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“Hey, guys,” Webby said, leaning over the back of the couch. She addressed Dewey and Huey, who were playing a card game on the sofa that Scrooge had taught them a couple of days ago. “Where’s Louie?”
Dewey looked up at the mention of his brother. “Um… I think he’s still upstairs. In our room,” he said, somewhat sheepishly. Huey placed down a card between them and glanced up at Dewey, exchanging a look.
Webby’s heart sunk. She knew what that was code for: Louie was still in bed.
She knew about his rough days, when Louie couldn’t get up out of bed, when he went nonverbal, when the ugly, dark cloud that was his depression won over and made Louie lose himself. Days like these were becoming more frequent, and Webby knew it scared the family. She was scared herself.
“Oh.” Webby paused awkwardly. The low mood around the house made more sense now; the three boys weren’t running around with their dart guns like usual, and the adults weren’t around to argue jovially or propose the kids participate in yet another family game of Scroogeopoly. Webby’s heart ached a little thinking of Louie upstairs alone.
Webby twisted her fingers together and asked, “shouldn’t someone be up there with Louie? Or at least… check on him?”
Webby knew by now that she was a staple part of the family, and she adored this fact. But on days like these, when everything was off-balance, she couldn’t help but feel out of the loop, or disconnected from the boys, or something along those lines. Maybe it was that she didn’t know her place when it came to Louie’s mental illness and looking after him. That his actual, biological brothers might know what to do better than her. She didn’t really know.
Louie had disregarded that notion before, holding her hands, laying next to her on her bed in the dark, insisting that her place was always with this family, no matter how difficult things became. Webby tried to remember that now.
Huey turned to lean his shoulder against the back cushion of the couch, meeting Webby’s eyes. “Well, uh, normally, on… days like today… Louie doesn’t really want us upstairs. Plus, Uncle Donald and Mom have been checking in on him all day.” Huey averted his gaze when Webby continued to stare at him.
After a pause, Dewey spoke up before Webby could ask. “I guess he’s never technically told us he doesn’t want us with him,” he said in a quiet voice. “But when he gets like this… he doesn’t ever talk.” Dewey combed his fingers through his hair -- a nervous habit, Webby knew -- and sighed sadly.
Huey pulled his knees to his chest and placed his hands on either side of his forehead. “We don’t know what to do,” he whispered, in a tone even more hushed than Dewey’s. He looked pained. “He’s upstairs, suffering right now, and we don’t know how to help him.”
Webby watched the boys’ faces, broken with concern for their baby brother, and realized they were completely in the dark, just like her. There was no real disconnect between her and the boys, but rather, between everyone -- the whole family was stretched apart by their anxiety and the feeling of helplessness that came with Louie’s bad days, because no one really knew what to do.
Knowing how observant the youngest family member was, Louie likely noticed this too, and Webby knew the weight of it probably tore at him inside.
Webby nodded in empathy and gently said, “I think… I’m going to go check on him. Just in case.”
The boys nodded back in unison and Webby padded off, leaving them to their abandoned card game.
She made her way upstairs, coming across no one else on the way. When she reached the triplets’ room, she considered knocking, but figured she wouldn’t get a response anyway, and since it was unlikely Louie was sleeping, she didn’t want to put that pressure on him. Instead, she just quietly opened the door and slipped inside.
Louie was in bed, tangled up in two layers of sheets, laying on his side. He didn’t move when Webby softly spoke: “hey, Louie. It’s me.”
She walked over and sat delicately on the edge of the bed, near the bunk bed ladder. She took a breath. “I’m just here to tell you that I love you. And I’m here for you. We all are.”
Webby watched Louie’s face carefully. No movement at first, but then he squeezed his already-closed eyes shut a little tighter. Webby’s heart lifted a little. It was something.
Webby tugged her knees to her chest and grabbed her feet, rocking back and forth as she spoke. “I, um… I want you to know that you’re important to all of us. This isn’t your fault, and no one blames you for having… having a bad day. Okay?”
No response. Webby continued: “I bet Della and Donald have been in and out of here a million times already today,” she said, mouth quirking up a little -- not that Louie could see -- “but if you need anything at all, like… a fresh set of sheets, or pajamas, or a glass of water, I’m here.”
