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“What if it does make sense? What if there’s some family member—one of our family members—in there, completely neurotic or psychotic or another kind of mess?”
“Then we’ll deal with it. We already know we have mental illness in the family.”
“Except…” Dare I say what I’m thinking?
“I know.” Donny nods. “Dale and I aren’t related to the rest of you by blood. But we also have a father who sold us out for five grand. Maybe he wasn’t technically insane, but he wasn’t a good man.”
“I hate thinking of it in those terms. You’re my cousin, man. Blood doesn’t matter to me.”
“Doesn’t matter to me either, but I get what you’re saying. Whatever bad genes the Steel family carries, Dale and I don’t have them.”
“Neither does Henry,” I say.
“Yeah, but Henry comes straight from Uncle Bryce, and we know all abouthisfather. If that wasn’t a psychopath, then what is?”
He’s right, of course.
No discrimination here. We are all equally fucked.
“Here we are,” I say. “Room 3520.”
The door is closed, and although there is a window looking from the hallway into the room, the blinds are closed as well.
“He’s in there,” Donny says.
“He is.”
The name on the door says “Smith.”
“So the relative’s name is Smith,” I say.
“Yeah,” Donny says, “and I’ve got some swampland in Florida I’d like to sell you.”
“What do we do now?”
A nurse walks briskly by then. “Can I help you gentlemen?”
“We’re just waiting for our friend. Visiting Mr. Smith.”
“You mean Mrs. Smith.”
“Right, of course.” I flash my smile.
“Would you like to go in? I can check with him for you.”
“Oh no, we’ll just wait for him at the end of the hall. We don’t want to interrupt his visit.”
I follow Donny to the end of the hallway, where there’s a small sitting area. We each take a seat in uncomfortable olive-green chairs.
“Now what?” I ask.
“We wait for him to come out of the room. Or we wait to get a text from Rory or Callie. Whichever comes first.”
“But it’s getting late. It’s almost seven p.m. Aren’t visiting hours over?”
“Hell if I know,” he says.
“Okay, then,” I say. “I guess we wait.”
