Monday and Tuesday were routine. Max and the rest of Bill’s crew punched out at a sports complex in Brandon, FL, an hour's drive away. On Tuesday afternoon, Max smoked a spliff and sunbathed while finishing The Stranger by Albert Camus, which Rudy had loaned him. He set it down by the ashtray and pondered. He liked that Meursault accepted his fate, but he also felt Meursault was a creep. It was an interesting idea that Meursault was judged as harshly for being a cold, reserved person as he was for killing a man. The argument with the chaplain at the end was fitting, if a bit cheesy. Max despised pessimism; as much as Meursault would claim he wasn’t, Max felt he was. Max whiffed his stinky armpit and went inside to take a shower.
Jerm was standing in the living room doing bicep curls with a faded orange resistance band. Bob Marley played at high volume, and a Ronnie Coleman powerlifting compilation was playing on the TV on mute.
Around sunset, Max returned a call he had missed from his grandmother earlier that day. A thunderstorm was pouring.
“Hey, Sugar,” she answered, her voice carrying a Tidewater twang.
“Hey, Memaw. I saw you called.”
He heard TV chatter, and his grandfather asked, “Who is it?” She told him it was Maxie.
“Let me step into the bedroom real quick.”
Max’s brow furrowed. Outside, trees stirred with the wind. He clenched and unclenched his left hand unconsciously.
“Max.”
“Yes, Memaw.”
She sighed.
“I need to tell you, your dad is in the hospital right now.”
“The hospital?”
“Well, he’s not in trouble like that.”
“What’s wrong?”
Max clenched the phone between his ear and shoulder and opened the window downwind from the rain.
“When did you last talk to him?”
He hummed and squinted, needing to think about it.
“Maybe a year ago? I texted him on Father’s Day; he didn’t respond.”
“Uh-huh,” she responded, her tone suggesting that wasn’t surprising.
Max waited for her to continue. She sighed.
“He’s in a behavioral unit right now.”
Max groaned and waited.
“He wrote you a letter… apologizing… He was going to commit suicide.”
Her sadness felt cerebral; she repeated the story to Max like it was a story from a distant relative—disappointing, yet far away. It was far away, but it shouldn’t have been. He pulled the phone away for a moment, took deep breaths, and felt tears beginning to form, but he wouldn’t let them out in the presence of her voice.
“He’s okay now, sweetie. He’s being taken care of and won’t be in there forever.”
“Why?” He wasn’t sure what he meant by asking.
“I don’t know. He feels bad for not being there for you and Jeremy.”
“It’s not like Jeremy or I resent him. He doesn’t talk to us; we’ve tried to talk to him.”
“I know, sweetie, but you know, he’s different.”
“Yeah, everyone’s different. If he was going to kill himself, why would he apologize? Why would he apologize for not talking to us? If he was going to kill himself, how would that fix anything?”
“Max, I don’t know. I don’t think he was really going to do it. You know he’s been homeless for a long time. I think he was just hopeless.”
“He could move in with me and Jerm anytime. This is crazy.”
Thunder rumbled in the distance. The rain pounded outside.
“Oh, I heard that thunder.”
Her cheery tone helped him adjust.
“I’m glad he’s okay now, then.”
“We are too. I’m having lunch with him at the clinic tomorrow. He was in a good mood when I saw him last Thursday.”
“Wait, when did this happen?”
“Last Monday. I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner, honey. I didn’t want to worry you or Jeremy…” She paused.
“And I’m sorry I have to tell you these things, Max. You’re older and strong. We’re very proud of you, and we miss you.”
“I miss you too.”
He smoked a cigarette, watched the rain from his window, and closed it when he finished. He didn’t tell Jeremy. He walked to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, and Jerm asked if he wanted to order Chinese food. Max said no. When he closed his bedroom door, he cringed and rubbed his temples. Their dad would take Max and Jerm to the Chinese buffet every Friday when it was his turn to look after them. He went to bed without eating.
Hours passed, and he still hadn’t fallen asleep. He remembered wandering around the woods by his grandparents’ house with his dad when they still lived in Virginia. All those woods were gone now—replaced by subdivisions and apartments. It was a strange feeling—mourning someone who was still alive.