And then she sat there in silence with him. Webby watched Louie and noticed dark circles under his eyes, the kind you only get after several consecutive sleepless and restless nights. His hair was a curly mess. He must not have even gotten up to brush his teeth this morning. He must have felt awful. Webby wished so badly she could stop his suffering that it hurt.
Webby didn’t know how long she sat there. At one point, she saw Della poke her head in the room, and when she noticed Webby she gave her a small smile and a somewhat-comforting nod before leaving again. And Webby continued to sit with her brother in silence.
She didn’t really know if what she was doing was helpful at all. Maybe Huey was right and Louie did actually want to be by himself. She had no way of knowing, really, or at least not at the moment.
She hoped her presence wasn’t putting pressure on Louie either. Webby groaned internally. It probably totally was. What was she doing? This was so hard, but she was so selfish, because if she was struggling from the outside how horrible was Louie feeling? Truly? Webby was angry with herself for not knowing. She didn’t know, she didn’t know how to help, she just wanted to help--
Louie shifted underneath the thin sheets.
Webby immediately abandoned her train of thought and watched him carefully.
He moved again. Rubbed his eyes. And then he sat up.
He sat up, like, fully sat up, and Webby felt like she could cry. She knew one thing, and that was that on days like today, this never happened. This was a good sign. This was good.
Louie blinked at Webby and he looked tired, so tired, but Webby could see the guilt written all over his face. Her stomach clenched. Say something, Webbigail.
Webby just smiled softly. She crawled over a little closer to Louie and carefully took one of his hands in her own. His palm was sweaty.
“What do you need?” Webby asked, gentle.
Louie didn’t reply. He squeezed his eyes shut in frustration.
“Okay,” she continued, tone still soft, “I’ll go get you a glass of water. Is that okay?”
He opened his eyes to look at her again and nodded the tiniest of nods. Webby immediately hopped up from her place on the bed.
“I will be right back,” she said firmly.
Webby paused for a second and then leaned forward to place a small kiss on Louie’s forehead. “I love you,” she said quietly. Louie squeezed the sheets he’d grabbed in his fists in response.
Webby hurried out of the room and took the stairs two at a time, like Dewey did usually. She passed through the sitting room on her way to the kitchen, and the two boys were still sitting there, now with the TV on, though it was clear neither of them were watching it. They both perked up when Webby raced through the room.
“Webby!” Huey called after her, and she paused in the doorway and turned. “Is everything okay?”
Webby nodded and turned to make her way to the kitchen. Dewey and Huey exchanged a glance and then got up to follow her.
Webby felt them watch her as she swiped a glass from the cupboard and filled it up with cold water. No ice, like Louie preferred.
“Is Lou okay?” Dewey asked quietly.
Webby found a small wash cloth in a drawer with other tea towels. “He’s sitting up,” she said, and she felt kind of stupid, because Louie wasn’t a baby. She hated the idea that she or anyone else might be babying him, because he was depressed, not three years old. But it was a big deal, or some kind of deal, and as she watched her brothers’ expressions she knew she was right. It was important.
Huey watched Webby hold the wash cloth under the cold tap with wide eyes. “He is?”
Webby nodded, and at that, Dewey turned and exited the kitchen, swiftly making his way towards the staircase.
Webby skipped after him with the wash cloth in her hands and Huey followed close behind with the glass of water. She caught up to Dewey, rested her hand on his shoulder gently, and suggested that maybe she just go up first, and Dewey reluctantly agreed. Huey passed off the water and Webby walked up the staircase and to the boys’ room once again.
Webby opened the door and saw Louie sitting on the edge of the bed. His hands were balled up in little fists.
She immediately sat down next to him, close enough that she could reach out and hug him if he wanted but with enough space between them for Louie to feel comfortable.
He took the glass from her hand when she offered it silently. Webby watched his slow movements as he sipped from the cup and then, suddenly, downed the whole glass. He must have been thirsty. Webby resisted a frown.
Louie got up to go to the bathroom and Webby used this time to straighten out his sheets and pull a fresh hoodie out of his dresser drawer for him. When he came back, she sat him down and used the damp cloth to cool down his face and sweaty forehead.
Louie leaned into her touch and closed his eyes.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
Webby fought the urge to cry again.
“I’m proud of you,” she said, watching his face.
Louie didn’t reply for a pause. Then he spoke up again, eyes still closed: “Why?”
