Night Owl (27 page)

"Warm clothes?" I ventured.

Nate was at the door. He must have heard the anxiety in my voice.

"A few things of mine." He smiled back at me. "And a razor."

My doctor was a young Indian man. I saw him once or twice a day. He called me Mr. Sky and had a knowledgeable and pleasant bedside manner.

"You have eaten your breakfast, Mr. Sky. This is good."

I smiled and nodded. It was true; I had cleared the hateful tray with its processed omelet, bland cup of fruit, orange juice, milk, and toast. And I felt sick to my stomach.

Dr. Parikh listened to my heart and looked in my eyes.

"Mr. Sky, you must be continuing to take the Librium for seven days. I will prescribe for you a tapered dose. You will be having seizures if you do not take it. You must not be drinking."

"I won't be drinking," I promised.

The doctor spared me any further admonitions. We shook hands.

"You must be taking care of yourself, Mr. Sky."

The psychiatrist on call was a tall woman with papery skin and gray-blond hair. She lowered the rail and perched on the edge of my bed.

"Will you consider moving from here to an inpatient rehab?" she said. "I strongly recommend it. We have connections with New Mercies. Their thirty-day inpatient treatment program gives you the best chance to stay sober as you transition."

Be nice
, Nate had said. I rubbed my mouth to keep from smirking.

"I'm fine," I said. Right, I'm awesome—I just detoxed for the hundred time and I'm lying here clinging to a stuffed manatee from my lover whom I refuse to see.

My lover.

I closed my eyes. The night Hannah appeared in the cabin and pulled me off... it was lost in a haze of alcohol. I remembered the pleasure, though. God damn, that girl...

"Matthew? Are you feeling alright?"

I glared at the psychiatrist.

I opened my mouth to threaten her with my uncle's lawyer, a New Yorker who razed lives like it was his job (it was), and then clenched my teeth.
Be nice.

"I have good support from family and friends," I said. "I won't be drinking."

The psychiatrist hassled me for the next ten minutes. She asked if I felt suicidal. She even asked if I felt homicidal. Thank god she didn't know about the gun incident. She reviewed my medications and the tapered Librium dose.

"When you sign the release of information form, we'll fax your notes to your psychiatrist in Denver. You should schedule a follow-up with him as soon as you get back."

"Sure," I said. Fuck. I was going to be drugged dumb for the next week, maybe longer.

Finally she left.

Nate returned, beaming. He said the doctor and psychiatrist had okayed my release. He left a duffel bag of clothes at the end of my bed.

"Come on out when you're ready. I'll be just outside."

God, I could have kissed him. He'd lent me a dark gray pair of Armani Collezioni corduroys and a forest green V-neck cashmere sweater. I changed quickly, luxuriating in the feel of real clothes against my skin.

In the bathroom, I had to grip the counter. The room tilted like a skiff on chop, then righted itself. Damn, I was weak. And I didn't look so hot. I shaved and avoided my reflection as much as possible. He wasn't helping psych me up to see Hannah.

Nothing was helping.

I held the plush manatee and sat on the edge of my bed. I must have sat there for a good chunk of time because Nate appeared, smiling uncertainly at me.

"Hey buddy, looking good."

"Oh, yeah. Thanks." I smoothed a hand down my shirtfront.

"You got everything?" He picked up the duffel bag and scouted around. He glanced at the manatee clutched in my hand. "Got your little friend there?"

"Yeah."

"Paperwork's done, I just need your signature."

"Okay."

I stood carefully. Nate wrapped an arm around my shoulder and led me out. I don't know if I was ever more grateful. I scribbled my name on two papers and the nurse behind the desk wished me luck. Nate guided me to the lobby. I stared at the tiles.

"Here he is!" Nate announced with forced cheer. I didn't look up. In the high shine on the floor, I saw a shape approaching. Fuck, I was still wearing my hospital bracelet. I yanked at it.

Hannah's feet—shearling boots—poked into view. I glanced at Nate. He'd moved off, but he was watching us with open curiosity.

Hannah touched my arm. I met her eyes quickly. Dark, liquid, full of concern.

"Thanks," I said, lifting the manatee.

Shame pressed down on me like the weight of the world.

