by Cameron Lowe
Money was still tight, but with Malcolm working full-time and Gwen’s job at the Moccasin Twin going well, they were able to add slowly to the money they’d deposited from the sale of his car and were hoping in the long term they could go on a real vacation together, a much belated honeymoon. Maybe not to the Bahamas, but they were thinking maybe Washington, D.C. and New York. With relatives near both cities they could stay with, they could save a fortune and have some fun while they were out there. The timeline was a little vague – they wanted to wait to make sure their baby wasn’t born with any problems that would need care before they began to lay down specific plans, but as the pregnancy wore on, both of them were browsing the library’s computers now and then to look up touristy places they wanted to visit.
But now, after Ian’s brush with violence on their block, Gwen and Malcolm began to seriously talk about moving. Gwen wanted to be closer to her family, which Malcolm could understand. Hugh was in a delicate situation and Gwen liked being able to visit him at a moment’s notice. Malcolm wanted to return back to Minneapolis, but agreed that until they knew Hugh was okay, they should stay in the area. Prices of rentals were only going up around the Flats, leaving their search painstakingly slow.
Two weeks after Ian moved, Gwen stepped out into the hallway to discover Mrs. Sosa’s door half open. The sweet old woman lay in the middle of the floor, her hands balled, and her eyes glazed. She wasn’t dead, not quite, but the heart attack was the beginning of the end for their beloved neighbor, and ten minutes after the EMTs loaded her into an ambulance, she slipped away.
Though they both knew it had probably been coming for a while, it devastated both Malcolm and Gwen. Mrs. Sosa’s daughter Amy, a woman ten years their elder, came by to load up her mother’s things, and they helped, sharing stories about the times she’d just breeze into their apartment like she was that crazy neighbor on Seinfeld. When they’d finally finished loading up the U-Haul, Amy tried to pay them for their time. They refused, but that night, they found a hundred-dollar bill slipped under their door. They celebrated with the first steaks either had eaten in years, and toasted Mrs. Sosa with sparkling cider.
But at the end of the night, when Malcolm was idly stroking Gwen’s belly, she murmured, “Three. It always comes in three.”
“What does?”
“Bad news. Ian. Mrs. Sosa. So what’s coming next?”
He kissed the back of her neck. “Go to sleep, emo girl.” But his hand slipped downwards. “Unless you want some cheering up.”
“Mmm. Maybe a little.”
But Gwen was right.
* * *
Hugh dated a few times after Vanessa, but mostly kept to himself. Out of college and working full-time for the Rankin Flats Observer as their junior local and state politics reporter, he was living in a suburb northeast of the city in a duplex housing tract. Lately he’d been distracted and hadn’t come to dinner in months, but Gwen and Malcolm attributed that to his work, believing his angst over Vanessa to be over.
It wasn’t.
Nic drove to Malcolm’s branch of Matto Furio’s one day, ostensibly for their dirt-cheap lunch buffet. If a person loved fruit pizza, surprisingly great salad, and slightly chewy pasta served with pepperoni, sausage, sauce, and so much cheese it could back a man up for days, Matto Furio’s was your go-to for lunch. Malcolm usually spent his lunch hour over a meat-packed monstrosity of a salad and a book, but Nic convinced him to hit the buffet, and like they were teenagers again, they piled their plates high and slid into a booth.
After they took a few bites, Nic leaned forward, his face troubled. “Malcolm. Hugh called me this morning.”
“What?” Malcolm asked.
Nic nodded. “Don’t know how he got the number, but he was looking for whatever he could get. Weed, meth, heroin, pills.”
“Jesus,” Malcolm breathed. “Has he done this before?”
“You think I wouldn’t have told you?”
“All right, all right, don’t get pissy. I’m just trying to process it. I didn’t think he was doing anything since that time he tried shrooms.”
“Has something happened lately he’d be depressed about? Work going okay for him?”
“As far as I know. I’ll swing by the Observer tonight when I get off, see if I can catch him there. I need to call Gwen, too. She’ll want to know.”
“Good luck.”
