Dedicated to my Uncle and Aunt.

---

The phone's ringing.

What time is it?
3 AM. Who the hell's calling at 3 AM?

"Hello?"
"Mr. Krpec?"
"Yes."
"Mr. Krpec my name is Dr. Sanders. I work at the recovery center your son is residing in. I regret to inform you that your son has passed away."
"What--?"
"I'll call you tomorrow with details. Goodbye."

The line dies. Dial tone.
I sit there for the longest, not moving, then I lie back in bed.
I'll tell Martha in the morning. Somehow. Somehow I'll tell her.
Oh God, Sam, what did you do?

***

The walls are all completely white.
No posters. No paintings. No color. White.
The coroner pulls back the sheet.

"Is this your son?"

Martha's screaming. Sobbing and shaking.
The first thing through my mind is that my son is blue.
His face. His chest. The veins in his arms and legs.
Blue.

"Yes. That's Sam. That's my son."

***

"Well, Mr. Krpec, it appears that your son suffered from an overdose of the medication we were using to wain him off his heroin addiction."
"You're telling me my son died from an overdose of a drug you were using in order to prevent him from overdosing on another drug?"
"That's correct."

My fists shake.

"How long was he like this?"
"I'm sorry."
"I want to know how long my son lay choking on his own vomit until one of your caretakers decided to stroll in."
"Sir, I want you to know that I had no way of observing your son--"
"Tell me who was."

***

Martha's at my side. She's hiding her face.
The man is about Sam's age. He doesn't smile as we enter.

"Mr. Krpec. Mrs. Krpec."
"Mr. Stone."
"I want you to know that Sam was a good friend. Whatever happened. I'm sure it was an accident."
"Just tell me what happened to my son."

His eyes are red. Ragged.

"I was watching him."
"I know."
"He told me to leave. He...he wanted privacy. We respect our guest's privacy."
"Did he say anything?"
"No."
"Did he seem distant? Upset?"
"No."
"Anything at all?"
"Mr. Krpec, please."
"I need to know something."

He's shaking. We both are.

"Mr. Krpec. Please leave."
"I'm not done here."
"Leave now."
"What happened to my son?"

He picks up a bar stool and hurls it across the room. It shatters.

"Get the fuck out."
"What happened to my boy?"
"Get the fuck out."

I turn away from the man.
There were tears in his eyes.
I shut the door as I exit the room.

***

Martha stands across the room. I'm at the dinner table.
Letters of information are spilled across the floor and table top.
Martha breaks my concentration.

"Stop this."
"I can't."
"Stop!"

I glance in her direction for a moment, then turn back to my work.

Her hair is tussled. She's furious.

"Our son is dead! He's dead!"
"You think I don't realize that? You think I don't know?"
"I think you're looking for a way to hide from it all."
"There have been so many cases filed against this place--"
"Charlie, it's not their fault."
"They should have been watching our son!"
"It's not their fault. They didn't make Sam take the pills. They didn't make him use needles. It's not their fault. Why do you suddenly care so much?"

I turn to face her.

"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Everything! When did you ever tell our boy you loved him? When's the last time you told me you loved me? Why do you care so much now? Now that our son is dead?"
"I loved that boy!"
"Then why did you never show it? All the times you could have shown your love for him, for me!"
"Martha, stop this."
"Answer me!"

I slam my fist into the desk. Papers fly and drift to the ground below.

"Because...because I was afraid."
"Afraid? Afraid of what?"
"Afraid that if I grew to close to Sam, too near to anyone, that he would be taken from me."
"And yet our son is still gone."
"I know."

I want to weep. But my eyes are dry.

"Sam deserved better."
"He did. But in the end, this is what he got."
"He deserved so much better."

Martha turns and heads towards the bedroom.
She glances back once.

"Maybe his death was not an accident, Charlie. You have to consider it. Even I have. That maybe this was not an accident, but that either way, there was nothing we could do."

***

"Dad?"
"Yes, Samuel?"
"Want to play catch?"
"Not right now. I'm busy working."
"Then a little later?"
"Maybe. We'll see."
"Dad?"
"Yes, Samuel?
"I love you."
"I know...go outside and play. I'll be out when I'm finished. Just be patient."

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