Five
AT MOM’S WORDS, MY stomach twists in knots.
Three days.
Since the day of Sonya’s phone call.
“Have you tried her friends?” I ask.
“I’ve tried all her friends I know of—you know, I don’t know all of them. I tried her job, but they say she hasn’t been to work in a few days. Said she had called in sick. I said that couldn’t be, because I was her Mom and I knew she wasn’t sick.”
“Wait, Mom,” I say. “Her job? What job?” The last I heard, Sonya was unemployed, like she has been most of her life.
Most employers aren’t too eager to hire an addict, even an ex-addict like Sonya claimed to be.
“Oh, Tommy, I know I told you,” Mom says. “You just didn’t listen. You never listen. Sometimes when you’re on the phone it seems like I’m just talking to the air.”
That may have something to do wi