* * *
“I’m sorry, he doesn’t?” Malcolm asked. His stomach lurched. This had to be a mistake. A big damned mistake.
The receptionist nodded. “He was let go a few days ago.” He leaned forward, and said quietly, “But just between you and me, he’s been all over the place lately. Kind of really up and down. I think he might have been on something.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Malcolm turned away, then back. “Can I use your phone?”
“We don’t allow people to make calls out from the building’s phones unless it’s an emergency.”
“Your cell phone. Hugh’s my brother-in-law. I need to call my wife.”
A faint smirk touched the receptionist’s lips. “I don’t know…”
Malcolm sighed and dug out a five. The man handed over the cell phone, and Malcolm dialed quickly. Gwen wasn’t home yet so he left a message on their machine. “Baby, I don’t mean to worry you, but I think something’s up with Hugh. Get in touch with your parents, see if they’ve heard from him. Maybe Vanessa too. I’m going to drive by his place and see if he’s around.” Malcolm hung up and handed the phone back. “The guy might be OD’ing somewhere, so enjoy the five bucks, asshole.”
* * *
Gwen headed upstairs, yawning. It would be so nice to change into her sweats and just crash out with Malcolm that night. Her whole body ached that day, and it would only get worse the last couple months of pregnancy. What she wouldn’t give for a beer. A beer and a Jacuzzi. And caffeine. So much caffeine.
Smiling sleepily, she headed into their apartment, tossing her purse and the keys onto the coffee table before she glanced over at the answering machine. A new message, probably more telemarketer crap. Nevertheless, she plodded over, slipping out of her coat as she pressed the button and heard Malcolm’s voice.
Fear started to vine through her body and poison her mind. She dialed her parents. No, they hadn’t heard from Hugh all week. Had she?
Moments later, she was running back down the stairs, keys jingling with every step.
* * *
The van was a lumbering brick on ice and snow, and Malcolm damn near slid across Hugh’s lawn when he pulled into the driveway. He didn’t bother reversing out and trying to point the nose in a saner fashion, but hurried up the sidewalk as fast as he dared on the treacherous path. No one had hit this with a snow shovel in days
From inside came music. Where Gwen liked pop country, Hugh was more of a bluegrass and folk fan, and a woman’s haunting voice bled over a twanging guitar. Malcolm had to come here once when Hugh wasn’t alone to drop off a wallet he left at their place. He tried to remember where his brother-in-law kept his spare key. It wasn’t under the mat, and it wasn’t in some false rock. Instead it was…
Oh, right, the broken length of porch railing. Malcolm pulled back on the wooden slat. It only gave an inch, but that was enough to kneel and feel at the bottom for the spare key. There it was. Malcolm ripped the tape off, grabbed the key, and let himself into the house.
“Hugh?” he called cautiously. No one in the living room, though a spoon on the table had some kind of burned residue in it. Beside it was a glass pipe and on the floor were a couple baggies of something Malcolm didn’t know how to identify.
“Oh shit,” he whispered.
The shades had all been drawn, giving the place a haunted feeling. The dead live here now, he thought to himself, and shivered. “Come on, Hugh! Talk to me!”
The bathroom door was mostly shut. Malcolm stepped towards it, not wanting to open it, not wanting to see, but it was either him, Gwen, or her parents that first saw him.
He pushed open the door with the tips of his fingers, gently as though he might wake whatever was sleeping within.
Pinkish water had pooled on the floor, dripping from a hand dangling down from the edge of the bathtub. In the midst of the pool of water was a razor blade.
* * *
Gwen pulled in behind Malcolm, nearly forgetting to push the gear selector into park. She barreled out of the Camry and sprinted inside, eyes sweeping over the same nightmarish tableau her husband just saw.
“In here!” Malcolm shouted from the bathroom. “Hurry!”
Her brother was in the bathtub, one hand dangling over the edge, the water in the tub stained a soft pink from the cuts on his other wrist. Malcolm clutched that one, pressing a towel against the wrist. At first she thought what he thought, that Hugh was gone, but slowly he blinked at her as Gwen rushed to both of them, tears rolling down his face.
