Free The Test by Patricia Gussin Page B

read on, “Carla, I feel I must bring this up. Are you taking drugs?”
    Yes, Dad, I am, she wanted to scream. Remember those parties youand Mom threw? I was ten when I started helping myself to those bottles in the liquor cabinet. Dope in high school, right under the nuns’ noses. Getting high, drunk, both. Cocaine after that. Some pills, but mostly coke. Then crack, and that I could never stop. So forget it, it’s too late.
    â€œAll that blah, blah, but he never comes out and says what the fuck do you have to do to get the inheritance money.” Bunky put the sheet of paper down. “Find out what your sister is doing. She got a letter too. Then we’ll have to put together a plan.”
    â€œI can’t stop this shit and neither can you. So there’s not going to be a plan.”
    â€œBabe, we gotta find a way through this.”
    She knew that passing Dad’s test was hopeless. There was no
way
. “Right now just get me that pipe.”
    â€œNo. You’re gonna have to tough this out. You take a hit now, you’ll freak out. Just stay calm. Take one of these.” He handed Carla a Xanax and two Motrins. “We’ll get fucked soon as your sister splits.”
    Bunky left, and Carla rang for a piece of toast.
    â€œMiss Carla,” Sara said as she carried in a tray laden with bagels, toast, muffins, jellies, and a coffee service. “You need more than one piece of toast.” Carla felt the appraisal of her eyes. “You going to shower? They—Ashley’ll be here soon.”
    Carla took a bite of a bran muffin, feeling that it was going to stay down, but remembering that she’d not brushed her teeth, that she hadn’t washed her hair in days. “Yes, I am.”
    The hot water felt good, and she stood in the shower until her heart started beating so fast she thought she would pass out. So she got out, toweled off, and dressed in the clothes that Bunky had laid out. She clasped her wet hair on top of her head, feeling much better, a bit back in control. Good enough to take on Ashley. Good enough to take on the whole family. Well, maybe not that good. When she heard the door chime, she started to rush out, but stopped abruptly. The voice greeting Sara was not Ashley’s. It was Meredith’s, the sister-in-law from hell. She had to open the door a crack to hear Sara. “Ashley hasn’t arrived yet. Nor Mr. Schiller.”
    Uncle Carl? Two weeks ago Uncle Carl and Aunt Phyllis had droppedby without warning. A Sunday afternoon. The place was fucked up. Shit all over the place. Stoners—friends she hardly knew—passed out on the sofas. Obviously, she couldn’t let the Schillers up, so she’d suggested coffee at a nearby Starbucks, a place too noisy for private conversation, which she didn’t want to have. She knew that the Schillers meant well, but she did not need their interference. That’s what she’d told them, only not in those exact words. Wasn’t she a legal adult with the right to her privacy? So had the Schillers talked to Meredith? And Ashley? Were they all here to fucking mess with her?
    They must have moved into the library or the living room, and Carla had to inch her way down the hall to catch what they were saying. Meredith’s voice. “So that’s what precipitated my call. Ongoing complaints from the building manager and, finally, the threat of eviction.”
    Carla assumed that Meredith was talking about one of her clients.
    A man’s voice. “So she used to be a model. Her drug habit is out of control. Her parents are deceased.”
    â€œYes, Dr. Adair. Here, let me show you a picture of Carla from about two years ago. We don’t know if she was taking drugs back then, but here she is representing Sensation Cosmetics. You’ll see the difference.”
    Shit, Meredith was talking about her? To a doctor? She must know about the HIV? That was supposed to be