It looked the same as always. Unmade bed. Clothes on the floor. A poster of a band I’d never heard of. His old guitar in the corner, the one he’d stopped playing in middle school.
But there were things I’d never noticed.
On his desk, there was a box of medical gloves. Purple nitrile. The kind nurses use.
Ezoic
Under his bed, there was a printout from a website. How to Care for Someone with Advanced Liver Disease. Highlighted. In three colors.
And in his trash can, a receipt. From a Walgreens. Dated two weeks ago. Bandages. Saline solution. Ensure Plus, vanilla, 24-pack. Adult incontinence pads, size L.
Adult incontinence pads.
I sat down on his unmade bed.
I didn’t understand.
I didn’t understand anything.
At midnight, Denise came back over.
She’d been driving around all day. She’d gone to the police station at four o’clock and they’d told her the boys were sixteen and it hadn’t been twenty-four hours and they’d probably turn up. She’d gone back at eight. Same answer.
