I’ll come to your parents’ house. I know where it is.
I hung up the phone, annoyed by the mess on my adoptive father’s desk. Organize yourself! I said to no one. Organize this situation! Simplify this mess! I took a bite of cake. It’s always easier to reduce complicated situations to a simple idea. I preferred it that way. I preferred simplicity, seamless boundless simplicity! Timeless elegance! I started to put together the pieces of his suicide arrangement. I flipped through ten more photos. In each photo I found of him, he was frowning or neutral. He was a gentle person; he had never been prone to violence, he always seemed like the docile one, whereas I was the violent one, full of rage, who day after day threatened to destroy the peace.
I stopped looking at photos. I turned on the computer and looked up a few things on the internet. The doorbell rang and I went to answer it. A young man with pale hair appeared on the doorstep. He was probably my adoptive brother’s age, maybe a little older. He was wearing his uniform from work, a fast-casual restaurant, and I saw beads of sweat on his brow, his nose. He took off his headset self-consciously and folded it into his pocket. I told him to come in. We went into my adoptive father’s study and sat down in chairs facing one another. I took out my traveler kit and popped a couple pills to calm down my thoughts. I offered him a piece of the policewoman’s cake, which he accepted. I went into the kitchen and cut two slices. I would eat another piece with him. I did not offer him a drink, as it wasn’t that kind of social visit; we were meeting to talk about a suicide, we had come together to look into the abyss. I took out a piece of paper from the desk. I wrote down INTERROGATION OF THOMAS.
Where is everyone? said Thomas. Are you always alone in the house like this?
My adoptive parents are out making funeral arrangements and working, I said. They’re very busy right now.
I realized my voice had an artificial quality or the tone of a museum docent speaking in front of a large group of children. Let’s start over, I said quietly. Thomas, how do you know my adoptive brother?
School, he said, I went to the same school as you. You were a couple grades ahead. You don’t remember me? I used to come over to your parents’ house with Zachary Moon all the time after school to hang out with him. By the way, I told Zachary, and he said he’s going to come home as soon as he can.
And when was the last time you saw my adoptive brother? I asked.
It must have been a week ago, said Thomas. He told me he wasn’t feeling well even though we had made plans to have dinner. I picked him up from your parents’ house and we drove by our old school. You know the place, you went there, too, it’s not far from your house.
It’s within walking distance, I said.
Right, said Thomas, your brother wanted to see it and I didn’t ask him why. I think it made him wistful and nostalgic. I was hungry and when I suggested we get something to eat, he told me he wasn’t hungry, that he didn’t want to eat anything.
We ended up going to his favorite Greek restaurant. I was starving and I thought taking him there would help his appetite. When we got to the restaurant he sat across from me in the booth and didn’t really say anything. Then I noticed something strange: he was talking with his hand in front of his mouth. Maybe he was embarrassed about something in his teeth. So I didn’t say anything. Besides, if something was wrong, I knew he was taking care of it. He was always making appointments with doctors. He was always in and out of a hospital and doctor’s appointments, so I figured he was going to take care of it.
What do you mean, I said, that he was always in and out of a hospital?
I guess he was always making appointments with doctors for various things, anyway, that’s what he told me, I never went with him to the hospital or doctor, so I don’t know for sure, said Thomas. I would ask him what was going on and he didn’t want to talk about it. His mouth wasn’t bleeding or gross. He just had a strange way of speaking that night. He would put his hand up, or he would sort of pull his lips over his gums. It was very strange.
And what did you do after going to the Greek restaurant? I said.
I took him home, Thomas said. It took him a long time to get out of my car. We were pulled up at the side of your house and the passenger door was open. His feet were out, his legs half out. He stayed that way for a while as we talked. He couldn’t make up his mind. In or out, I said. Out, he said. For the next half-hour, he didn’t make any motion to leave. Finally, I told him I was really tired and had to go. I sort of pushed him out of the car, not in a violent way, in a very gentle way. Let me try to say it like this: I pushed him out, gently but firmly.
What did you do when you got home? I said.
I fell asleep. I was tired. I called him first thing in the morning, around nine, he told me that he had a nice night out. He said, I had a nice night out with you, thank you for being in my life. I told him he was talking crazily; I asked him if he was drunk. Of course he wasn’t drunk, he never drank or smoked or anything. I asked to see him that day, but he said he had things to take care of. I never saw him or heard from him again. I texted him and he didn’t text me back. I called and it went to voicemail.
When I called you, how did you feel? I asked.
How do you think? he said.
It was crazy, too, a relative of your parents called me and told me what happened, he said.
I should have known something was wrong, he cried. I think something in his mouth bothered him, but what was it?
You must mean Uncle Geoff called you, I said excitedly. Good old Uncle Geoff as the messenger.