Sara thought about this. “It still might.” The way she said it, offhandedly, completely dismissive of the pain they were both currently in, was exactly what Patrick needed to hear. Not because it was true—they both knew it wasn’t. But because they were still them. And it was something at least for him to hold on to. A reason, on that day at least, for him to continue.
* * *
When the visitors’ lounge door creaked, Patrick spun, his heart in his throat. Greg appeared in the doorway, his hand gripping the knob as if it were the only thing holding him up, looking calm and rested and . . . pale. Did they not let patients outside? Wasn’t the restorative nature of sunlight one of the key selling points of detoxing in the desert? Patrick locked eyes with his brother, much as they had in the Hartford airport right before this misadventure began. Neither of them said a word. Greg’s eyes nervously darted, in search of the kids, Patrick supposed. They took each other in warily before moving in for a tight hug. Patrick grabbed a fistful of his brother’s shirt, lifting it halfway up his back, and pushed his head into the meaty part of Greg’s shoulder; the facility obviously had a gym and Greg had been making full use of it. Their chests pressed together, Patrick could feel his brother’s heart beat.
“The kids okay?” Greg grabbed Patrick’s arms and pushed him back so he could see the answer on his brother’s face.
“Yes. Good. Good. They’re fine.”
Greg stared as this sank in. “I was crawling out of my skin after the earthquake. First Clara, and now this? It took the whole facility to calm me down, everyone advocating for me to stay focused on my recovery here. They promised me if you lived in Southern California, you had experience riding them out and you would call if anything was seriously wrong. Eventually I passed out, from exhaustion or from worry.”
“Yeah, we . . .” Patrick made a gesture with his hand like a boat sailing smooth waters. “Rode it out.”
“And the Clara thing? You’re putting me through the wringer.”
Patrick wanted to point out that neither an earthquake nor his sister’s actions was his doing, but he simply let it go. “I took care of it.”
He nodded and Greg nodded again, until his nodding dissolved into an inquisitive smirk. Then why are you here? There were twenty-four days left of his treatment, both had the exact number down. Greg thought it had been pretty clear they wouldn’t see each other until then. The facility was family-friendly, visitations were allowed. But Greg was adamant; he did not want his children seeing him here. It would hurt, the separation, them and him, but then it would pass—the ripping off of a Band-Aid. Their time apart would soon be forgotten as the kids forged a new sense of normal, free of knowing, until they got older, that their father was an addict.
“So, they just let you walk around in here? Unescorted?” Patrick asked.
“Yeah. What did you think?”
Patrick wasn’t sure, but had pictured Greg being frog-marched into the lounge wearing leg irons. “I thought I would be on the other side of some partition. And we would speak over telephones and hold our hands meaningfully up to the glass.”
“This isn’t prison, Patrick. I’m here voluntarily.”
Patrick looked around the room, taking a second catalog of everything, his gaze landing on his coffee. The powdered creamer had congealed into several disturbing islands dotting a caramel sea. If internment here was voluntary, he didn’t see the appeal.
“Where are the kids?”
“With JED.”
“Who’s Jed, your friend? Is he responsible? Up to watching both kids? They walk all over new sitters, you know. It can take more than two hands to keep them in check.”
Patrick stifled a laugh. “JED’s got it covered.”
“Then why are you here?”
“It’s good to see you, too.”
Greg looked up and to the left, away from his brother. You think it’s not good to see you? It exuded from every pore in his face.
Patrick took a deep breath and began. “Clara was right. She was right all along. I’m going to ask her to take the kids for the last three weeks. Yes.” Patrick agreed with his own words, as if this were perfectly settled. “Clara can take them back-to-school shopping and do those types of chores. You know. Get them ready. It’s for the best.”
Greg stumbled backward until his legs hit a chair and he sat down. “Ready for what? I was counting on you.”
“I know and I’m sorry. It’s just. They’re all you have left. They’re all you have, and seeing Grant the other night in the hospital, and sitting by his bedside, in that moment, I was right back with Joe and I promised myself then that I wouldn’t put myself in this position—”