Joey didn’t even bother protesting.
* * *
—
Daniel lives in a small brick house not far from Polish Town, where our nana’s house is. The housing stock is good here, my father said, because the houses were built by immigrants and they were frugal with money and needed the home to last forever, so they built carefully and solidly, no fancy flourishes. My dad grew up in Polish Town, with four brothers and a sister, Dory. She’s the only one who lives near us. Everyone else moved far away.
I stop the car too quickly and we all lurch forward. I can hardly breathe. I have to get Joey home, hide him from our parents somehow until his high wears off.
Before they find out what happened to Gage.
“Well,” I say to Daniel, trying to keep my voice from shaking. “That alternate universe is looking better by the minute. How soon can we get there and what should we bring?”
“I have an excellent supply of stylish trench coats, so I’m fully prepared. Listen, it’s going to suck, and then it won’t, okay? Then it will just be after, and you can deal with that.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
He gets out of the car.
I lean my forehead against the steering wheel.
“I’m sorry,” Joey mumbles from the backseat.
There’s a rap on the passenger-side window and I look up.
Daniel is back. I press the button. The window rolls down.
“Emory,” he says.
“What?” I’m impatient to go. I need to figure this out.
“Gage Galt is a blip in the cosmos. There are tons of guys who would die to dance with you.” He looks like he’s about to say more, but my phone flashes and I have to look away from him.
“Oh, god. It’s my mom,” I say, my heart sinking. “I have to answer her.”
He gives me a rueful smile and turns back up the walk.
Where are you?
On way home, I type.
Come home quickly.
She knows. Our mother knows.
“Mom knows,” I say. “She says get home quick.”
“I’m so sorry, Emmy. I’m so sorry,” Joey says.
My mother knows. Joey keeps saying he’s sorry. Gage is hurt. I humiliated myself in front of a group of kids I’d otherwise care nothing about and for what? To end up in a car, taking care of my brother. Again.
And suddenly, I’m screaming at him.
“Fuck Lucy Kerr, Joe. Liza told me to grow a spine, but maybe you should. Why didn’t you just tell her to go to hell? Why was your answer to her…her…shittiness to go get high? You spent three months in rehab and you learned nothing?”
I stop, because he’s crying. The silent kind. I can see the tears sliding down his face in the rearview mirror and a wave of shame so powerful it makes me almost feel numb washes over me.
* * *
—
On the way home, I stop at 7-Eleven. Buy him a Coke to wake him up. Something sugary and sweet. Buy a bag of potato chips and a wrinkled, overcooked hot dog. I don’t know if this is going to help. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know anything.
He follows me around the store like a whipped dog.
Back in the car, he sits in the front seat, sucking the Coke back in three gulps. Crams the food in his mouth.
Then he climbs past me and lies down in the backseat.
“Emmy. I have outpatient tomorrow. They might test me.”
“Great, Joey. That’s just great.”
He covers his face with his hands. His voice is muffled. I can’t understand what he’s saying.
I take deep breaths to calm down. I back the car out of the lot, start driving toward home.
“Stop the car,” Joey mumbles. “Stop it, stop it.”
I pull over. Oh, god, did he take too much of whatever he took?
Joey opens the backseat passenger door and the hot dog, the chips, the soda, splash onto the ground. Don’t choke, I think, please don’t let him choke.
When he’s done, he closes the door, leans back against the seat. Wipes his mouth. I pass him a mint from my purse and pull back onto the road.
In the rearview mirror now, he’s smiling now. Peaceful.
“I remember this feeling,” he murmurs. “I don’t care what happens.”
“Oh, my god, Joey, please,” I beg him. “Please, just maintain.”
I have to stop freaking out. I need to think.
“Emory,” he says. Then he starts to laugh.
To laugh.
“Jesus Christ, Joey, what?”
“What were you doing with Gage Galt? I mean, Gage. You.”
I listen to my brother, high, laughing and rolling in our backseat, slopping around like human Jell-O.
I pull into the driveway. Our garage door rises to reveal our bikes, skis, lawn mower, and the rows and rows of Christmas decorations in boxes and big plastic tubs, the locked cabinet with all the things Joey could steal, hidden safely away by my mother.
Still in the car, I ask him, in a hollow voice, because I’m not sure if it even matters now, but somehow, I need to know, what he took with Noah by the trailers.
He’s not laughing anymore.
He swallows thickly. “O. I did O. Oxy. Crushed a couple. Oh, god, I haven’t felt like this in so long.”
He sounds relieved. Like he’s somewhere comfortable and safe.
I look at the locked cabinet against the wall, full of everything my mother thought would hurt him.
But she can’t lock away what’s in the world outside this house. No one can. This is a battle without a plan, without armor, without logic.
“I have to get you in the house without Mom seeing how messed up you are right now. If they see you like this, flopping around like a sack, they will know. They will know.”
Joey sits up and leans forward, his breath hot in my ear. “It won’t happen again. I promise. Just help me. Please.”
The garage door whines down behind us. The side door to the kitchen opens.
My father peers out.
Maybe I should just tell them. Maybe this is it. Maybe Joey is like the girl at the outpatient center. Margaret, on her ninth try. Maybe this is all just the beginning for Joey. Maybe this is the beginning for all of us, and I’ll never be free.
“Please don’t tell them, Emmy. I…it won’t happen again, I promise. I promise.”
I close my eyes.
Please, Emmy. His words bash around my brain, my heart. If I tell, they’ll send him to military school. They’ll send him away.
I open my eyes. My dad is beckoning to us to come into the house.
* * *
—
My whole body trembles as we walk in the door to the kitchen. Joey’s not stumbling so much anymore. Maybe he remembers how to maintain out of sheer panic.
My dad gives us a resigned look. “A lot’s happened tonight,” he says. “I texted you, Joe. Why didn’t you answer?”
“I was—”
I cut Joey off. “Dad, let me explain.”
Our dad gestures toward the hall. “Nana’s here. She had a fall earlier. They brought her into the hospital. They wanted to keep her for observation, but she refused. I think she’s okay, just a little shocked, but she’s going to stay with us for a while. I think that’s best. How was the dance?”
Joey and I stand in silence until I nudge him with my elbow. He weaves slightly at my touch and I hold my breath, watching my father’s face.