Page 27 of 7+Us Makes Nine

Anya tried to push me, but she couldn't even move me. I gripped her upper arms and slowly backed her towards her car. Until the backs of her legs hit it. She fought against me. Trying to push me away as tears rumbled down her cheeks.

Then, she started to shake.

“What are you on?” I asked.

“Nothing. The pain is just-”

“How long has it been since your last high, Anya?”

“I’m not high, Jace! I miss my kids!”

“Well you won’t see them. Not like this. Please don’t make me call the police. Just tell me what you’re on and how long it’s been since you last took it,” I said.

She pulled away from my grasp and leaned against the car like her life depended on it.

“Heroin,” she said. “But that’s it. That’s the only thing, Jace. I’m getting better.”

“Only heroin,” I said with a snicker. “Okay. How long has it been since you did ‘only heroin’?”

“Don’t you take that condescending tone with me. You think you’re better than me because you only eat salads and fresh meat or whatever. Not all of us have a trimmed up and perfect life like you.”

“I gave that to you!” I exclaimed.

I raked my hands down my face and tried to get my temper under control.

“The past is in the past,” I said. “How long ago was your last high?”

“Why the hell do you care?” she asked.

“Because your shaking’s getting worse and I’m worried you won’t be able to drive back.”

“Mom?”

It was the worst sound I could’ve ever heard in that moment. I could hear the exact point where Dmitri’s heart shattered into pieces. Anya glanced over my shoulder and her eyes lit up, but I held my hand out to her the second she tried to walk towards him. I looked back at my son standing on the porch, the door hanging open behind him.

“Mom?” Dmitri asked.

“My boy,” Anya said with a whisper. “Come here.”

“Stay on the porch,” I said.

Then I turned my attention back to Anya.

“Get in your car and drive off, or I’m calling the police. You can either obey the courts and get sober, or you can get sober in prison. You aren’t supposed to be here, and I don’t want you coming around this house again. Do you hear me?”

“Dmitri. Come here,” she said.

“Anya. Look at me,” I said.

“Is that you, Mom?” Dmitri asked.

“It’s me, sweetheart. I’ve missed you so much,” Anya said.

“Jail, Anya.”

Her eyes panned back up to me as tears cascaded down her cheeks.

“I won’t hesitate to put you there if you don’t leave me a choice. I’m doing this the easy way. Rehab. Sobriety. Then children. If you don’t want to do it that way, then it’s been jail, sobriety, and children behind a plexiglass wall. Don’t make me do that. Please. This family’s been through enough.”

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