Courtney nodded, her eyes glistening. “Rick, it wouldn’t have made a difference if you’d taken the call. Nobody knows that better than me. He called me that night, too, and I talked to him. He was upset about the rejection, but I never would’ve thought he would kill himself.”
Doug chimed in, “Honey, like the pastor said, everyone has their own struggles. You did your best. You were on the phone with him a long time.”
“Was I? I didn’t think I was.” Courtney reached into her purse, thumbed to her phone screen, and showed it to her husband. “Look, he called me at 9:35 P.M., and I was only on for fifteen minutes. I wish it had been longer.”
Rick glanced at Courtney’s phone, nodding sadly. “It must’ve been right after he called me.”
Courtney nodded. “Probably, and like I say, he was disappointed but not suicidal. He even asked if we could get together Saturday night, last night. He wanted us to go out to dinner, but we couldn’t.”
Doug frowned, glancing at Chris. “I had a work thing last night. My boss’s birthday. I couldn’t miss that. We had to say no.”
Courtney’s eyes glistened with new tears. “But I feel like Rick does, what if I had said yes? What if we made the plans? He needed friends this weekend, and I wasn’t there for him.”
Chris still had no answers. “Courtney, you can’t blame yourself for this. You were a wonderful friend to him, and so were you, Rick.”
“Thanks,” Rick said, miserably.
Courtney wiped a tear from her eyes. “I just really loved him. We all did.”
“He knew that.” Chris noticed over Courtney’s shoulder that there was a lull in the guests greeting Jamie. “Folks, excuse me, I’d like to pay my respects to Jamie, okay?”
Chapter Thirty-six
Susan picked up the dirty laundry in Raz’s bedroom while he showered in his bathroom, getting ready for their therapy session. Ryan was already at his therapist’s office, and her therapist had wanted to see her and Raz together. She had agreed, though she couldn’t deny the unease in the pit of her stomach. She knew the family needed professional help, but all three of them in simultaneous therapy put their crisis in relief—Neil’s survivors were barely surviving.
Susan picked up sweat socks, which reeked, then his favorite jeans. It had been a long and difficult day yesterday, with Raz coming home after practice, emotionally drained about Mr. Y’s suicide. Raz had even stayed inside last night, alone in his room. It was the first Saturday night he hadn’t gone out in a long time.
You’re the parent, remember?
Susan picked up a stained T-shirt and tried not to think about what Neil would’ve said about the mess in this room. He was the one who used to nag the boys about their room, their shower schedule, and whether their homework was done. He always had a running timeline of their quiz, exam, and midterm schedules. He checked their grades on the CVHS portal and he shepherded them through the PSAT, SAT, AP testing, and college application process.
She kept picking up clothes, going through the things that Neil used to do, and she hadn’t even realized how many tasks there were until he had passed. She picked up a wet towel, then straightened up, suddenly assessing the scene. Raz’s bedroom had always been a pigsty, but she found herself seeing it with new eyes, and for the first time, she realized that it bordered on hoarding.
Raz’s bed was flush under the window, but the sheets looked grimy. Piles of dirty laundry lay around the bed on the floor and some had been stuffed under the bed, mixed in with sports pages, Sports Illustrated, empty cans of Red Bull, and Snickers and gum wrappers. Dirty underwear and sweatshirts were mounded on top of the television, and video games were strewn about. The controllers were buried under old CDs, which Raz never even bought anymore.
Susan blinked, appalled. She didn’t know when it had gotten this way. She had to be the worst mother ever born. Her own son had been burying himself in filth and she hadn’t even realized it until this very moment. She felt shocked at the realization, horrified at her own neglect. How had she been so selfish? So blind?
She resumed picking up the clothes, distraught. She collected a dirty T-shirt, a soiled blue Musketeers Baseball shirt, and another one identical to the first. She had no idea how Raz had accumulated so many Musketeers Baseball Tshirts, maybe he was buying them instead of washing them, or he was getting them from the team. Either way, she stepped from one pile of dirty clothes to the next, cleaning up his room, and when her arms were totally full, she went over to the hamper, which he kept in the closet.
The hamper overflowed, and she set the clothes she’d been holding onto the rug, looked inside, and saw that it was taken up by sheets and a blanket. She pulled the sheets and blanket out, but at the bottom, she felt something hard. Instinctively she withdrew her hand. It could be something crusty with mold, pizza crust, or God-knows-whatever. She had seen enough stiff socks to last a lifetime, mostly because Neil would find them and show them to her to make her laugh. Today, she wasn’t laughing.
She reached her hand into the hamper again, but whatever she felt was hard and solid. She grabbed the object and pulled it out, shocked to see what sat in her palm.
A gun.
Susan felt thunderstruck. Where had he gotten it? Why was it here? Why was he hiding it? How had she lost control of her own home? They didn’t have guns in the house. They didn’t know anything about guns. Neil hadn’t known a damn thing about guns. She didn’t know much about guns, either, but she knew enough to know that this one was a revolver, with a silvery muzzle and a brown handle.
She walked the gun over to the bed and set it down carefully, with the muzzle facing away from her. She didn’t know if it was loaded and she didn’t know if the gun had a safety, or if revolvers even had safeties. She didn’t understand why Raz had it or where he had gotten it. But she was going to find out. She went to the bathroom and heard the shower water still running. She knocked on the door and tried to open it, but it was locked. She didn’t know why Raz had locked the door. Did he always do that? Did he ever do that? And why didn’t she know?
“Raz!” Susan shouted, banging on the door. “Raz, come out!”
“I’ll be out in a minute!”
“Now!” Susan shouted, louder, then got her temper in check. Being angry wouldn’t help, and she wasn’t angry, she was terrified. “Raz, please, right now!”
“All right!” Raz called back, irritably, and the next minute, the shower water went off.
“Hurry, please, I want to talk to you.” Susan tried the knob again. She wanted him out of that bathroom. She wanted to see his face. Panic rose in her chest, for some reason.
“Mom, what’s your problem?”