The look on his face said more for him than the one word did. Webby wanted to reach out and hug him so badly.
“Because,” Webby began, stroking one of her thumbs across his cheek. “Because you’re strong. You’re doing a hard thing, right now, and it makes you so brave.”
He opened his eyes and scanned her face. For the truth, probably. He was always looking for the angles.
“You’re Louie. And I’m proud of you for being here. For existing.”
His eyes fell from hers to the floor quickly. Webby saw tears form and swiftly fall in thick droplets down his cheeks.
He spoke so softly it was more a hushed whisper than anything. “Most… Most days I don’t want to. Exist, I mean. I don't want to be here.”
A thump came from behind the door. Webby thought she might have heard Dewey’s voice.
She blinked, processing what Louie said, and suddenly Louie was sobbing, furiously wiping tears away, and he hiccuped, much louder than before, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Webby felt her heart shatter into a million little pieces.
“Louie, no,” she said quietly, taking his face in her hands again. “Shhh. It’s okay.”
“No,” he choked out, and then, finally, he let his face fall onto Webby’s shoulder. Webby felt so relieved that she could at last hold him. She wrapped her arms around him fiercely and let him cry into her sweater vest.
“I am still proud of you,” she whispered. “You are brave.”
Webby woke up early to make breakfast -- Granny was away and she thought Louie deserved his favorite meal. (Webby was the best at making waffles anyway. Don’t tell her Granny she said that.)
She got to work right away, pouring her ingredients into a large silver bowl and mixing them aggressively.
She thought about what Louie said. She thought about how badly she wished she could stop his suffering. She wanted him to be okay. She missed him.
Not long after she started pouring her newly mixed batter into the waffle iron, Dewey, Huey, and Louie walked into the kitchen. Louie held Huey’s hand.
They all looked tired. Webby knew the two older triplets had stayed up with Louie almost all night. She knew they’d talked (as much as Louie could) -- she’d been there for some of it. And they were still up at seven, coming down for breakfast.
Louie wore a huge fluffy sweater that came down to his knees. It looked clean and comfortable. He looked exhausted, but he was more attentive than yesterday -- he was up, and that was huge. He was up and he was okay.
“Morning,” Webby said with a smile. Louie climbed up onto the kitchen island stool and promptly laid his head in his arms on the table.
Dewey and Huey watched him and then followed, each taking a chair on either side of him. Huey exchanged a glance with Webby -- she tried to read him. He seemed more drained than anything. Maybe just sad.
Dewey tapped his fingers on his knee repeatedly, staring blankly at Louie. The silence in the room was becoming heavy. Webby knew Louie could feel this, knew that he knew the mood of the room was on him. Webby decided to interject with waffles.
“I made breakfast,” she said, as brightly as she could. “Just this once. It’s your favorite, Lou.”
Louie lifted his head and sat up a little more. He smiled the tiniest of smiles. “You’re the best, Webbs,” he said, tone of voice soft.
“Nah,” Webby said lightly, grinning, sliding two golden-brown waffles onto a plate. She was elated to see a smile on Louie’s face.
She placed the plate in front of him. Dewey, snapped out of his daze, looked at the steaming waffles with big eyes and then turned his stare to Webby. She laughed and served him his own plate.
After a minute of quiet eating, Huey announced, “I’m making hot chocolate,” and hopped up.
“Marshmallows for Lou, right?” Dewey asked through a bite of waffle.
“Yep!” Huey said, holding up a pack from where he was standing in the pantry.
Webby watched Louie’s smile grow a little bigger.
Ten minutes later and they’d all relocated to the sitting room with their hot chocolate and plates of waffles and whipped cream. Ottoman Empire was playing on the TV.
It was quiet for a bit. Webby ate her waffle.
Eventually, Louie softly spoke up, and they all turned to him. “Could I have a hug?”
Before he could finish with a sheepish “again”, or maybe “please”, three pairs of arms were wrapped around him protectively. Louie rested his head against Dewey’s chest and closed his eyes.
They stayed that way for a long time. Dewey and Louie fell asleep on top of one another. Huey helped Webby clean up.
They fetched a blanket and joined their little brothers on the couch. Webby fell asleep holding Louie, knowing that things were hard, but he had herself and Dewey and Huey. He would be okay.