“Evelyn brought me pamphlets for a place in Cleveland today,” I said.

Rachel stopped shuffling and rested her hands flat on the table.

“I saw the placement request on your chart,” she said.

She dealt ten cards face down in front of me, snapping each one against the plastic tray.

“They look terrible,” I said.

“Group homes are loud, and they run on very strict shift schedules,” Rachel said.

She picked up her hand and sorted her cards by suit, sliding the red ones to the left.

“You need a quiet place to recover where people actually know your name.”