Free Life Is A Foreign Language by Rayne E. Golay Page B

important to her. He was so caring and attentive. Would that change after Cindy arrived? The thought that she couldn’t count on him as before made her want to cry, but at the same time she understood he would want to take every opportunity to be with his entire family.
    Michael’s car pulled into the driveway. Nina took a deep breath to still her misgivings, grabbed her purse and locked the door behind her. He already held the car door open. “Good morning. All set?”
    She stopped herself in time before she leaned to kiss him on his cheek, French fashion. “Good morning. Yes, let’s go. I can’t wait to see your clinic.”
    Nina glanced at him as he backed the car into the street. He whistled under his breath to a tune on the radio. The violet-blue of his shirt duplicated the color of his eyes. She quickly turned her head, embarrassed that he might catch her watching.
    They traveled north on Cleveland Avenue through the shopping district, past a few hotels and strip malls. Farther along, the road narrowed to one lane, and the buildings became fewer, with empty lots between them covered by dense shrubbery and small trees. A trailer park looked deserted and forlorn. The few bungalows still standing looked old and in need of repair. Some had broken windows, on others the roofs sagged.
    She pointed. “How can they survive a storm, let alone a hurricane?”
    “We haven’t had a hurricane here in years, but with a storm they take a beating. Afterward, somebody puts in new windows, repairs some of the damage, and they’re livable again. Till the next storm.” He shook his head. “They seem to stay up with a lick and a promise.”
    She smiled. “Is your clinic in this area?”
    “It’s not far from here.” He pointed. “See the blue roof, there to your right?”
    A few uninhabited cottages were scattered here and there, almost overgrown by vegetation. He drove into a parking place near a short strip mall.
    Nina stepped out of the car and took in the view on which poverty had left its stamp. Very few people were around, and only an occasional vehicle drove by. One billboard opposite the mall advertised the latest model in luxury cars; another offered your dream vacation on a cruise ship the size of a floating palace, both incongruous in this setting.
    He steered her to the front door. “We share the mall with a thrift shop, a dentist’s office and a Laundromat.”
    The writing on a shingle screwed to the door said “Family Medical Center,” and beneath it the hours they were open, “Mon-Fri 8 AM to 8 PM.” Sturdy metal bars covered the only window on the front.
    Michael unlocked the door. Nina glanced at her watch, ten-twenty. “It’s the middle of the morning. Do you always keep the door locked?”
    “Yes, it’s a must. We stock all kinds of drugs, and lots of addicts frequent this neighborhood. When the craving sets in, they’ll do anything to get their fix.”
    He ushered her inside and locked the door.
    “How do patients get in?”
    “They ring the bell outside. We check them out before opening. At least we try, but sometimes someone nasty slips by. There are several alarm buttons scattered around. A touch on one of them rings 911. Usually the police are here within minutes.”
    Nina tried to hide a shiver. This was so different from her world, sheltered by comparison. She’d worked with addicts and alcoholics, but had hardly encountered this level of despair and depravity. Her professional life had been protected from the real down-and-outers.
    “If I ask questions I hope you won’t take it as criticism,” she said. “I’m interested and I want to try to understand how this type of medical service functions.”
    “Ask anything you want. I won’t be offended.”
    “You told me of the physicians and medical assistants. Do you have a psychotherapist or an addictions counselor?”
    His sigh was audible. “We desperately need one or the other, but lack of funds limits us.” He shrugged.
    Nina