“How are things?” I ask. “Are you feeling the temptation to fill your many hours with something other than television?”
He scrapes too much butter onto the second slice of toast. “Do you mean do I feel like using?”
“Of course that’s what I mean.” I slant him a tender glance. I want so badly for him to be okay. For good.
“I think of using sometimes, but then I remember Robbie and think better of it.” Before I can ask, he explains. “She was one of my roommates in Atlanta. She OD’d and Brewster found her the next morning. It was scary and sad. And gross.”
My stomach turns.
“I’m sorry. How are they, your roommates?” He lived with three other people in a cramped apartment. They were each in and out of rehab.
“Brewster texted me yesterday to check in, so he’s good. I haven’t heard from Dee in a while. I’ll call her later. It’s scary to call. You don’t know who’s going to pick up.”
“I know what you mean.” I’ve called Walt’s phone plenty of times wondering if the number had been changed or if a police officer or worse, a coroner, might answer. “I hope she’s okay.”
“Me too. She means a lot to me. She started drinking a few months ago and moved out. Then I came here. I don’t know. Sometimes I worry I left her to the wolves, but broken people can’t help other broken people.”
“You’re not broken.” I console him with a hand to his shoulder before screwing the lid onto the peanut butter jar and stashing it in the cabinet. “You should call her. She might surprise you. You surprised me.”
The more connections Walt has, the more meaning his life has, the less likely he is to harm himself. Being alone is hard when you’re not an addict.
Before I take my first bite, my cell phone rings. My brother and I exchange glances. The timing is a little creepy after our discussion. I peek at the screen, one eye closed.
“Nate,” I say.
Walt rolls his eyes. I stick out my tongue at him. Some things never change.
“Hey,” I answer, carrying my toast and cell phone to my bedroom for some privacy.
“Hi, beautiful. Wanted to hear your voice. Are you lost without me?”
“Mm-hm.” I chew a bite which takes me longer than anticipated because: peanut butter. Once I swallow, I say, “I haven’t had anyone to feed me ridiculously expensive meals or drag me off to boring rich-person affairs in days.”
“That’s more your wheelhouse.”
“My wheelhouse consists of being roomie to my younger brother these days.”
He allows me this bit of petulance. “How about escaping for the weekend?”
“Tempting.” Everything about Nate is tempting. I struggle daily to keep from becoming used to his lifestyle and his attention. Some days I win the fight and other days I lose.
“I’m taking a trip to Chicago next Friday. I’d like you to join me. We’ll fly out that afternoon, be back by Sunday night. If Daniel can give you a few hours off on Friday, we’re set.”
Jettisoning off to anywhere—even Chicago—sounds decadent, and like a bad idea. Walt would be left to his own devices. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to run away, but I also feel obligated to watch over him and make sure he doesn’t find trouble. Walt often finds trouble.
“I don’t know.” I eat another bite of toast.
“Vivian.” The low rumble of Nate’s voice wanders at a leisurely pace down my body. My eyes slide shut as I enjoy the sensation. “He’s been good without you so far.”
“I’ll think about it.” Maybe Walt can find gainful employment by then and I can rest knowing someone is expecting him to show up somewhere. He has his AA meetings. A job would gobble up more of his excess free time. I want to trust him, but I worry.
“Okay. I’ll call you later.” Nate says goodbye and I press the End button on my phone’s screen, staring at it for a while. It’s comforting and disturbing to have him in my life regularly.
Explain that.
In the living room, my brother has resumed his position on the sofa, his eyes glazing over as an action movie blows up the screen.
“Let’s check out that nonprofit.” I kick his foot.
“I have to shower.”
“Then you’d better start moving.” I smile sweetly.
He frowns but acquiesces, shutting off the TV and heading toward the bathroom. Success.
Once he’s employed he can find a place of his own and I can breathe easy. But as I consider the plethora of issues that come with Walt taking care of himself, I wonder if I’ll ever breathe easy again.
Friday arrives. I was able to take a few hours off. Daniel wasn’t pleased with my request until I told him I would be with Nathaniel Owen on a job site.
“Think of how much valuable intel I’ll bring back.”
He didn’t exactly jump for joy, but he did offer a surly, “You can stay late on Monday to make up for your time off.”
Works for me.
I gather my packed bags and set them by the door. Nate’s picking me up. He’s never been to my apartment, and I’m weirdly nervous. I’m also nervous about going back to Chicago for obvious reasons.
“Are you sure about this, Viv?” Walt asks. He’s standing, hands in his basketball shorts pockets, his too-long wavy hair a mess. His color’s better than when he first arrived, I hope because he’s eating and sleeping better.
“Am I sure about leaving you to your own devices?” I know that’s not what he meant. He knows I know, and gives me a slow blink.
“Are you sure about going home with Nate?”
“Nate’s home is in Clear Ridge. And so’s mine.” I gesture around the living room where Walt’s dropped not one but two pairs of shoes and left them there. “Clean up while I’m away, will you? We could also use some groceries. There’s a list on the fridge.”
“Viv.”
“Yes. I’m sure about going to Chicago with Nate. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Why would you?” he challenges.
A question I’ve been avoiding asking myself. I sigh and sit on the couch, patting the cushion next to me. My brother sits and leans his elbows on his knees. No matter how many carbs I stuff him with, his lanky form remains.
“You left that life behind for a reason, V. I’m afraid you’ll be sucked back in.” His concern is palpable.
“Sucked back into running a company for my father only to learn he’s stealing from his trusting staff and clients? Impossible. Our father is on the kitchen counter.”
He twists his lips at my morbid joke. We both look at the urn, standing sentinel next to the coffee pot.
“I didn’t know what to do with him,” he says.
“I don’t either. Throwing him out with next week’s trash seems harsh, but sprinkling him around a park is too good for him.”
“We should bury him next to Mom. Maybe you can look into that on your trip.”
“He’s the reason Mom’s dead, or have you forgotten?”
“I haven’t forgotten,” he snaps.
“I know. I’m sorry.” I put my hand on my forehead and take a deep breath. Tears heat the backs of my eyes, but I don’t want to do this now, so I won’t. “I will if I have time, okay?”