That afternoon, I sat outside the rehabilitation center with Joey. It was sunny, though a little cool, since it was mid-October. It felt nice. My brother had gained a little weight, and his face appeared fuller. He wasn’t as pale as he’d been before coming here, and his hair looked healthier.
“You look good, Joey,” I said as we lounged together on a bench by the pond.
“I feel better,” he said. “I think I’m finally beginning to see the light, you know?” He plucked at a hole in his jeans. “The therapists here really listen to me. They don’t talk at me or put me down.”
“I’m glad to hear it. You been taking your meds?” I asked, knowing it had been a sore topic and point of contention between us in the past.
“Yeah, and they don’t make me feel funny, either, not like the old stuff did.” He s
