Free The Test by Patricia Gussin

would correct itself after they were married.
    Ashley’s thoughts were interrupted by Mrs. Mendoza. “Mrs. Parnell calling, Miss Ashley,” she announced, handing her the phone.
    She looked up at Conrad before accepting it.
    â€œMeredith?”
    Ashley listened as Meredith made it clear that she expected her help with Carla. And Meredith intended to bring in an addiction specialist. She insisted that Ashley bring Conrad, too, reasoning that as a psychiatrist, he’d know how these interventions worked.
    Ashley felt the surge of inferiority hit as it always did when dealing with her imperious sister-in-law. The perfect political wife. The brilliant lawyer. A woman who did not take “no” for an answer.
    As Meredith stated her demands, Mrs. Mendoza returned with a pear tart, setting it down in front of Conrad. Ashley watched as he picked up his fork then set it down while he waited for her to hang up. What if he refused to take part? Her attention drifted from Meredith until she heard her say, “Unfortunately, Rory won’t be there. They’re going to Disney World. Seems selfish to me, but bottom line, she and Chan won’t be participating.”
    â€œOh no.” Rory always knew the right thing to say at the right time.
    When Ashley hung up, Conrad cut her a slice of tart as she tried to explain that Carla had a drug problem and the family needed to get involved.
    â€œDon’t kid yourself, there’s no quick fix for drug addiction,” Conrad said, twirling his wine glass. “Your sister’s too deep into the culture. But sure, we’ll show up if that’s what your brother’s wife wants.”
    Ashley let out a sigh of relief. She wouldn’t have to deny her sister-in-law, but she did wonder why Rory, always so unselfish, had not made helping Carla a priority.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    A PRIL 2001
    Carla took Ashley’s call in bed. As soon as she hung up, she reached for the Vicodin, took out three and swallowed them without water. Her head throbbed with each breath. She had no memory of the night before except crawling out of bed to vomit. That must have disgusted Bunky because he’d left their bed. Not that he’d been better off. He’d gotten fucked up too: crack, pills, alcohol.
    What was it that Ashley had said? That she’d be dropping by the Manhattan apartment today. Sure, like right in the middle of her school shit. How likely was that? And on April Fool’s Day?
    When Carla was a kid, this had been Dad’s special day. She and Ashley used to scheme to get the best of him, but he had always one-upped them. Carla remembered when she was seventeen, Ashley had dared her to “borrow” Dad’s Porsche for a trip to the mall. Dad and Ashley had followed her there and moved the car. She’d gone berserk at the empty parking space and she could still hear their crazed laughing when they jumped out and yelled, “April Fool’s!” Carla decided to simply blow off Ashley’s call as an April Fool’s joke.
    Then Carla heard the knock on her bedroom door. “Miss Carla?”
    Carla massaged her forehead. Wasn’t this Sunday? Sara’s day off? Why was she here checking up on her? Ever since that ugly eviction threat, Carla had been afraid that the family—Frank, in particular—might press Sara to betray the family code of privacy that Dad had required of the household staff.
    â€œAre you okay?” Sara raised her voice.
    â€œI’m okay.” Carla wiped specks of dried green vomit off her face.
    â€œMiss Ashley’s coming over soon, so you’d better get dressed. I’m going to fix a luncheon. Lobster salad, her favorite.”
    The thought of lobster made more bile rise in her throat. So Ashley’s little joke had gotten to Sara.
    â€œApril Fool’s,” Carla called, not getting out of bed. “Sara, will you send Bunky in?” She needed a hit.
    Sara did not