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I almost say better but I’ve already learned that addicts never are, not fully. They’re forever in recovery, but I can’t let this be Caleb’s first impression of my big brother. I can’t.
“—improved,” I finish.
“Of course,” Caleb says softly. “Just shout if you need me.”
Then he bends and gives me a quick, sweet kiss on the cheek, and I squeeze his hand, and then I steel myself and let Bastien and my father lead me into Javier’s hospital room.
It’s not a nice hospital room, just like it’s not a nice hospital, just like it’s not a nice neighborhood. I can’t help but compare everything to the last time I was in a hospital, three months ago, in Norfolk for my mom. I wasn’t really paying attention at the time, but in comparison, it was the Ritz of hospitals.
There are three beds in Javier’s room, separated by curtains. He’s in the middle, and while I can’t see either of the people in the other beds, I can hear the man in the first one breathing heavily and coughing occasionally the whole time I’m in there, and the man in the third bed keeps up a low, painful moan the entire time.
When I enter, my father’s already pulled back the curtain around Javier, just enough for Bastien and I to enter, so I don’t have time to prepare myself.
Not that I think I could have.
He’s thin, cheeks hollow, once-golden skin nearly gray. The circles around his eyes look like black holes. His hair is combed but dirty. Someone’s cleaned his face, but it’s obvious from the smell behind the curtain that it’s the only clean part.
There are bruises down his arms, most old. There are scabs and rashes, his fingernails dirty and broken. He’ll be twenty-seven in May, and right now he looks a rough forty-five.
But none of that is the worst part. I stand there, just inside the curtain, taking it all in. I tried to prepare myself but it didn’t help because I’m shocked, horrified, standing here gawking at him like he’s a freak show and I’ve paid fifty cents to ogle.
The worst part is when he finally looks at me, his eyes flat and lifeless. They linger a moment, then look away again as he turns his head.
“Not her, too,” he says, his voice rough. “Come on.”
“Javi?” I say, his words finally breaking the spell. I step forward, into the space between curtain and bed, stand at his side next to my mom. She’s still got one arm in a cast, the other holding Javier’s hand.
“Did you have to get everyone?” he asks, his eyes still closed. “You just had to make sure that Ollie and Bossy saw me like this, too, didn’t you?”
“Javi,” my mom starts, squeezing his hand.
“They wanted to come,” my dad says, standing at the foot of the bed, curtain still open behind him, arms folded over his chest. He’s standing ramrod straight, as always.
“Raul,” my mom says, without looking at him.
Silence takes over for a long moment, and then she turns and looks at my father.
He leaves without another word.
“He’s right, I wanted to come,” I say. “We’ve been looking for you.”
“I’ve been looking harder than she has,” Bastien says, standing across the bed from me, on the other side of Javier. “She’s kind of been slacking.”
“I’m not slacking,” I say, making a face at Bastien. “I get through my list of phone calls once a week, I just don’t fart around finding out which shelters are in buildings once used as hideouts on the Underground Railroad.”
“So you admit I’m more thorough than you,” Bastien says, and now he’s grinning.
“That doesn’t mean better.”
“Bastien! Thalia,” my mom says, in a tone of voice I know very, very well. “Knock it off and show a little respect, your brother’s in the hospital.”
Bastien gives me a smirk that clearly means yeah, Thalia, knock it off, but then we both look down at Javier.
His eyes are open again, he’s looking at us, and I could swear there’s the hint of a smile on his face. My heart doesn’t exactly leap, but it sits up.
“You two need to help me convince him to go back into rehab,” she says, sternly. “That’s why you’re here. Javier, look at your brother and sister. Don’t you want to see Thalia graduate this spring? She’s even got a boyfriend!”
Anything that was on his face a moment ago is gone now, replaced by the same blankness that was there when I walked in.
“Bastien doesn’t have a girlfriend yet but I’m certain the right girl is out there, just waiting for him,” she goes on. “And for you, Javi. You just have to go to rehab and get clean before you can meet her.”
I reach out and gently touch my mom’s shoulder, and she looks over at me: red-faced and puffy-eyed, her white-streaked hair pulled away from her face in in a low bun, her reading glasses perched on her head.
