“What?” I say. “Why?”
“He sounded a bit hesitant and lost. That’s not unusual in itself, but he was remote in a way that worried me.”
“Okay, well, now we can’t find him and…I don’t…I’m not sure what to do. We called the police, we did all that, but he turns eighteen in two days and if he isn’t found, they won’t look for him anymore.”
I take a breath. “He did some Oxy. A couple of days ago. And the place he was at when he disappeared, his work…they had a video camera and it showed one of his old friends coming in and giving him something in a baggie over the counter. Joey took it.”
“Emory. I’m so sorry. I really am. I know how hard this is.” Shadow sighs. “Relapse is very, very common, especially in the first year. Recovery isn’t an exact science and it’s not one size fits all.”
“But what…what should we do? You have to help me.” My voice sounds desperate. I am desperate.
“Joey will come home when he’s ready,” Shadow says. “I can’t advise you to go looking for him. I wouldn’t want you to put yourself in harm’s way.”
“But I have to get him back. I have to help him. Tell me what to do,” I beg.
“Hope.”
“What?” I say, unsure if I heard him right.
“Hope. Keep hoping. If you pray, keep him in your prayers. If you have the means, make flyers and put them up around town. Make a social media account. Post his picture and messages to him. You never know when he might try to look you up. You never know who might see it and contact you and give you information about where he is. You just don’t know.”
“But that’s not…I need something definite,” I say, choking back tears.
“There are no definites in recovery, Emory. You have to throw that way of thinking out the window. I’ve seen people come in here and they leave and they don’t use for twenty years and one day they wake up and go buy a hit on the street corner and they’re right back where they started. I’ve seen people go through recovery several times over. I’ve had kids come in here in the worst shape and they leave and five years later, they’re still in recovery, still sober, taking it day by day. You just never know. The only thing you know is to never stop hoping.”
“So I just…wait?”
“What time is it there?” he asks. “It’s a school day, right?”
“Yeah, but I’m at home. I want to be here in case he comes back.”
“I would go to school. I would do the best I could, do my homework. But I would go to school. He might go there, looking for you. And if you aren’t there, he might leave. Do what you normally do. And hope. But you can’t stop living while you wait. You have to learn how to do both at the same time, or you’ll be in no shape to help him when he asks for help.”
“I just can’t…I can’t believe he took the baggie. From his friend.”
“It happens, Emory. He’s not a failure. He’s wired differently than you are.”
“What does that mean?”
“From what I understand, Joe was put on some behavioral drugs pretty early on, and then he suffered an injury, which led to painkillers. What was he, eleven? It’s not really a great idea to push pharmaceuticals on young kids. Brains are in development until our midtwenties. When you add drugs to a developing brain, we don’t learn how to read our own signals naturally. We follow the signal of the drug. And sometimes addiction is genetic.”
I think back to when Joey told me he had a broken receptor in his brain.
“I know this is complicated and painful,” Shadow says. “I can talk to some counselors here and some of Joey’s team members from his group. I’ll let them know to be on the lookout. And you can call me anytime you want.”
“That’s it?” I say. I feel deflated and lost.
“I’m afraid that’s it, Emory. It’s all about waiting now. And hope.”
* * *
—
I hold the phone in my lap.
Then I open up Instagram. The last time I posted was last Christmas, just a silly photo. Maddie and Joey in the matching red pajamas our mom still likes to buy for us every year at Christmas. Like we’re her little kids forever.
They’re in front of the tree, sticking out their tongues, surrounded by piles of prettily wrapped packages. It was a rare good day. My dad was home. We were all home.
I upload a picture of Joey, from that day at Nana’s, with the leaves, when he looked happy.
This is my brother, Joey Ward. He’s seventeen, almost eighteen. He’s missing. If you see him, please let me know. His hair has been longer. He was wearing an orange Hank’s Hoagies shirt. He lives in Mill Haven. Joey if you see this, please come home. #missingkids #millhaven #joeyward
I post it.
I do the same thing on Twitter and Facebook.
Please come home.
34
MY DAD DROPS ME off at school the next morning. He has a stack of flyers with Joey’s photo that he’s going to post around town.
I walk through the parking lot in a daze. Nobody is calling me names now.
When I walk into school, I see Joey’s friend Noah, the one he did Oxy with at the dance. When he sees me coming, he walks faster, but I catch up with him, force him against the lockers.
“Have you seen Joey?” I ask. “Tell me the truth. I know you guys got high together. I know what you gave him.”
He’s a skinny kid with dark circles under his eyes. He holds his hands up. “Don’t blame me, I didn’t force him. And I don’t know where he is. The cops were already here yesterday and I got pulled into the office to talk to them. A bunch of us did. Nobody knows, I swear.”
I search his face. He looks scared.
I believe him.
I push away from him.
There are a bunch of kids staring at me.
“If anybody knows where Joey is, please tell me,” I say. “He’s my brother.”
Heads shake, people back away.
So awful, someone murmurs as I walk away. So horrible.
Like Joey is already dead.
I sit in my classes like a ghost. The teachers give me sad looks. Daniel and Liza and Jeremy are quiet with me at lunch. They repost Joey’s photo on their own social feeds.
In Drama Club, Simon Stanley touches my shoulder in a kind way. “I’ll keep my eyes peeled,” he says.
“I don’t know if I can do the variety show,” I say.
“I understand. If you change your mind, let me know.”
The gentleness in his eyes makes me want to cry.
When my dad comes to pick me up, I ask him if we can wait awhile before driving home.
“Why?”
I twist my fingers together. “Please don’t get mad, but I called his counselor at Blue Spruce. There was this day, after Joey came home from rehab, and he was having a hard time and he called him, the counselor. Shadow. That’s his name. And Shadow wanted to talk to me. He said I could call him anytime.”
My dad shakes his head. “I’m not mad. I hadn’t thought of that. Of calling them. That was a good decision, Emmy.”
“Anyway, he said to just keep coming to school and stuff, because maybe Joey would show up here. So maybe we should sit here for a little bit. In case he comes here. He’d know I’d be getting out of Drama Club right about now, you know?”