In the living room in front of the television set, an emaciated young boy sat under a pile of blankets, staring with hollow and empty eyes at the silent screen. "Hey, buddy," I said gently. "Are you Mickey?"

The boy glanced over at me and nodded.

"How are you doing?"

"Okay," he said in a tinsel voice, "except I'm a little hungry."

"Well, we'll get you some food right away, then. How's that sound?"

"Good. If you want."

"I do. I do want. Where's your mom, Mickey?"

Bettina, holding Tammy's hand, heard the question as she came into the room. "She's in her bedroom," Bettina said. "Maybe I should stay with the kids in here a minute, and you go see how she is?"

"On it," I said.

Mrs. Dade was in her bed, all right, and sleeping. But it wasn't the kind of sleep where you woke up.

The autopsy later revealed that she had died of an overdose of heroin, probably in the form of black tar, probably on the third or fourth day the kids had missed school. While we were waiting for the unnecessary ambulance, Tammy told us that her mother had lost her job at the Safeway a couple of weeks ago because of her drug problem, which was really a disease she couldn't help. She had told Tammy and Mickey that she knew she shouldn't be using drugs, that they were bad, and she was trying to stop, but it was really, really hard. The main thing, though, was that they must never, ever tell anybody because if the police ever found out, they'd come and either take Mom away or take them away from her.

Tammy took DARE at school, and she knew that this was true. Everybody agreed you shouldn't live with people who used drugs.

Which was why Tammy hadn't told anybody.

And this hadn't been the only time with Mom. Sometimes she would disappear into her bedroom for a couple of days.