"Do you like it?"

Hannah cupped her hands around my hands. A memory flickered in the dark: Hannah lowering the gun.

"Yeah, it's soft..."

We stood like that for a while, me fiddling with the manatee and Hannah stroking my hands and wrists. A familiar electricity passed between us. Skin to skin.

Nate, probably having established that I was a few sandwiches short of a picnic, ushered us outside. Cold air swirled around me. I sucked in a stinging lungful. October on the east coast... so alive. I wished for a clear head, but no such luck—our first stop was the pharmacy.

We picked up my meds and Nate made me take the first dose in the parking lot. He bought a Sprite from a vending machine, popped it open, and placed the correct pill in my hand. I tried to angle myself away from the car.

"Hannah's watching," I hissed.

"Take it."

I swallowed the pill and shoved the soda back at Nate.

"You might try making eye contact with her," he said.

"I
am
trying."

I climbed into the back of Nate's car and Hannah smiled at me. I smiled in her direction.

Laurence was in his cage on the front passenger seat. He shuffled uncertainly as the car moved. There was, Nate explained, no need for us to go back to the cabin. He and Hannah had packed everything and cleaned the place.

I thought of Wendy and the farm animals.

"What's the matter?" Hannah whispered.

"I had... some vegetables. In the fridge."

"We had to throw some out. We ate as many as we could."

Anger gripped me as I imagined Nate and Hannah cooking together. I held my manatee and glared out the window. Hannah held my hand.

The Librium came on strong as we hit the highway. I listed against the door. Hannah pulled my head onto her lap and I curled up across the bench.

"We are we going?" I said quietly.

"To your brother's house."

"Then where are we going?"

"Where do you want to go?" She ran her fingers through my hair.

"Wherever you're going."

"Then you'll come back to Denver with me. I'll take care of you, Matt."

I fell asleep to the feel of Hannah's fingertips on my face.

I woke to the sound of my nephew's shrill voice.

"Uncle Matt Uncle Matt Uncle Matt!"

My nephew is an unholy terror. I sat up in time to see him throw himself bodily at the car. Nate laughed and climbed out.

Maybe dealing with eight-year-old Owen was how Nate learned to deal with me.

"Wow," Hannah murmured. She was looking out the window, up the sloping lawn toward my brother's house. I felt another twinge of anger—and jealousy.

First they were cooking together, now she was admiring his suburban monstrosity. Was this the kind of thing Hannah liked? I followed her gaze to the house, a two-story brick-front beast that sold new to Nate for a cool million.

"We could—" I rubbed my jaw. "I could—" Fuck these drugs, tangling my thoughts. What was I trying to say? We could get a place like this? Oh, please.

Nate opened my door and Owen launched himself across my lap. Valerie was hurrying down the driveway to meet us, pulling Madison by the hand.

My niece is a quiet, bookish girl, thank god.

I carried Owen out of the car. Everyone was staring at me.
Everyone.
Nate, Valerie, my niece and nephew, Hannah. I wanted to melt.

We exploded into awkward greetings. Valerie hugged Hannah, then me. I kissed her cheek. My niece hugged me obligatorily. We shared a look that said: I knew the feeling.

"Hey Val," I mumbled. "Hey Maddie." I set down Owen and he latched onto my leg. I had to walk-drag him up to the house.

I never let go of my manatee, and I never let go of Hannah's hand.

It was three in the afternoon. Valerie made some noise about dinner.

"I'm not hungry," I mumbled. I felt like death. The potpourri odor and purple scheme of Nate's house turned my stomach.

Hannah and Madison were deep in conversation about the
Inheritance Cycle
. I shook off Owen, who proceeded to tear through the house screaming like a banshee, his voice echoing off the high ceiling.

Nate moved ahead of me with the suitcases.

"I'll put you two down here," he said, heading to the basement. "That okay?"

"Mm."

"Maddy wants to look after your rabbit. She's been dying to meet him."

"Sure," I said. Better Madison than Owen.

The basement was fully finished with its own bedroom, kitchenette, full bath, and TV area. Like I cared about any of that. All I wanted was to be with Hannah.

Nate rubbed my back and we traded glances.

