"You just fly in?" he asked Luke.
Luke nodded, his jaw clenched. Luke was real easy-going, didn't let much get to him - adrenaline junkie, but when he wasn't jumping out of planes or boarding down the side of a mountain, he was pretty mellow. You could always tell when he was upset, though-he clenched his jaw, ground his teeth. When we were kids he cracked one of them, grinding so bad at night. Our father had found out, said he was going to beat his teeth out of him so he wouldn't need the dentist to remove it, and mom had thrown herself on Luke, taken the beating for him.
"Yeah, been here since last night," Luke said.
"Well, give me the details, then," Killian said. "These fucking doctors tell you anything that's going on?"
"She's still in the ICU," I said. "Overdose. Looks like Tylenol and booze."
"She doesn't even drink," Killian said.
I shook my head. "They don't think it was much booze."
"Doesn't make sense," Silas said. "The whole fucking thing doesn't make sense at all."
"What do you mean?" Killian asked.
I sighed. "Silas has a theory that something's going on here, that the asshole was murdered or some shit," I said. "He'll tell you all the fuck about it if you listen."
Killian turned toward Silas, and Silas put his hands up. "I'm not crazy," he said. "Something's going on, and now this-it doesn't make any sense she'd kill herself, not with the asshole gone now. He was her whole problem for years. She'd be happy he's gone."
"Or..." I said. "Could be like prisoners, you know?"
"What the hell are you talking about, prisoners?" Luke asked.
"You know, like when prisoners are released after years in prison," I said. "Kill themselves when they finally get out. Can't deal with it."
"Where the hell did you hear about that?" Luke asked.
"It was in that movie, the prison one -"
"Shawshank," Killian said.
"Exactly."
Silas rolled his eyes. "He's going to say my theories are bullshit and crazy, but he's giving you theories that come out of the movies." He paused, his gaze on the television on the other side of the room. "Isn't that - the screen says River Andrews. Is that your girl?"
I looked up at the TV, to see her face. River Andrews, sitting across from one of those talk show hosts whose name I couldn't remember, one of those women famous for making celebrities cry, doing real heart-to-heart crap.
"Hey," Silas walked over to one of the nurses in the reception area. "You got a remote for the TV? Turn it up right quick, will you?"
She looked at him, then at the television, and raised her eyebrows. "Oh yeah," she said, clicking with the remote. "That's that chick that was here in West Bend, isn't it?"
I heard the interview amplified, River's voice louder in the room, and despite everything in me telling me to turn away, to not pay attention to what was on the screen, that I didn't want to hear what was coming out of her mouth, I walked over to the television and listened.
Everything else, the hospital noise, my brothers talking, giving each other shit, faded into the background.
"River Andrews," the host smiled, her expression welcoming, disarming. Like someone's grandmother. She leaned forward. "You must have been through a rollercoaster of emotions over the past month, betrayed by your fiancé, running to Colorado..." Her voice trailed off.
River nodded. "Well, Deborah," she said. "It was a life-altering moment, walking in on Viper and my sister."
I felt sick. I wanted to turn away, hearing her talk about how she was torn up by her fiancé's cheating. I didn't need to hear about that shit.
Why torture myself?
I heard River speak again, a response to a question I'd missed. Then the interviewer.
"It had to be crushing," Deborah said. "Walking in on the two of them, together, and then learning about their engagement. Discovering that Viper had been unfaithful for quite some time."
River shook her head. "I wish them all the best in the world," she said. "I truly hope they find happiness together."
The host shook her head, and made a face. "You sound too calm right now, River," she said, baiting her. "Your mother has plans to release her account of your childhood, your life."
River exhaled, and now I saw the pain in her eyes. "And it will be my mother's account, not mine," she said. "None of it is mine."
I felt a pang of empathy for her, knowing her relationship with her mother. I knew that learning her mother was writing a book about her would hurt her.
"But surely you must have some feelings about all of this, River," she said. "No one is this calm about all of this."
"Shit," Silas said. "She was at the bar that day."
"What are you talking about?" I asked. "Shut up. I'm trying to hear this."
River smiled. "A good friend once told me that none of these things are the ones that are important in life. They're minor."
She was talking about me. I was the friend.
I wasn't sure if I was pleased that what I'd said mattered, or disappointed that she called me a friend.