"He called the police." He motions towards the two chairs that are sitting in front of my desk. "Can we sit?"
"Yes." I point towards the door. "I'll close my door. You sit."
I glance down the corridor in the direction Caleb took before I softly close my office door. I can tell that my words stung him. Years ago, I would have raced after him to explain things. Today, although a part of me wants to do that, I can't. Asher needs me and Caleb needs to have some time to absorb what I said.
"You're sure that you're okay?" I tap Asher on the shoulder before I take a seat in the chair next to him. "Do you want anything? I can get you some coffee or a bottle of water?"
"I'm good, Bell," he says my nickname with the same ease he always has. Asher and my father are the only two people who call me that. Caleb did at one point, but as we grew older, and he took on a more serious stance, he dropped it.
"I spoke to my lawyer yesterday," I pause to study his face. "I thought you may need a lawyer, so I went to see mine. She's not a criminal lawyer but she was able to find out that you weren't charged with anything."
His gaze meets mine for a brief second. "You've always been one of my best friends. You know that, right?"
I feel a sudden lump in my throat. "You're one of my best friends too."
"I remember when Tom overdosed." He exhales audibly. "I still remember everything about that day."
Until a few months ago, the mention of my former boyfriend's name would bring a flash of tears to my eyes. I loved Tom. He was brilliant, fun and caught within a world of deep depression. We had met in class during my senior year in college. He had a mess of blonde curls on his head and eyes that were a pale blue. He was introspective, romantic and wore eyeglasses that would always slip off the bridge of his nose.
"I do too." I rub at my chest trying to ease the growing tightness I feel.
"I think about that day whenever I feel the urge." He leans back in the chair. "I've been thinking about that day a lot lately."
Asher had been with me the day I found Tom passed out on the floor of the apartment we were sharing. We'd moved in together after I graduated and as Tom continued his studies towards his Master's in business, he found an ally in cocaine. Asher had warned me twice that he thought Tom was using, but it was easier to ignore the signs and bathe in the good moments. My relationship with Tom was filled with passion and when the dust had settled and he was released from the hospital, he made a choice. He chose the drugs and he's never looked back.
"I think about it sometimes too," I offer back. "I thought about it yesterday."
"I haven't touched anything since I left rehab." He crosses his legs, pulling at the material of his pant leg. "I wasn't on anything yesterday."
If he said those words to Caleb I know that they would be met with disbelief, but Asher wouldn't mask the truth from me. Not about this. He saw, firsthand, how devastated I was when I found out he had been using last year. My instinct then was to abandon him. I hadn't. I'd gone to visit him when he was in rehab and I cried when he told me that he'd let me down.
"I believe you," I say it with conviction. "Caleb said you were angry. He said you were lashing out."
He leans forward to rest his hands on his knees. "Caleb and I are a lot alike. He can't see it. He won't see it."
"You're not that alike," I say jokingly. "Caleb's changed so much. He's not the same person he used to be."
"None of us are." His fingers brush lightly against my knee. "Do you remember how shy you used to be? You'd hide behind the oak tree in front of your parents' townhouse when we called you over to play baseball. I don't think you said two words to me before you hit your tenth birthday."
I'd cowered behind my parents when I was a child. I was painfully unsure of myself. I had only one friend in school but when I'd come home, I'd often find the Foster boys sitting on their front stoop. Gabriel is seven years older than me and back when I was a child, he was the one who would bring me a package of gum from the store or make promises about how he'd run a huge company one day and I would be his second-in-charge. He would tell me that I was the smartest girl he knew even though I doubted the words.
Caleb, the middle child, was always the most beautiful to me. I was drawn to him instantly and once I understood about fairy tales and promised love, I'd fallen for him in my own innocent way. I'd sit by my bedroom window and watch him as he rode his skateboard down the quiet street. I took a hooded sweatshirt he once left on the railing of the stoop so that I could inhale the heady scent of his skin. I still have it. It's tucked into a box at the back of my closet.
Asher and I are closest in age but were the furthest apart when we were children. He was as shy as me and on the rare occasions when we did speak to each other, it was stunted. Our words would stall and one of us would inevitably drift away from the discussion as soon as the chance was upon us. He reached out when he started college and our friendship found its foundation then. Our life choices didn't mirror one another's and as he wandered into a world filled with temptation and pain, I'd focused on my studies and work. We'
d let each other down. We both knew it even if we hadn't actually admitted it to one another.
"I wasn't using anything yesterday, Bell," he says bluntly as he taps his finger on my knee. "I was upset about something."
I draw my gaze up to meet his. I study his face. His skin is sallow, his eyes sunken in. He may have showered, shaved and put on a brave face, but there's something lurking beneath the surface. "What were you upset about?"
"I got some news," he says wearily. "I had to stop by…I went to see someone yesterday morning before work and it…the conversation upset me."
The disjointed answer is punctuated by the pained expression on his face. I want to ask him to just spit it out but Asher has always needed a barrier between him and everyone else. It's how he deals with anything that overwhelms him. He used to turn to drugs, but rehab and ongoing therapy have taught him how to cope. "We can talk about it if you want."
"I don't want to talk about it right now." He shifts in the chair. "I want to talk about Caleb."
"Caleb?" I ask through a deep, and audible, sigh. "Why would we talk about him?"