Maybe I should have told Pete I was concerned about him. I was too worried it would sound lame coming from another dude, but I’d feel better knowing I had at least tried in hindsight. “I don’t know what I’m feeling, how I’m feeling, or what I’m going to feel three hours from now. I just—I’m not going to school. I need to find out where Pete is. I need to talk to him.”
Brett’s mouth curls to one side, a look that says he’s questioning my plan. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to get in the middle of this today?” Only my brother can push my buttons to the point where I want to snap, but he knows this, and for that reason alone, I do what I can to control my irritation toward his question.
“Are you sure you shouldn’t have buried that t-shirt two years ago when that album died?”
Brett presses himself up from the chair. “Dude, I was just trying to see if I could do anything to help you. You don’t have to rip on Green Day, and you know the album is still hot.
I shake my head, feeling the heaviness in my eyelids return. I want to sleep. I just know it isn’t going to happen, so I toss the covers to the side, realizing I never changed out of the clothes I had on last night. Whatever. “I’ll take you to school.”
“I can walk. It’s fine,” Brett says.
I lift the curtain above my window, noticing the sun's brightness has faded over the last few minutes. The clouds rolled in quickly, and the forecasted all-day showers began. “It’s raining,” I say.
“I have a hood on my sweatshirt,” Brett replies.
“You’d cover up Green Day’s emblem for rain?” Brett rolls his eyes and returns the desk chair to where he found it. “Just give me two minutes, and I’ll be ready.
I throw on a hoodie and my Patriots hat and do what’s necessary to avoid the full-length mirror on my closet door. I don’t want to know what I look like right now because it can’t be much better than how I feel.
As if Brett’s questions weren’t enough to process without any sleep, Mom is sitting at the kitchen table, slowly sipping on a cup of coffee as she stares through the stone wall on the other side of the table. “I’m taking Brett to school,” I say, passing through the kitchen.
“Brody,” Mom says through a whisper. “I was hoping we could talk before you leave this morning.” She was awake when we got home at four this morning, but I didn’t say much, and she didn’t try to intervene when I made a beeline for my bedroom. She looks as tired as I feel
“There’s not much to talk about, Mom. Pete tried to kill himself. I stopped him. He hates me for saving him. Great story, right?”
“Brody,” she repeats my name in the same whispering tone. “Please stop for a minute.” I know we have time. Brett doesn’t have to be at school for at least forty-five more minutes, but we both like to meet up with friends before homeroom. I stop walking, but I don’t turn around.
“What?”
“This wasn’t your fault,” she says.
“I know,” I reply.
“I think we should talk to your doctor today. I’d like to find you someone to talk to about what happened last night. This isn’t going to go away on its own.”
I wasn’t expecting Mom to jump in with a solution this fast. I wasn’t expecting her to have any kind of solution because this technically isn’t my problem. However, Mom doesn’t like to wait things out. She’s proactive and goes with her gut—a trait I must not have inherited.
“I need a day, Mom. Come on. I need to find Pete first.”
Mom releases a loud sigh, and I turn to face her. “Pete is in the hospital, Brody. They’re doing tests, neurological evaluations, and scans to make sure there isn't something more than depression causing the mental state he was in last night. I’m sure all of that will be going on for most of the day.”
“How do you know?”
“I spoke with Melinda this morning.”
“Did she tell you she was having an affair too?” I say, the words slipping out of my mouth.
“Excuse me?” Mom asks, placing her hand on her chest.
“Never mind. I’m going to the hospital. I need to talk to him.”
“Brody, why did you just say that about Melinda?” Mom asks, standing up from her seat.
“Because it’s true. I told you Melinda and Jim are getting divorced. That’s one of the reasons why. Since we’re spilling truths, I might as well tell you that Jim’s drinking again too.”
Mom closes her eyes, and the sound of a lump going down her throat tells me exactly how she feels at this moment. Maybe she thinks she didn’t notice any of the signs with Melinda when she saw her at PTA meetings. “That’s why he’s been asking you to spend so much time with him,” she says.
“I guess, yeah.” More times than not over the last few weeks, they’ve told me I’m not going out as late as Pete has paged me to meet him. It’s just another gray area for guilt to sneak in.
