Much Said in Silence

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My twin nieces, whom I’ll call Abby and Sandy, had birthdays last week. They turned twenty-five. For reasons that will become apparent, I send them cards, but never money. I have an address for Sandy, but not for Abby. She moved recently. I texted Abby and asked for her new address. A day later, I hadn’t received a response. Frankly, I wasn’t entirely surprised. Both girls are recovering heroin addicts and addicts are flakes. Things happen with addicts. I next called their father, my brother, and asked if he had Abby’s new address. He didn’t return my call. Uh-oh. He’s not exactly faultless with that, but two snubs are not a coincidence. I called my mother, who lives in the same city as my brother and his wife. She didn’t return my call. Well, I was starting to feel unloved. But seriously, I knew something was gravely wrong. I couldn’t call anyone again, though. That would be hounding them. So I waited. Yesterday, my mother texted me, asking me how I was after my recent surgery. (I’m fine. Much better than I expected, actually.) Then she said, “The girls are back in rehab.” I half-knew that, and was relieved it was no more serious than that. (Though I didn’t say that to my mother!) My brother and his wife are, understandably, devastated. And I am more saddened than I can say.