“Gwen,” Hugh whispered. “I fucked up again.”
Chapter 28
The EMTs hustled through the door and peaceably shoved aside Gwen and Malcom in their haste to get Hugh out of there. By that point Gwen’s brother was an ashen gray and unconscious, and she feared the worst as they followed the ambulance to the hospital. But when they arrived at Rankin Flats Memorial, Hugh was still hanging on by a thread. He went into an operating room immediately, and Gwen and Malcolm paced the ER waiting room together.
Daphne showed up half an hour later, driven by a friend as she was in no emotional shape to walk, let alone get behind the wheel of her car. Malcolm guided her to a chair, and she and Gwen huddled together until a call came through on Daphne’s phone from Charlie. Neither mother or daughter could talk to him coherently, so Malcolm stepped away for a moment to fill in the oldest Caplan sibling. Charlie hadn’t realized his brother was so bad off – none of them really had – and made promises to be out there when he cleared the emergency leave with his commander.
By the time Malcolm came back to the waiting room, Elliot had joined his wife and daughter. Those hours were interminably long. Daphne and Gwen kept second-guessing themselves, circling around warning signs they thought they should have seen in advance. Elliot grilled Malcolm about Nic’s involvement, but appeared if not satisfied by the answers, then at least mollified. Malcolm realized later the man was just too damn scared to really work up a good fury, and in time, a week later, Nic himself would make an appearance at the Caplan household to tell them face-to-face his side of the story. Though Elliot would never approve of the man’s friendship with his son-in-law, he grudgingly admitted Nic coming forward with Hugh’s attempt at trying to score pills, heroin, or meth from him was admirable and very likely saved his son’s life.
And Hugh did live, though it was a near thing. He wasn’t stupid, and knew he’d slashed his wrist the wrong way, but he’d also been high off and on for the better part of three days after losing his job. Whether or not he meant to go through with it was a question even he couldn’t answer. But Hugh lived, and he cried with his parents and his sister, and apologized over and over and over again.
His story came out little by little. Ever since Vanessa’s engagement, he started the slow, terrible fall that led him to that bathtub. His first drug of choice had been pills. Combined with weed and an occasional hit of meth, he thought he’d found a way to balance his powerful mood swings and depression, but instead, he’d just been ignoring the damage he was doing all around him. His boss knew he’d been using and warned him he wasn’t looking for a Hunter Thompson on his hands. Hugh had laughed him off, and his boss had no choice but to fire him. After that, he came home to fall and fall and fall.
The hospital kept him for the better part of a week. Along with severe blood loss and recovery from the chemicals in his system, he suffered an infection from the cuts on his wrists, and they needed to monitor that. A couple days before Hugh was set to be released, Charlie showed up. That brought a great deal of both tears and levity to the moment, as Charlie was, by nature, affable and good humored. Hugh immediately seemed more relaxed around him.
With all the siblings and family there, the doctor came by to talk about Hugh’s future. He agreed quietly that he needed help, and that meant a rehabilitation clinic. The doctor wanted to step out and talk to the rest of the Caplan family, a conversation Malcolm wasn’t sure he was exactly being invited to, and since Hugh had a pair of cousins sitting with him, he decided to get up and take a walk.
He passed by a waiting room, saw his wife and her family inside, gave her a little wave and what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and headed off in search of a Milky Way. When Gwen had a OB/GYN appointment, Malcolm discovered the vending machines near the billing offices were half the price of the ones on the first floor or by the cafeteria, so he headed in that direction, yawning, feeling pretty good despite the situation. Hugh agreeing to rehab was a step in the right direction.
He remembered around the first corner he’d tucked the few bills in his wallet into Gwen’s purse earlier so she’d have money for the one payphone left in the hospital. Malcolm reversed direction, thumbs in the loopholes of his work slacks, trying to remember the name of a new band on the radio he’d liked. Rusty Galahad or something like that. Nic and Gwen would give him shit about it if they knew. It was silly pop music, but there was something memorable to it. Earworms, he thought he’d heard them called, the sort of music that gets in your head and haunts you.
