The Redemption Of Lillie Rourke. Loree Lough
you’ll seek help. It’s out there, just waiting for you to benefit from it. These resources are a great place to start:
National Institute on Drug Abuse: nida.nih.gov; 301-443-1124
National Institute of Mental Health: nimh.nih.gov; 1-866-615-6464
Substance Abuse Treatment Facility Locator: findtreatment.samhsa.gov; 1-800-662-HELP
SMART Recovery: smartrecovery.org; 440-951-5357
Wishing you happiness and health,
Loree
This novel is dedicated to every reader who has ever purchased a Loree Lough book. Without your staunch support, I’d probably spend my days alphabetizing my pantry and spice cabinet, color-coordinating my closets, and rearranging bric-a-brac and knickknacks in my display cabinets.
Acknowledgments
Sincere thanks to Dan Remington, Steve Balore, Susan Griffin and Jennifer Myers, whose willingness to talk about their former dependence on drugs and alcohol enabled me to better understand and describe the challenges faced by those coping with addiction. Thanks, too, to Emily Yost (Cognitive Behavioral Therapist), and Martin Wilson, PhD, for their insights into the mind and behavior of the addict.
Contents
RAIN SHEETED DOWN the grimy window and puddled on the blacktop, and a dozen identical buses lined up in angled parking slots.
Lillie watched as grim-faced passengers boarded, a few pulling wheeled suitcases, others hauling overstuffed backpacks. As they jockeyed for overhead bins, the scent of damp wool and denim filled the space. And, she realized, someone was eating a tuna sandwich. She hoped its owner would finish it soon, because inhaling the fishy odor wouldn’t make the four-hour trip any easier.
“Are you saving this seat for someone?”
Lillie’s gaze traveled from the man’s haggard face to his frayed sweatshirt and holey jeans. Something told her he hadn’t paid top dollar for the distressed look. The passengers waiting in line behind him seemed equally interested in her answer, so Lillie gathered up her jacket and purse.
“Don’t worry,” he said, settling in beside her. “I don’t bite.”
“That’s good to know.”
His right forefinger aimed at the straps of the backpack nestled in her lap. “I don’t steal either, so...”
She relaxed her grip, but only a bit.
“Going all the way to Florida?”
“No.” As the driver buckled himself in, she slid the