Crap overpriced "rehab" keeping the kids in a motel, bait and switched from a pretty brochure. No way for them to know since the pretty place existed, he just wasn't put there. I had a moment of talking/pleading to above (hey, if he was right, then why not, it's his god, not mine), and then bit more hopeful for the kid faking his death in anger. Not that I believe in either choice, but it is the lesser of two evils.

I remember the simple joy she showed me when we stayed there. I tried to keep out of her way, be quiet for her dad (health issues), and cleaned up the dishes to her surprise. They were (shit, I almost wrote "are") a very traditional couple (the kitchen is HERS), and me doing the dishes without being asked was a pleasant surprise for her.

If anyone can send me R's email I'd appreciate it. Don't worry, I will be 100% culturally supportive.