The waiting room was just ahead. Someone had propped the door open and he could hear the doctor talking.
“…so the Meier Foundation tends to see great results for its sixty-day program, and it’s located here in the city, but the cost is prohibitive and without insurance, it would be difficult to get him in the door.”
Malcolm stopped. He didn’t mean to pry, but the conversation held him in thrall.
“Are there, um, scholarships or that sort of thing available?” Daphne asked. Her voice was nasal, dry, tired. Of all of them, she’d been there the most that week. She worked hard at being a substitute teacher, but her part-time as-needed hours made it easiest for her to stick around and help keep an eye on Hugh. By now, she had to be exhausted.
“There are, and I think Hugh would be a great candidate. But they wouldn’t cover everything.”
“How much are we talking?” Elliot asked.
“Assuming he qualifies for some financial assistance, I’d say you’re looking at anywhere from three to six thousand dollars.”
There was a sharp gasp from the room. Daphne, or Gwen, Malcolm wasn’t sure. Elliot spoke first, his voice halting, nervous, desperate. “We… we could talk to the bank. Get a loan.”
“I can put up fifteen hundred or so,” Charlie said.
Malcolm stepped forward. Gwen saw him through the window and half-rose. Her eyes were red but she was not crying. Her voice was thick and hoarse. “You heard?”
“Yes. Let’s get him in there, Gwen.”
Her eyes shined with gratitude at his understanding and she nodded. “Mom. Dad. We’ve got a little bit saved. We can cover most of it.”
“But… your baby,” Daphne said.
“We’ve got the basics covered. And if we hold onto a few hundred… well, that’s enough for a start,” Malcolm said. He tried to smile, found it was easier than he expected. “We have to try. Right?”
* * *
In the end, it was Malcolm who drove Hugh to the Meier Foundation at his request. They said goodbye to Gwen and the Caplans on the curb. Charlie would be flying back that night, and thumped Malcolm’s back extra hard, and his brother’s even harder. Then they were on the road, Hugh staring out the window, occasionally shaking like he was crying.
“Hey, this is going to be good, man,” Malcolm said cheerfully, or at least hoping it sounded like cheer. “I’ve seen the literature for this place and did some homework. It really sounds like this place does wonders for people.”
“Yeah,” Hugh said, trying to smile back. “Hey… listen, I know it’s you and Gwen picking up most the ta
b for this.”
“Oh hey, no, you qualified for financial aid and-”
“And please don’t treat me like I’m an idiot, Malcolm. Not today. You’ve always, always, always shot me straight. I don’t need to be babied here, or handled. I need to get shit off my chest so let’s not pretend I don’t know you and Gwen aren’t putting up a fortune to get me in here.”
“It’s our pleasure to do it,” Malcolm said, the false cheer mostly gone. “And that’s the God’s honest truth. I just wish we’d known sooner. You ever feel like stuff’s boiling over again, you know I’m there.”
Hugh nodded. “You’re a good guy, Malcolm. I think my sister made the best choice she could have.”
“Thanks man.”
“I can’t make you false promises, though. I’m not going to sit here and tell you to your face this place is going to change me. Or that someday I’ll be able to pay you back. Right now, I’m just… trying to make it minute to minute.”
“I think that’s a pretty good start,” Malcolm said.
Hugh rubbed his eyes. “I’m not even going to be there for my niece or nephew’s birth. Jesus, what have I done?”
“Hey, you’ll get to meet her soon enough.”
“Her? You guys know it’s a her?” Hugh asked, a slow smile spreading across his face. It was the most honest smile Malcolm saw from him in a long time.
“Gwen doesn’t know, or that I looked. But when you asked if I could drive you, I decided to take a peek. Sorta give you something to hold onto in there, you know?”
Hugh shook his head slightly, that smile still there. “Damn. A niece. You’re gonna be so outnumbered.”
He was absolutely, one-hundred percent right about that.