“How’s she doing?” asked Adam.
“She’s good from what I hear. But I’m not her doctor. She’s not in Edgewater anymore. How are you? That’s more my concern. Mom says you’re nervous about leaving here.”
Adam looked down at his salad, stabbing a tomato with his fork.
“I’m not like you, Dad. I’m not strong enough.”
Mitch held back a laugh. If only Adam knew how he had held himself in such low regard as a doctor and a father.
“You’re stronger than you know,” said Mitch. “Trust me … I’ve learned from experience.”
“You? You don’t have problems like mine, Dad.” Adam wiped tears from his eyes. He looked like he had more to say, but needed a moment to gather his composure. Eventually, he found his voice. “You know, when you’re driving down some street and it takes you, I dunno, say a minute to make that drive?”
Mitch nodded his answer.
“Well, every second of that minute, I’m craving heroin. So imagine you’re on a road that doesn’t end, Pop, doesn’t change, same mailboxes, same houses, same people walking their same dogs, over and over again, and no matter how much you want to turn, you can’t get off that damn road.
“Every single second of every day, I want a fix like I’m driving on that forever street. If it’s not the only thought I have, it’s tingling in the back of my mind like an obsession I can’t shake. You end up needing the drug like you need air, and that’s how it traps you and doesn’t ever, ever want to let you go.”
Mitch peered into his son’s eyes, again seeing the pain smoldering there. How could he expect him to beat this beast? The odds seemed as stacked against Adam as they were against Penny. But Penny did triumph over her adversity, thanks in part to Eve. Eve’s anger, that cutting sarcasm she wielded like a weapon, all the loathing and guarding she did to protect her psyche, all that was done with a purpose.
What Eve was really asking for with her caustic remarks and standoffish persona was to be left alone, to be forgotten. It made sense to Mitch that this would be her desire. She fully expected to be found guilty of murder, to spend her life in prison, so naturally she’d rebelled against those trying to convince her otherwise. Hope hurt, so it was better to keep everyone at arm’s length and take control of her destiny by accepting her doomed fate. Adam didn’t have an Eve to help him keep out the world, but he knew he could push another needle into his arm, and it would tell him exactly how he should think and feel.
Eve was Penny’s safety net. Heroin was Adam’s.
Mitch felt compelled to say something profound to his son—be the father his father never was to him—but even with all his training in psychotherapy, he couldn’t think of what to say. He kept seeing a bleak future for his boy. Either he’d boomerang back to Clean Start, or far, far worse.
A plea Adam had made to Mitch during a prior visit came back to him.
Be there for me … I need your support, not your expectations …
Mitch had helped save Penny, saved Eve, saved them all from a doomed future. In a way, Edgewater had been Mitch’s safety net, as it had given him a renewed sense of purpose. His short time there not only opened his eyes to the value of his work, but of himself as well. With Penny （or Olivia） now exonerated, Mitch felt free to leave that place behind forever, and thanks to his newfound notoriety, he had his pick of jobs. Recruiters hadn’t stopped calling, and the Globe article would certainly keep the interest going. The reality was that Mitch felt compelled to stay at Edgewater, much to Ruth Whitmore’s delight, so he could help others like Penny find their way home.
If he could be there for Penny, Mitch knew he could there for Adam, right here, right now. Mitch took a sip of seltzer water. He closed his eyes briefly, and a flash of Adam as a boy hit him so hard it took his breath away. He could see his son’s sweet smile, feel his tiny body curled up against him as they sat on the couch watching a movie, feel the weight of him as Mitch carried him up the stairs to his bedroom after he’d fallen asleep. He couldn’t carry Adam now, but he could still hold him in high regard, be proud to tell others that this was his son, what a wonderful person he was, what a blessing—and mean it.
Mitch set down his drink, dabbing at his beard with a cloth napkin. He held his son’s gaze, and the connection they shared at that moment was, for once, real and honest.
“I’m sorry,” Mitch eventually said. “I’m not talking about what’s happened to you—Lord knows, I’m so sorry about that.” His voice shook, so he took a couple deep breaths to get calm. “What I mean to say is, I’m sorry I haven’t always been there for you … not in a way that’s served you best.”