The Woefield Poultry Collective (16 page)

For the sake of verisimilitude, I’d printed out some twelve-step slogans Seth found for me on the Internet and hung them on the fridge with magnets. “Keep it Simple, Stupid,” read one. “First Things First,” said another. Remedial stuff, but it was probably effective because it was so easy to remember.

My plan was to tell the girl and her mom that the treatment center wasn’t set up to handle adolescents. I would give them the information that I’d had Seth gather, including a list of adolescent treatment centers, and send them on their way. Then I could get back outside to plant more of the raised beds and see if the radishes were any closer to being ready. I’d signed up for a table at the farmers’ market in three weeks and radishes were the only things that looked like they’d be ready. To be safe, I’d planted two full beds of them: six varieties in all.

When the knock came at exactly 1:00 p.m., I answered the door to find an older, tireder version of Phyllis the banker standing on the porch. Verna was a few inches shorter than her sister and ten or twenty pounds heavier. Her no-nonsense curls had been tinted a red that was now faded and grown out, leaving a good inch of gray-brown at the roots. The red on her cheeks was more rosacea than rouge.

Her daughter wore tight, light wash jeans and a black hoodie advertising a band called Stench. The hood of the sweatshirt was pulled up and cinched tight around her face. She was thin but had round, baby cheeks. A few lank brown curls peeked out from under the hood and a ring pierced the septum of her nose. She glanced at me once with liner-ringed eyes and then stared at the floor.

“Stand up straight, Laureen,” Verna instructed her daughter. She looked at me. “Hello, we’re—” She stopped mid-introduction, apparently distracted by Laureen’s slouch.

“She
used
to have perfect posture. I don’t know what happened to it.”

“Please, come in,” I said.

Laureen took two steps into the hallway, still staring down at her feet, which were encased in black skate shoes.

“Phyllis said this is a
treatment center
,” Verna whispered.

“That’s right. Or it will be. Once we get ready.”

“So you know all about drugs.”

At this, Laureen finally looked up, a little hungrily it seemed to me. Or maybe appraisingly.

“Oh yes. Quite a bit.”

I wanted to get off the subject, so I invited them into the kitchen and asked them to sit down.

“So the … people, patients, I mean, live here?” asked Verna.

I nodded.

“Is it very messy?”

I frowned, not sure what she meant.

“When they go off the drugs. It’s supposed to be very … noisy. A lot of vomiting. Some people have to wear diapers.”

I’d seen people detox in movies, especially German ones, but wasn’t sure how accurate that picture was. I didn’t want to commit.

“Would you like some tea?” I asked.

Without waiting for an answer, I got up and put on the kettle and began pulling new cups from the cupboard.

“We, I mean, our clients will be more into the recovery phase of their … recovery, when they get here. The messy stuff happens somewhere else,” I said.

“Detox,” said Verna.

“That’s right. Detox.”

“I don’t know if she’ll need that.”

Verna spoke about Laureen as though she wasn’t in the room. Understandable, since the girl slouched at the table, inanimate as a squash.

I put the cups and teapot on the table. After I took my seat, Laureen finally spoke. “You got any sugar?”

I got up, went to the cupboard, pulled out the mason jar of brown sugar and set it in front of her.

She made a face. “You got any white sugar?”

“No,” I said firmly. “That’s not part of our program.”

Then I turned to her mother. “As I’m sure Phyllis mentioned, we don’t handle adolescents here. For legal reasons. We can’t have young people here because some of our clients will be … old. You understand.”

Verna nodded seriously.

“But I’ve printed off a list of centers that do handle adolescents.” I slid the small stack of pages in front of Verna. The new bamboo tablecloth was yellow and printed with pictures of white daisies with green stems. Very pretty, really. Hugh the cab driver brought it over as a housewarming gift.

“Here you go. These should tell you everything you need to know. I’ve also included some excellent recovery slogans.”

Verna ran a hand through her tired hair and frowned as she flipped through the sheets.

“Are any of these places local?”

“I think the closest one is in Vancouver.”

“This Forest Grove Place,” she said, stopping to read one of the pages. “Says here it’s eight thousand dollars per month with a minimum stay of two months.”

I nodded.

“We can’t afford that,” said Verna.

