Page 25 of My Family

I never got to tell her about the clinicals. There didn't seem to be room for it anymore. The rest of the call is nothing. She says she loves me. I say it back, because I do. We talk about the dog, about the weather, about nothing at all. I hang up with one minute left, because the last thing I want is to hear the buzz when the timer runs out and the line goes dead.

I set the receiver down. The phone room is full of other voices, other stories. One kid is laughing, another is hunched over the phone with his free hand over his face. The guard flips a page, checks the clock.

My skin is buzzing. I walk out, not knowing what to do.

In the hallway, I try to breathe. I feel close to an actual breakdown. My brother. My little bro. Coming here. Locked up. Almost dead. And underneath it, stupidly, guiltily, the other thing is still sitting there too, the news I didn't get to say out loud. It feels obscene to be happy about anything right now.

I go back to the courtyard. It's snack time. The air is sharp today, blue cold, just above freezing, and really dry.

Liam is outside. He's got his knees up on the bench, hoodie over his head, his black hair a mess, blue eyes catching the light. He's clearly waiting for me, my little puppy. He sees me coming and breaks into a grin. I sit beside him, our arms and thighs touching.

"Daddy! Wait… are you alright?" he asks, his face falling.

I take a breath, hold it, let it out. "My brother overdosed again. This time it's bad. He got violent. He's in county, facing charges. His lawyer wants to send him here."

His mouth opens. Then closes. Then he just says, "Fuck."

"Yeah," I say.

He thinks about it. I can see the math happening behind his eyes, the calculations, the if/then/else of every possible outcome. "What would that mean for you?" he asks, voice quiet.

"I don't know," I say. "He'll probably avoid me at first. He's always been good at holding grudges. And it'll be weird having him see me here. Things might get complicated for a while, baby."

He doesn't look away. "Do you want him here?"

"No," I say, and look at my hands. "But I can't say that. If I do, he goes to prison. Maybe worse."

He nods. "You love him."

"I do," I say. "But I also… I also hate what he's become. I hate that I had to leave him with my parents. I hate that I can't fix it, or protect him, or even be in the same room without wanting to break his fucking face and then break my own."

Liam is silent for a long time. The wind cuts through. I expect him to make a joke, or deflect, but he doesn't. He just says, "Tell me about him."

So I do. I tell him about Tyler, the way we used to share a room with bunk beds and a poster of an F-16, how he used to climb into my bed during storms, how I'd hold him tight and tell him it was just air, just sound. How Tyler started skipping school, stealing, drinking whatever he could find. How I was always supposed to be the good one, the strong one, the fucking model, and how I couldn't stop my parents from fighting, from pointing a gun at my fucking face, from putting me here.

I tell him about the last time I saw Tyler before they sent me here, how he wouldn't even look at me, just stared at the floor and said, "If you leave, I won't make it." How I had no fucking choice.

Liam listens to all of it. No interruptions, no jokes. He just leans forward, hands between his knees, eyes locked on some distant point past the fence. Then he looks at me, and his face is open and tender. There's no pity, but his eyes are a little misty.

"You ever think maybe it's not your job to fix him?"

"Always," I say. "Doesn't help."

He nudges my knee with his own. "What if he does come? What will you do?"

"I don't know," I say. "Be the big brother. I can't be anything else."

He nods, like he understands, because of course he does. Of all the fucked up people in this place, Liam is the only one who gets it: the paradox of loving someone who only wants to destroy themselves, and you by extension.

We're quiet for a bit. I keep thinking about the folder on Griff's desk, the way it feels stupid to bring up now, with my brother possibly going to jail. But it's sitting in my chest like something that wants out.

"There's something else," I say finally.

Liam's head turns. "What?"

"Griff called me in. There's this program… a hospital an hour out. They take a few residents for real clinical hours, supervised, twice a week. Ms. Okafor put my name in." I watch his face while I say it, trying to read him before he decides what to show me. "I got picked. I've known for a couple of days. I was waiting… I wanted to tell my auntie, but I couldn't. I'm sorry for not telling you before."

His whole expression cycles through three feelings at once. Then he grins. "Daddy! That's… holy shit, that's amazing. You're gonna be a real nurse. Like, official, hospital hallways, the whole thing."