“Thanks.” Caleb looked at it, and then set it down on the coffee table.
He stared straight ahead, neither moving nor talking. A new cooking channel played on the television ahead, but it wasn’t loud enough to hear. Taking a swig from my glass, I sat down opposite him in a recliner, leaning forward with a sigh.
“I’m sorry,” I said earnestly.
Caleb sniffed. I sensed that there was a lot of emotion built up in his chest. When he finally released it, I was going to be deluged.
“You can’t fix what’s happened,” he told me, “but thanks.”
“Are you dying, Caleb?”
He shook his head. “Not yet.”
“Your parents, they’re okay?”
“They’ve been better,” he answered with a long, heavy exhale.
Then, it clicked in my head.
“Did something happen with your brother?” I guessed.
That was all it took. Caleb collapsed into tears, burying his face in his hands. I sat motionless. I let him cry, waiting patiently until he was ready to talk.
“Jamie died,” Caleb said finally, wiping his hand on a sleeve of his robe. “He… I told you about the hospital.”
“Yes, I remember.”
Guilt clouded Caleb’s eyes. “He had one of his episodes there. He was manic for a few days, but when they gave him the medication to settle down, something changed in him, apparently. I thought I was going to go visit him last weekend, but… they called me. They said he stole some medications somehow, maybe even hoarded them. He overdosed Saturday night.”
“Shit.” I looked away, unable to think of anything more helpful to say.
After another long pause, Caleb muttered, “I was the one who put him in there.”
“It’s not your fault,” I said suddenly, realizing where he was going.
“I knew how he hated feeling confined,” my friend lamented. “I thought I knew what was best. I didn’t care about how going to that place would make him feel in the long run.”
“You didn’t know that he would do something like this,” I told him.
“Didn’t I?” Caleb snapped. “I knew what he was capable of doing. I knew how he self-medicated to deal with his mental illness, how he drank and took pills that weren’t his. I knew how hard life was for him: the compulsive behaviors, the paranoia, the manic depression, the Asperger’s, the addictive personality problems. It all added up. He was always hurting, always doubting. He was my younger brother, for Christ’s sake! I should’ve known!”
“But you can’t control a grown man,” I said gently. “He might have been your brother, but he was his own person. He was always going to make his own choices, no matter what you did.”
Caleb settled down, realizing the truth of what I was saying. He exhaled, scanning the room for some source of hope. He settled on the liquor in front of him. Caleb didn’t seem to taste it as he threw it back. I picked up my own, fixing to join him in his day drinking.
“Do you want another?” I wondered.
He shook his head. “No, I’m fine.”
“Well, you aren’t, but I know what you mean.”
I thought it was a good thing that he wasn’t interested in getting drunk, even though I was the one feeding him alcohol. I wanted to be very careful. I didn’t want Caleb to spiral into a depression over this.
“How is your mother?” I asked, just to fill the silence.
“As well as can be expected,” he replied. “I’m supposed to be with them, but I can’t fly down to Texas until the ashes are ready. I can’t leave without him.”
I looked around, knowing that I was intruding on my friend’s grief, but I didn’t care. It was more important to me to make sure he was okay. I stayed with Caleb that evening, ordering delivery and watching the cooking competition show at an audible volume. It was some kind of grilling marathon special. When it was late, I finally rose to leave. My tired-eyed friend walked me to the door.