Then, from the dining room, we hear a thud, a big loud clump of a noise, the sound of something or someone falling. It is followed within only a second by the sound of china and glass crashing. Both Willie and I rush the few feet into the dining room.

Cabot is on the floor, motionless. The boy is clear out of it.

Willie and I quickly roll Cabot over onto his back. Willie is frightened. I am, too.

“I don’t think Uncle Cab’s breathing, Mom.”

I have a rule with Willie: I never lie to him. Never. Ever. And right now I’m thinking maybe it’s time to break that rule. I change my mind.

“No, he’s not. Go to the side pocket of my suitcase. Get the med-emergency package,” I say. Meanwhile, I begin thumping Cabot’s chest. By the time I begin CPR, my mother is standing over me. She’s holding a nasal spray.

“Here’s his Narcan,” Mom says. “He’s OD’d. It’s happened before.” She holds Cabot’s head and squeezes the naloxone into his right nostril. It should work. But it doesn’t. “Oh, Jesus Christ!” she yells. “Cabot. Don’t run out on me. Not now, baby. Not now.”

Willie is back. He’s barely controlling his tears. He’s holding a syringe. And I am now holding the injection version of naloxone.

“Help me get his jeans off.” I’m practically yelling. Within seconds the waist of Cabot’s jeans is pulled down to his knees. In the next three seconds I notice so many things—his scrawny thighs, his filthy white jockey shorts, the dry brown scabs on his bloody knees.

I quickly push the syringe into his left outer thigh. Silence. Three seconds come across like three hours.

Then Cabot’s eyes open. He is trying to focus. He looks at Willie.

“No worry, little bro,” he says.

“Why’d you do this to yourself, Uncle Cabot?” says Willie.

Cabot tilts his head in the other direction, slightly away from Willie. Willie storms out of the dining room.

“Mom, call 911,” I say.

Big Lucy doesn’t budge. “No, Lucy. The EMTs are not going to do anything you haven’t already done. You saved him. Your injection. That’s what did it. God bless us all.”

“He needs rehab, Mom. He needs rehab that’s going to stick with him.”

My mother nods. Cabot is trying to sit up. He’s disoriented. He’s rubbing his leg. He’s reaching for his jeans.

“Don’t move, Cab,” I say. “Just stay put for a few minutes. Relax.”

Cabot ignores me. He continues to tug at his jeans.

Then Willie yells from the dining room doorway. His voice is loud and angry. “You heard the lady, Uncle Cabot. Don’t! Move!”

Chapter 42

Chapter 42