logo of two fists with MAAD New York—Mothers Against Abusive Doctors.

My eyes dart around the street. It feels like everyone is staring—like they know what I’ve done. I expect to see people angry, people pointing. But I’m the only one paying the sign any attention. I reach forward and rip it from the glass, leaving only remnants of the white page taped at all four corners. Then I take off running.

I run and run, until my lungs burn and my legs feel so shaky that I start to worry I’ll fall. Collapsing onto the stairs of a random brownstone, I lean over, head between my knees, and suck air.

“Are you okay?” a woman stops and asks.

I nod.

She smiles. “I tell everyone I’m fine, too. Just remember, whatever it is will eventually pass.”

I doubt it. There are some things in life we don’t deserve to run away from.

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