Heroine(63)

I didn’t react quickly enough, and when the third baseman saw that I wasn’t springing up she went after it too, even though I called it. We came close to a collision and Coach gave her a hard talking-to about the fact that I called it, so it was mine, then told me I damn well better not call it unless I know I can get it.

I’m turning that over in my head, trying to decide exactly what went wrong, when Luther says, “Hey, Mickey.”

“Shit.” I jump, dropping my keys. We bend to get them at the same time and he doesn’t miss the twitch of my mouth as I do.

“Your hip all right?”

“Yeah, just sore.”

“So, uh . . . how’ve you been?”

I give him a funny look while I throw my gear in the car. “I just saw you on Friday, dude.”

“Right, yeah,” he says. “But that was . . .”

I know what that was. It was Edith and Josie, Derrick and Patrick, needles and crossing a line. It wasn’t him and me at a basketball game, taking selfies. It wasn’t him awkwardly holding my hand as we walked back to the car, our knuckles tight against each other.

It wasn’t us.

“Wanna grab something to eat?” he asks. “You’ve got to be starving.”

Actually, I’m not. But I don’t want him to think I’m avoiding him, so I hop in his car when he opens the door, once more adjusting the seat all the way back.

“So what did you think of that, at Edith’s?”

I don’t say heroin.

“Meh, it was okay,” he says as he pulls out of the parking lot.

“Okay?” I ask, unable to hide my surprise at such a lukewarm response to something that sent me straight to heaven.

“Yeah, I mean . . .” He spins his hand in the air like Mr. Galarza when he’s searching for the right word in English. “I don’t know. I felt good for a little bit, I guess, but then I kind of felt like puking. And I hate puking.”

“I don’t think anyone likes puking,” I tell him.

“No.” He smiles a little. “But it just didn’t feel worth it. I guess I don’t like it as much as you guys do.”

“Huh,” I say, mystified.

“I mean . . .” He trails off, his eyes cutting to me while he drives. “You do what you want to do, Mickey. I’m not judging you. Just be careful, okay?”

I think of Big Ed, always telling me to be careful out there.

“I am,” I say.

“If we’re all together and using it to let go a little bit on the weekend, then okay, whatever. But I’m pretty sure Josie was popping pills all through the week, and Derrick will do whatever she does, even if it gets him nowhere.”

“Right,” I say, my mouth suddenly tight.

“You’re not doing that, are you?” Luther asks, scanning the lot at the diner for an open spot. “You only use at Edith’s, right?”

“Right,” I say again, the word coming more easily after forcing the first one through my teeth. He takes my hand as we walk in, our fingers loosely linked.

I wish it felt as good as being high.

I’ve got a text from Josie on my phone.

Call me.

I put her on speaker as I drive. “What’s up?” I ask when she answers.

“So . . .” She takes a deep breath, followed by a long exhale. I know her well enough by now to read it. Drama is what’s up.

“Edith took Patrick’s number.”

“Why does she need it?” I ask. “She didn’t even shoot.”

“No. Listen,” Josie says sharply, her patience thin. “She took, like, all Patrick’s numbers. Those slips of paper he wrote on for us? I think she gathered them up while we were high.”

“She doesn’t want us using?”

“Nice thought, but no. She doesn’t want us using without her.”

“Oooohhhh,” I say. It makes sense. Oxy is how she gathered us to her, an adopted family. If we move on to a different drug she can’t supply, the bond is broken.

“Yeah,” Josie says, her tone flat. “I am so pissed right now.”

“Just call Jadine and get his number from her.”

“Yeah, I totally can call Jadine, but that is not the point,” Josie says, irritated that I’m not getting it.

I do get it, though.

“You feel betrayed,” I say, thinking of the messages on Carolina’s phone that I’m not a part of.

“Yeah.” Josie’s voice is small now, hurt. “So I went over to talk to Edith and she was upset, said we’re going to be all about Patrick now and forget about her.”

“Did you tell her Patrick doesn’t make us meat loaf?”

“Ha, good one,” Josie says. “Didn’t think of that.”

I pull into the garage and turn off the car. “Look, I get that you’re upset, but what’s the big deal? Nothing’s really changed. Call Jadine and get Patrick’s number. End of problem.”

“It’s not the end, Mickey,” she insists. “Remember that class reunion Edes went to? She reconnected with some guy that was in Vietnam and got into heroin over there and never gave it up.”

“And?”

“And he’s got a hookup,” Josie practically wails. “And now Edes says if we want to use at her place, we’ll have to buy from him. She told me he’ll deliver and everything, just like Patrick. But it’s not the same thing.”