“Oh. I see. I’m sure there are publicly funded centers in there.”

“I thought you being in the business, you’d have some idea which would be the best place for her.”

I looked from mother to daughter and cleared my throat.

“Well, I guess it depends on your circumstances. And Laureen’s particular needs.”

“Our circumstances are she’s turned herself into a damned drug addict.”

Laureen managed to rouse herself. “Did not,” she muttered.

“Oh no?” demanded her mother. “Then what are you?”

“If I did as much drugs as you drank, then maybe …” Laureen’s voice trailed off.

Verna’s face flushed scarlet. It made for an abrupt contrast with her washed-out hair.

“How dare you say that to me, young lady. After all I’ve done for you!”

I tried not to look yearningly at my stack of farming books on the counter.
The Self-Sustaining Life
seemed to radiate simplicity from the top of the pile.

“Often treatment programs will look at whole families,” I said, sure I’d read that somewhere.

“I don’t need looking at,” said Verna. “Just because I have a few drinks now and then.”

“That’s what I used to say,” said Seth, coming into the kitchen.

I saw with relief that he did not appear to be drunk. I also noticed that the combination of hard work and good food seemed to be having a positive effect on him. After only a few weeks on the farm his potbelly was gone and there was color in his face. Even his long hair appeared thicker and shinier, perhaps because it was tied into a neat ponytail.

“I said to myself, Seth, you just have a few drinks now and then. But when I got honest, the way you do in treatment, I had to admit the truth. I had a problem.”

Verna’s face had eased from purplish-red back to pink. I could still see a vein throbbing on her forehead.

“Seth,” I said carefully. “We are here to talk to Laureen today. And
as you know
, we are not
qualified
to counsel minors.”

“It’s all the same. Young or”—here he paused and looked at Verna—”young enough. The key is to get honest. To communicate. To work together.”

Now both Verna and Laureen were staring at him. The hostility was gone from Verna’s face and the sullenness from Laureen’s. There was something new in their eyes. Was that hope?

“You will get through this together,” said Seth. “Here at Ocean Side Recovery House, our motto is ‘Together we can.’” He clasped his hands together as though shaking his own hand. “There’s no therapy like working together. That’s what got Steven Tyler clean and sober. Rehab
and the support of his band. He’s got twenty years now. Same thing with Robert Downey. Only he’s not in a band.
Ironman
is all the evidence you need, right?”

Outside a small voice yelled, “Alec Baldwin! Stop that!”

“Nature calls,” said Seth. He swept out of the kitchen.

“Is he one of your counselors?” asked Verna in a throaty voice. “He seems really good.”

“Alec Baldwin’s here?” asked the girl, giving the first sign that she could be anything other than sullen and disagreeable.

“Uh, no, he’s a client,” I said.

“Alec Baldwin is?” said Laureen, actual excitement creeping into her voice.

“No. Seth is a client. Alec Baldwin is a chicken.”

“He looks pretty young,” said Verna. “I thought you said this was a place for old people.”

“Older,” I corrected. “He’s over eighteen.”

“What about that kid we saw out there when we were coming in?” asked Laureen.

“Who? Sara? Oh, she’s a neighborhood child. She keeps her chickens for poultry club here. It’s like a community service we provide. Just for her,” I added quickly. “She’s not allowed in the house.”

“So the way that guy is, so positive, is that what you do for people here?” asked Verna.

“Was he that cool and nice before he came here?” asked Laureen.

“Seth? Positive?” I said, trying to get my bearings. “No. He wasn’t
too
positive when he first got here.”

“How long ago was that, approximately?” said Verna.

“I thought you weren’t open yet,” said Laureen.

I poured us all tea in an attempt to slow the flow of questions.

“He’s what we in the business call a pilot client. They’re like your first clients. The ones you experiment on.”

“What kind of experiments?” asked Verna.

I took a long sip of my tea while I pulled the printouts toward me
with one finger, hoping a useful phrase would leap out. A professional, expert-sounding recovery phrase. It was tough, since the pages were upside down.

“Supportive,” I said.

Mother and daughter nodded at me. Laureen had even let her hood slide back so her entire face was showing.

“Facility,” I said, catching a word near the bottom.

