Night Owl

CHAPTER 27

Matt

NATE SET THE plush manatee on my chest and I touched it reluctantly.

It was velvet soft with black plastic eyes. I stroked it as I glared at the wall.

"A stuffed animal." I smirked. "What does she think I am, a child?"

Nate shrugged.

"I can't say as to that, though you do a damn good job of acting like one."

Nate was being brusquer than usual. Than ever, actually. I hugged the stuffed animal to my chest.

"What the f*ck is your problem? You've been a shit all week. I'm lying in a hospital bed, cut me some slack."

Nate dropped into the chair by my bed and steepled his fingers. He looked at my untouched tray of breakfast.

"I would like to know how you propose to get out of here without eating, Matt."

"I have no appetite. You can Google withdrawal. It's kind of a common symptom."

Nate sighed through his nose. He closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair. God, if he didn't look like a longsuffering saint right now. I rolled my eyes.

"You know," I said, "you could just send Hannah in here unannounced and try to get her to feed me. That sounds like exactly the kind of humiliating thing you'd put me through."

"Don't think I haven't tried, Matt. Unfortunately, she was so crushed when I told her you didn't want to see her that it would be ridiculous to try to send her in now."

"I don't want her to see me. There's a f*cking difference."

"Oh, tell that to her!" Nate rose and began to pace. I had never seen him so agitated. He was always the calm one, the kind one. "Besides, she's done enough of my dirty work."

Dirty work. That hurt.

"I'll see her when I'm out of here," I mumbled. "When I can get out of this damn gown and shave, feel more like myself."

"You and your god-forsaken pride. I'm pretty sure she's seen you at your worst."

"Yeah, thanks to you," I snapped.

Nate and I glared at one another. My f*cking a*shole of a brother. Freshly showered, in a tailored suit, he definitely had the upper hand. I played with the manatee's flippers.

"I had no other choice, Matt. And you know what? She worked. I'm only sorry I dragged the poor girl into this. You pulled a gun on her, you insane son of a bitch."

I winced. Mm, so Hannah told him about the gun.

"Yes, she told me about that," Nate said, weirdly prescient. "And before you ask, I have your gun. And you're not getting it back."

"Is she here?"

"Oh yes, as usual, she's sitting out in the lobby like a goddamn orphan. She wanted to deliver that to you personally." Nate jabbed a finger at my manatee.

"Don't touch her," I said.

"Excuse me?" Nate's eyes flared.

"What have you guys been doing?"

"Cleaning up your mess. Taking care of your rabbit. Packing your belongings."

I nodded vaguely. So, my stay at the cabin was over. I was going home, but home to where? Home to uncle or home to Denver? Or would Nate try to ship me off to a rehab facility? I felt strangely neutral on the matter.

In fact, I couldn't think of a damn thing I wanted, besides Hannah. And even Hannah was unknown territory. The thought of her filled me with embarrassment and guilt.

"Can I leave?" I said.

"Eat your breakfast."

Only Nate could talk to me like that. Only Nate could make me feel like a child.

I pulled the tray over and began to poke at the omelet I'd ordered. I thought of Hannah sitting in the lobby, waiting for Nate. Waiting for me. A spike of anxiety melted under my meds. F*ck, I was heavily medicated. It had been five days since I arrived at the hospital. I had my own room and I was off the IV, but the nurses and doctors still watched me vigilantly.

My omelet was cold and rubbery. I scooped another piece into my mouth. I tucked my manatee under my arm and looked at Nate.

I wasn't trying to look pitiful, but I must have, because his expression had done a one-eighty.

"God damnit, Matt." He came to me and clasped the back of my neck, leaning in and pressing his forehead to mine. He smelled like cologne and autumn. Like the outside world. My big brother. I shut my eyes against the prick of tears.

"Why am I so f*cked up," I whispered.

"Hey little guy, you're not f*cked up." He stroked my neck. "I love you buddy, your brother loves you."

My throat constricted. Was he trying to make me cry? I squeezed the manatee.

"And Hannah loves you, Matt. She really loves you. Can't you see that?"

Nate straightened and turned away suddenly. He brought a hand to his face.

"We're bringing you home today." He cleared his throat and got control of his voice. "You need to make a meaningful effort with your breakfast, show that your system is bouncing back. The doctor is going to check you. The psychiatrist wants to check you out, too. Be nice, okay? And you have to promise to take your discharge meds, whatever they are."

"I promise, I will." I chewed another mealy bite of omelet.

"Alright buddy. When they're through with you, I'll fill out the discharge paperwork. I've brought you some clothes, too."

Another swell of panic ebbed in my chest. My blood was pure Librium. I was thinking about the clothes I had at the cabin. I didn't have much. When I packed in August, I wasn't worried about looking good. But now? Now I was going to see Hannah.

"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. F*ck. 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. F*ck, 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—" F*ck 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.