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Erin excused herself for a minute, then returned with a glass of water. She didn’t offer to get me one. She took a sip from it, closing her eyes as she did so. When she reopened them, she focused her eyes on the glass, almost as if she thought it might talk back to her.
“So Patrick had money,” I said.
She blinked, then nodded. “Yeah. Like, he went from having me cover his electric bill and needing gas money to taking us out for dinner. Which doesn't sound like much, but we never ate out. Ever. He didn't have the money, and he bristled at the idea that I might pay, especially when he was having to borrow money from me to pay his bills.”
“I take it he didn't get a job?” I asked. “That wasn’t the source of the cash flow?”
She shook her head. “No. He refused to get a job because he was spending every waking minute working on songs. He said it would just get in the way and he needed his head to be clear. The other guys, I think they've all had some kind of part-time jobs at different times, but not Patrick. I know he sort of thought they couldn't commit to working if they really wanted to get better as a band, so he really didn't want anybody working.”
I leaned back in my chair. “So, all of a sudden he had a little cash?”
She clasped her hands together in her lap. “Not a little. A lot.”
“Like how much?”
“Like enough to pay me back,” she answered. “Enough for us to go out to dinner. Enough to pay for gas. And he was in the shower one morning and his wallet was on the nightstand.” She thought for a moment. “I didn't want to look, but I couldn't help it.”
I waited.
“He had six hundred dollars,” she said. “Cash.”
“Did you ask him about it?”
“Not right then,” she said. “I was too shocked. And I was embarrassed that I'd looked in his wallet.”
I nodded.
“But I did a couple of days later,” she said. “He was kind of vague, said some friends that owed him had paid up.”
I watched her for a moment. “But you didn't believe him.”
She hesitated, then shook her head. “No. It didn't make sense. He'd never had money to lend to anyone. I knew it was a lie. I mean, he'd stayed on track and he'd been super disciplined. It drove me nuts that everything was about the music, but I also sort of appreciated that. He was totally focused. And it wasn't a pipe dream. He was good. So was the band. So it wasn't like it was some sort of fantasy.” She wrinkled her brows. “But for him to go from having not even two cents to having hundred dollar bills in his wallet...” Her voice trailed off.
It was easy to see that Erin cared about Patrick. Her confusion seemed genuine over what she'd seen. And she didn't seem to want to admit the obvious.
“Was he using again?” I asked.
She didn't answer immediately, instead taking a sip of the water.
“It was my first thought, too,” she said. “And I was pissed at myself for thinking it. Because there were zero signs that he was. His behavior was normal. He wasn't disappearing without excuses. He was sleeping normally, at least for him. I mean, I was even checking his arms, which sounds awful and weird.” She shook her head. “I'd bet money he wasn't using again.”
If anyone would've known if he'd fallen again, it seemed like Erin would've been that person. And there was nothing to be gained from lying about it now.
But something else did occur to me.
“Look, I don't want to...speak ill of Patrick right after he's died,” I said. “I'm not trying to be rude or invasive. I'm just trying to help my friend and his mother get some clarity.”
“I understand.”
“Is it possible that Patrick was dealing?” I asked.
“Is it possible?” she repeated. “Absolutely.” She leaned back in her chair. “He told me he was.”