"I'll tell Hannah where you are," he said, and I nodded. I knew, as I had known for years, that I had the best older brother in the world.

CHAPTER 28

Hannah

_____

NATE DETAINED ME
on my way to the basement.

"Hannah. I'm not sure if we'll get to talk again. You know, without Matt looming." He waved a hand and laughed. He looked apologetic.

Over the last five days, I sensed that Nate was giving me the brother test—making sure I was good enough for Matt, or insane enough. Casual conversations about my job or interests turned to grilling sessions, after which Nate was aloof and broody.

And as we cleaned the cabin, Nate periodically surveyed the wreckage and announced, "This is the way Matt is." His tone was always the same—uncompromising, almost proud—and I caught his meaning perfectly.

This is the way Matt is; take it or leave it.

Nate didn't realize that I was already all in.

Then, when Matt refused to see me in the hospital and I stayed on helping clean the cabin and pack, Nate's attitude started to change.

He began to talk openly about Matt's substance abuse.

I learned that Matt had detoxed half a dozen times before. He'd been in and out of hospitals and rehab. He'd also been to court more than once for drug possession, public intoxication, and drunk driving, always handily evading charges with the family lawyer.

Nate told me endless anecdotes about Matt. Funny stories. Scary stories. I drank it all in. I understood that Nate loved Matt desperately, and so we had something in common.

I paused with my hand on the basement door.

"Sure," I said, "what's up?"

I'd spent the last thirty minutes locked in conversation with Matt's niece, then Nate's wife, and finally admiring Owen's Lego collection. I was itching to get to Matt.

"Oh, nothing particular." Nate loosened his collar. The guy ran on mysterious funds of energy. After a week of flying, driving, cleaning, and packing, he didn't even look tired. "I've seen him go through this, you know. It's important that he take his meds."

"I know. I'll make sure he does."

"It won't be easy for a while, Hannah. He usually needs some time to snap out of it."

"The drinking?" I frowned. I was not equipped to rehab Matt, much as I wanted to.

"Oh, no. I doubt he'll drink. That was very situational."

Very situational. Very much my fault.

"What I mean is, he may not seem like his old self for a while. I'm sure you've noticed some of that already."

I nodded.

"And he's not your responsibility," Nate went on. "I'll arrange tickets for you two tomorrow, if I can, but if that's too soon—" He frowned. He was having a rare struggle with words. "Rather, you've done all I hoped, Hannah. More than I hoped. Please don't feel—well, you know I can keep him here for a while. I would do it happily. I would do anything for him."

Nate was staring up at the large, arched window above the front door. Afternoon sunlight warmed his face. Looking at him—his patience and seriousness—I knew that he meant what he said. He would do anything for Matt.

And still, I didn't doubt for a moment where Matt would be happiest.

No one could love him like I loved him. He belonged with me.

"Tomorrow is perfect," I said. I fully planned to reimburse Nate for the last-minute airfare, somehow. "The sooner we get back to our lives, the better."

"My thoughts exactly, Hannah. I'll move forward with the tickets then. You can run it by Matt, if you don't mind. And thank you, again. He's lucky to have you."

Nate kissed my cheek. The brush of his lips was so formal and chaste, but all I could think of was Matt's jealous stare. He'd hit the roof if he saw this.

I closed the basement door behind me.

I expected to find Matt asleep, but when I got downstairs I heard the shower running. Our suitcases stood in the bedroom. I pried off my boots and paced the plush carpet.

Valerie seemed nice enough, but holy hideous decorating scheme. She'd turned Nate's mansion into a dollhouse.

The shower ran... and ran as I paced.

I cased the kitchenette. There were sodas, fruit, and sandwich stuff in the fridge. That would do if Matt got hungry. Should I make him eat? God, I had no idea what I was doing.

I began to undress, laying my jeans and sweater over my suitcase. I shimmied out of my bra and thong. I didn't need a shower—I had one that morning—but I needed to be with Matt.

I let myself into the bathroom. Steam filled the spacious interior.

The girl in me got giddy looking at that bathroom. Valerie's princess décor may have failed in the house, but it worked like magic here. The rugs were lush, the towels fluffy and huge, and the sink brimmed with candles, lotions, and perfumes.