“A supportive facility,” said Verna. “Right. And what else?”

The upside-down printouts weren’t helping. My gaze drifted to my stack of books.

“Hard work. Farm work. Self-sufficiency. Working with animals. The land. Et cetera.”

Verna was nodding, with me all the way.

“Now that makes sense to me. Good sense. Ever since we moved off the farm, this kid’s been going to hell.”

“Mooooom,” mooed Laureen.

“You know I’m right. We never should have moved into a subdivision. Damn town kids are always hanging around and getting into trouble. Pissing their time away like they have nothing else to do. People who live on farms don’t have time for drugs. There is too much work to be done.”

“You never should have sold my horse,” said Laureen, sensing that her mother seemed willing to shoulder at least some of the blame.

Verna spoke to me. “I thought, hell, she’s not riding him anymore. I had no time to keep the place up since her dad and I split. I see now I made a mistake.”

I frowned in a concerned and empathetic way. I thought about saying there are no mistakes, but I was fairly sure there are. In fact, I was beginning to wonder if trying to pass Woefield off as a treatment center was one of them.

“Look, this kid needs to get straightened out. I’ll work on myself too. Maybe I do drink a few too many glasses of wine on the weekend. I would love for us to have a chance to pull ourselves together
in a supportive facility like this. It would mean a lot to have experts around. The truth is, Miss Burns, I can’t afford ten thousand dollars. I can’t afford one thousand dollars. I just don’t want to lose her.”

“Aw, Mom,” said Laureen, but with less conviction.

“Can we work for you? Volunteer? She doesn’t have to come here as an inpatient and be around all the older clients. I can’t imagine she’d be harmed by that pilot guy we just saw. In fact, someone like him would be nothing but good for her. And there is that other kid that you do community service on.”

“I don’t know,” I hesitated. I could not afford to blow our cover with the banker’s sister, and I felt some sympathy for Verna’s situation. “Doesn’t Phyllis live on a farm?” I asked. “Couldn’t Laureen spend time there?”

“It’s not the same. I think we’ve got to have the supportive atmosphere and the experts,” said Verna. She looked right at me and I saw a woman getting old before her time. A woman on the verge of giving up. It was in the sag of her shoulders. I was sure I could do something for her.

“I’ll think about it,” I said. “I’ll check the regulations and the, uh, insurance, and I’ll let you know.”

Verna stood up and grabbed my hand.

“Thank you, Miss Burns. We would be so grateful.”

Laureen had retreated into her hoodie and laid her head on the table. She only raised it when her mother nudged her.

“Yeah, thanks,” she said.

You know, I been watching TV by myself ever since the old man died. Can’t say as I’ve missed the company. If the kid hadn’t insisted, I’d have said no. But she wouldn’t quit until I come in the house and set down. Said if we was going to care for Bertie proper, we needed to get educated. If you can beat that.

It was me and the kid and Chubnuts. I’ll tell you one thing. There’s cages of monkeys make less noise than that guy. When he first come here he didn’t say boo to no one. Now you can’t shut him up. The kid’s a cool customer, but I’m starting to get the idea there’s something wrong with her. She sure as hell don’t act like no kid I ever heard of.

We got started at around 4:00 in the afternoon. The kid brought her DVD from home and Chubnuts got her all set up at the TV. He had soda pop and popcorn and them chips that’s all orange and leave dust all over everything. He was in one of them moods he seems to get into now and then. It’s not too bad if you can keep him working with his hands, but Jesus Christ you don’t want him anywhere near a TV screen.

I come in and he made me sit down in what he called the chair of honor. There’s no honor about it. Goddamn thing is the lumpiest chair in the place. Enough to give a guy problems down there if you know what I mean. But it’s got decent arms so you can rest your drink and your elbows. And it was high enough I could get out of it without losing my pants or getting help.

Once I was settled, he says, What can we get you here at Palace Royale Theater of the Stars? Just like that. I told him I thought we were
watching a damn sheep-shearing film, and he said of course but movies are better with snacks and he tried to get me to eat some of that black licorice. And I say to him hell no, I got dentures and plus no one should eat that shit, tastes like pitch out from between a dead woman’s toes. And he says I don’t have to be like that. Then he wrote something on that computer of his.