You'd Be Home Now (47)

    Jeremy throws the book across the stage. It lands with a thwack in the darkness of the left wing. His face is flaming red. People are quiet.

Then we applaud.

Simon touches his chin thoughtfully. “Good, Jeremy. You came up with a very compelling backstory right then. Thank you.”

Jeremy gets out of the chair and lumbers over to me.

“That sucked,” he whispers glumly. “I don’t really like being in front of people. I prefer making sets. Background stuff.”

“It was good,” I say softly. “It was brave. I couldn’t do it.”

Simon looks around. “Liza?”

Liza pops right over to the chair, smoothing the legs of her overalls. “Oh, cool. Can I be, like, a really prim person from the 1950s who has to read this book for a college class? And a churchgoer. That sounds good. And I secretly like the book, but I feel guilty about it?”

Simon waves his hand. “Sally forth, Liza. Sally forth.”

Liza fusses about, arranging herself in the chair. She clutches the paperback to her denimed chest, crosses her feet at the ankles, angles her head just so. When she starts speaking, her voice is high and sweet.

She always did like playacting. That was one of the things she liked to do when we were friends. Make up stories, act them out. We could do that for hours and hours.

After a few minutes, Jeremy whispers, “Luther was late, though. I finally took the bus and he only came out with five minutes of visiting hour left.”

His eyes are so sad.

“I can’t even make up a decent backstory. Real life just gets in the way.” He crosses his arms and puts his head down while Liza spins her world.



* * *



—

    The outpatient clinic smells like strong coffee and cigarette smoke on people’s clothes. We had to cut through a cluster of smokers to get to the front doors of the building.

“Mom’s going to think we smoked now,” Joey says, sniffing his jacket.

“Pee day,” someone against the wall mutters to him. “FYI.”

“No worries if you’re clean,” someone else says.

The yellowy-nailed boy isn’t here this time. Joey walks up to the counter to check in. He comes back with a cup.

“I had to do it all the time at Blue Spruce,” he says. “It’s no big deal.”

“How often do they check?”

He shrugs. “Whenever they want, I guess. I mean, they can’t tell you in advance or that would ruin the purpose.”

The blue-shirt person comes out and calls the group to start.

“See you in a bit,” Joey says, walking away with his cup.

The skinny guy against the wall says, “You could cheat easy, you know.”

“How?” I say.

“People trade pee. Like, you could have a clean person pee in a baggie and keep it in your pocket and then pour it in when you go to the bathroom. They aren’t real strict here. Some places search you first, but not here.”

“That’s a little gross,” I say. “Keeping a baggie of pee in your pocket.”

“Better than the alternative.” He picks at his chin.

    “Nah, man.” A girl leans forward in a chair. “You have to be careful with that. I loaned my pee to a dude and they figured it out real quick because it turned out I was pregnant and he got sent back to jail for it.”

The skinny guy frowns. “Where’s your baby?”

The girl shrugs.

My phone buzzes in my purse and I pull it out. The security guard shakes his head and points to the no cell phones sign on the wall. “Outside,” he says sternly.

I get up and go outside, making sure to stand away from the smokers.


I need help with this book sorry this PLAY



Gage. My face flushes.

I look around the parking lot, at the smokers, the run-down cars, except for ours, shiny and new. The bent straws and fast-food bags strewn on the pavement. Such a dirty and dismal place. Maybe if the place was cleaner, people here would feel better about things. About getting help. It makes even me feel low, like there’s no hope. I look down at my phone. But…there is a way to feel better, at least for me.

Okay, I type back.


Maybe u could help me later I have a paper to write I’m with my brother right now, then I have to go to work with him …

Why do you have to go to work with him?

     It’s complicated. My mom likes me to kind of watch him.

…

Oh right. Because of the accident?

Well, he OD’ed. He was in rehab, remember? We’re at outpatient now.

Right

…

Come over after

What? That’ll be late. It’s a school night I see the light in your window I know you stay up late just tell your mom you’re helping me …

Mothers love me, Emmy

It’ll be warmer than the pool house



I breathe in the smoky air, which burns my lungs a little, so I move farther from the smokers. The lights in the parking lot blink on, casting a hazy glow over the lot. Going over to Gage’s would mean what? His bedroom?


…

You there



See you around 9:30, I type.