Chapter Twenty Five

Monica sat slouched down in the passenger seat of Tim’s car. Since they left the bar, she’d grown frustrated. She was embarrassed to have been caught, and she was now uncomfortable in the clothes she was wearing. She tried in vain to cover herself with the small handbag she carried. All her attempts to apologize and try to explain her reasoning fell on deaf ears.

Tim drove on in stony silence. He didn’t look at her, didn’t talk. His jaw was clenched so tight that Monica thought for sure he’d be giving himself a headache soon. And no doubt blame her for that too. She thought maybe she should try and jump out at the next red light, but they were pulling onto the highway.

“Can you at least tell me where we’re going? This is not the direction home. I think I at least deserve to be told that.” Monica leveled a frustrated gaze at him.

Tim scoffed. “Really? You deserve to be told where we’re going? Just like you deserved the money you got from selling something that didn’t belong to you? I think you can be satisfied that I’m not taking you to jail where you belong.”

His rebuke stung. This was not the Tim she had come to know. There was no gentleness about him now. No grace. Maybe she deserved what he was saying. She probably should have gone to jail years ago.

Monica decided not to reply. She watched the lights from road signs they passed blur in her peripheral vision before disappearing out of her line of sight. They were heading into Cleveland. She was becoming uncomfortable.

“I know where we’re going. You’re taking me to rehab, aren’t you?” Monica said tersely.

“You have forced my hand in this Monica. I want to help you. Even after the stunt you pulled tonight, I believe God has a plan for your life. I am so frustrated right now that I could spit. God wants so much better for you, and you throw opportunities to change back in His face.” He tightened his hands on the steering wheel. “You need to get the drugs out of your system and your mind before you can begin to heal. Whether you believe me or not, this is the right thing for me to do.”

Monica didn’t know what to say. He was doing this because he cared? She thought it was to get back at her for taking advantage of his kindness. She wasn’t happy about not having a choice in the matter, but that would change once they got to their destination.

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Though it was the middle of the night, lights burned brightly outside the rehab center. Inside, things were running like it was business as usual in the middle of the afternoon. People answered phones, nurses walked the hallways, and patients sat around chatting, trying to help each other keep their minds occupied.

Tim went straight to the counter without much looking around. He had obviously been here before. The greeting from the receptionist at the counter confirmed it.

“Hi, Tim. So, what have we got tonight? Another project I see.” The once-over Monica received made her even more uncomfortable. She felt like a cheap hooker, and knew she probably looked like one too. She ran a self-conscious hand through her hair, but stuck her chin out defiantly.

“Hi, Kelly. Yeah, she needs to be checked in immediately; full course of treatment. Detox for cocaine and I don’t know what else.”

The nurse smiled. “Sure, Tim. We’ll sort it all out. And how will you be paying?”

Tim looked over at Monica. “Cash.”

Monica realized he intended to use the money she got from the stolen ball to cover her treatment. She felt worse now. It was a moment before she realized they were both looking at her and waiting for the money.

The receptionist finally spoke. “We only need a down payment now, which is three thousand. You can pay the rest upon completion of the program. If you choose to leave early, which is your right, you will be refunded the difference, minus a service fee.”

Monica reached into her bag to count out the proper amount of cash. When she pulled out the money, the bag of coke Boss had shoved to her with it when he paid her for the ball fell out onto the floor. When Tim caught sight of it, Monica thought he was going to lose it and just kill her right there to get it over with.

Instead, he wiped a tired hand down his face, turned to the nurse and said, “Looks like she decided to check herself in none too soon. I have to go. Take good care of her. You know how to reach me. Have a good night Kelly.”

And with that he turned and walked out the door, leaving Monica alone in front of the desk, speechless. He hadn’t looked at her, hadn’t said goodbye or anything. She stooped to pick up the bag of coke, placed it on the counter, and cleared her throat.

“Well, here’s the first payment. Where do I sign?”

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After filling out countless forms and medical questionnaires, Monica was taken to a single room. It was small. She had a single bed, a small side table with one drawer, and a small dresser. There was a tiny, private bathroom attached to the room by the wall opposite the bed. The “suite” was sparsely furnished like a dorm room, and decorated like a hospital ward. Not a great place to spend large amounts of time.

After sitting on the bed to test it, and finding it harder than she liked, Monica removed her shoes and briefly rubbed her feet. She flexed her toes a bit as well, having forgotten how uncomfortable spiked heels were.

She walked into the bathroom and gasped at her appearance. She looked like a hooker. Mascara was smudged below each eye, her hair was a teased mess, and her lipstick was worn down to just the outside edges of her lips. Not to mention the fact that her breasts were only barely covered by her top. She looked down her body and saw herself in a new light. Her skirt was too short as well, covering only half the length of her thighs.

Monica wanted to take a shower in the worst way. She wanted to wash her feelings, and the whole experience from this night down the drain, never to be brought up again.

But she knew that wouldn’t happen. She’d have to talk about why she was here. It was part of the recovery process. These first few days would be torture. She’d have to work through getting her body and mind completely cleared of all thoughts of cocaine. Throw in some awkward therapy sessions with strangers, and she could pretty much guarantee hating Tim by the end of the week.

Monica walked back into her room and looked in the dresser. There were two sets of pajamas that looked more like hospital gowns, and three sets of rehab-issued day clothes. The nurse had promised to be back in a little while to collect Monica’s personal things.

Monica left everything in a neat pile on her bed, and went to take her shower. She hoped she looked cleaner on the outside when she was finished than she felt on the inside.

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Tim drove back toward home. He was angry and confused, but not surprised.

“Lord, I don’t know why I thought she would make better progress. I am so angry and frustrated right now. I know I should be more compassionate, but I don’t feel like it. I know what it’s like to be at the lowest place you’ve ever been, and I think that’s where Monica is now. God, I pray you would break her while she’s there. Let her see what she’s let herself become. Whatever is holding her back, keeping her stuck on coke, reveal it to her and help her get past it. I’m sorry if I handled it badly, but I am so tired of seeing Satan rule people’s lives.”

Tim drove on, chatting with the Lord. He slowly felt peace come over him, and he knew he had done the right thing. Rehab was a place where the past confronted you and no one let you make excuses for your behavior. As soon as Monica was through with detox, he’d send her to his friend in Tennessee and help her with the spiritual aspect of it all.

Maybe when all this was finally over she would thank him. Not that he expected it, or even wanted that; his ministry was for God’s glory, not his own. But maybe Monica would get to a place where thankfulness would spill over, and she’d let him know she was better.

He believed God could do it. God could do anything. And from what he’d encountered in this situation already, it would take an act of God for her to change.