John Marco.
Joseph.
My heart stops.
Dad.
My thumb is on his name before I even think about it.
A woman answers in a warm, professional voice.
"Good morning, Montrose House. How may I direct your call?"
Thinking I must have the wrong number somehow, I pull the phone away from my ear to look at the screen. But this is the number under my father’s name.
"Hello?" the woman says.
"Hi. Sorry. I … what is this place?"
"This is Montrose House. We're a private residential clinic specializing in addiction recovery. Gambling, substance dependency, and related compulsive disorders. How can I help you?"
Addiction recovery.
Little tingles start at the base of my spine.
"I'm looking for a patient. Joseph Meadows. My … he's my father."
“And your name?”
“Sunny Mead … I mean, Sunny Di Zaro.”
“Ah yes, Mrs. Di Zaro, your husband mentioned you would be calling. Please wait one moment while I put you through to his room.”
His room?
She puts me on hold, and I hear classical piano.
A private clinic for gambling addiction.
Is my father getting help?
The hold music stops, and then I hear a voice I would recognize anywhere on this Earth.
"Sunny?"
I burst into tears. "Dad?"
"Oh, sweetheart. Sunny, love. I'm here. I'm right here."
"Are you okay?" I manage between sobs. "Dad, are you okay? Are you safe?"
"I'm fine, honey. I'm fine. I promise. I'm good. Better than I've been in a long time, actually."
His voice sounds so clear and strong. Not like the defeated man who had retreated into himself the last few months.
"How long have you been there?" I wipe my face with the back of my hand.
"Since the night you…" He pauses. "After you left."