Gus (18 page)

I laugh at that. "Bullshit. I'm nobody's role model."

She's not laughing with me. "Gustov, can I be honest for a minute?"

"By all means. And I appreciate honesty at all times, not just this once, just so you know." She hides a lot, I know that. Not that she's a liar, she just holds back. Information, emotion ... she's private to the point that I wonder if it's suffocating her.

Her eyes drop back to her mixing bowl. She's scooping cookie dough out of the bowl and dropping it on the baking sheet. She's thinking about what I just said. Thinking about it a lot harder than I intended, but probably not as much as she truly needs to in order to believe it. After several seconds, she nods. "Point taken."

When she looks at me again I nod to acknowledge her.

She continues. "When I first met you, I thought you were an asshole."

I nod again. "You were probably right. Especially back then."

She shakes her head to dismiss my comment. "Stop. Let me finish." She takes a breath. "I was wrong. I was so wrapped in my own issues that I let it cloud my judgment. Every guy I saw, every guy I met, was automatically an asshole. It wasn't just you. But because you were the one I was forced to deal with for my job, that animosity was amplified. I have things in my past," she pauses like she's contemplating stopping right there, and then she sighs, "I made some bad choices. I did things I'm not proud of. For a long time I tried to blame that on other people. Now I'm trying to take responsibility." She pauses again, trying to compose herself. "Sorry, this isn't about me. What I'm trying to say is that I was wrong about you. You are a role model. You're kind. And you have this charisma that attracts people to you. You don't try, it just happens. Because it makes them happy to be around you. I know you're dealing with something right now, something dark, but in your heart of hearts, you're just ... happy. And good. I don't know how to do that. But, it's
who you are
. I admire that. And I want Paxton around that. I think that's who he is, too, but he's never been surrounded by it. I try my best with him, but I'm not like you and Audrey."

It makes me sad to hear her doubt herself; she's so much more than she gives herself credit for. I wonder if she's ever had anyone tell her so. "You don't see yourself, Impatient. You don't see the person the rest of us do."

She shakes her head in disbelief as she walks to the oven to put the cookies in. She's not just feeling sorry for herself; this is ingrained self-loathing.
 

When she shuts the oven door, I take ahold of her arm and gently turn her to face me. She closes her eyes when we're facing each other. "Look at me, please." She does. "Nobody's perfect. Believe me, I know that. But you sell yourself so fucking short. You're smart as hell. Ma loves working with you. And that's saying a lot because Ma needs someone who can keep up with her intellectually. The fact that you could step into Mikayla's shoes and not miss a beat, is nothing short of fucking miraculous. And you pay attention to everything going on around you. Even if you're not engaged in what's going on, you're still paying attention. And it's not nosy or intrusive, you're just hyper-aware, that alone shows you care. And don't even get me started on Pax. That kid loves you. He'd be lost without you. And I have a feeling that's how it's always been. And I know instinctively that you've never let him down. Have you let yourself down? Probably. But not him. Not ever. And that says a lot about the person you are. Hell, he's here with you now. I don't know the circumstances surrounding the family dynamic you've all got going on, but the fact that you're taking care of him because Jim doesn't? That speaks volumes."

"You know about Jim?" She sounds surprised, I guess because it's never been brought up.

I nod.

She's trying to hold back tears. "I just want Paxton to turn out better than I did."

Pulling her into a hug, I tell her, "You'll both be fine."

"Will we?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely. And you aren't going anywhere. Ma gets fierce when her nest is threatened. You don't want that. Believe me."

Thursday, October 19

(Gus)

My cell is ringing. I don't recognize the number, and the area code is unfamiliar. Usually I'd let it go to voicemail, but I'm bored. So I answer. "Hola."

"Hello?" It's a confused female on the other end of the line.

"Hello?" I question back. I have a feeling this is a wrong number, but I don't want to be rude and hang up on her.

"Gustov?" Same confused female.

"Yup."
 

"Gustov, this is Clare." Long pause. "How are you?" Unease doesn't even begin to describe what's buried in her voice.

Clare? It takes me a few seconds before my mind catches up. Clare from the European tour. "Oh hey, Clare. All's well here. How're you?" I haven't seen or heard from her since the tour. Not sure what this is about, but I'm curious.

"Good. Better." She sounds nervous and sighs. "I've had a lot going on since I last saw you. Been working on myself. Getting cleaned up."

She pauses again and I feel the need to interject because she's struggling, stumbling over her words. Even though I didn't particularly like Clare, I can't abandon her now when she's obviously trying to reach out to me. "Good for you."

I hear the exhalation of relief. "I'm so sorry, Gustov. Sorry for getting you wrapped up in my disaster of a life last spring."

"Not your fault, Clare. I made my own choices. I was in the middle of my own disaster."

"The reason I'm calling, well, is to see if maybe you'd like to have dinner tonight. I've been in San Diego visiting my aunt for a few days and I leave in the morning. I'd like to see you and apologize properly."

None of this sounds like the Clare I knew. She's speaking clearly, talking to me like a normal person. I can tell that she's being honest with me. She sounds vulnerable. She sounds ... nice. I'm a sucker for nice, and I also can't hold a grudge, so I answer, "Sounds good. You want me to pick you up?"

"No, I'll pick you up. That's part of the whole apology thing." She laughs, and I notice that it's not the high pitched, grating giggle I remember from before. It sounds more mellow, like a low, relaxed chuckle.

"Yes, ma'am." I give her my address and we agree on seven o'clock.

I'm tugging on my Catfish and the Bottlemen T-shirt when there's a knock on my bedroom door. "Gus, you in there?"

I open the door and Pax is standing in my doorway with a grin on his face that's half awe and half terror. I hold back a smile. "What's up, amigo?"

He motions with his thumb over his shoulder behind him and whispers, "There's a girl here for you."

I glance at the clock on my nightstand, six forty-five. "Huh, she's early."

The mixed look's still in place on Paxton's face, though awe's winning out now. "Do you have a date?"

I shake my head. "Nah, no date. Just a ... " for some reason I stumble on the word, because I don't really know what Clare is. "Just a friend. I haven't seen her in a while. Just getting some chow with her, that's all."

He shakes his head slowly. "She's hot, Gus. Like a fifteen on a ten-point scale."

I laugh because the kid never would've said anything like that a few weeks ago when he arrived here.

"She looks good, huh? Maybe I'd set you up with her if you weren't jailbait." I wink.

"I'm eighteen in a couple of weeks," he argues.

"Dude, you couldn't handle a cougar like that. You keep your eyes on the prize with Mason."

He smiles and his cheeks go crimson at the mention of his new high school crush.
 

I slip on my socks and Vans and walk out to the living room with Pax following closely behind. Clare's standing next to the sliding glass door looking out at the ocean view. I don't say anything for a minute, just letting her enjoy the scenery. Getting lost in calm and beauty is a gift.
 

If I didn't know this was the Clare from before, I wouldn't believe it now. Her ultra-thin frame is curvier, softer, and instead of being marketed for sex, it's tucked away discreetly inside a pair of jeans and a simple white T-shirt. Her dark hair shines in a simple cut that falls just short of her shoulders. I clear my throat to get her attention. "S'up Clare?"

She turns at my voice, and the face that greets me looks years younger and happier than the one I saw months ago. Her skin is clear, almost glowing. She looks fresh, like layers of everything bad and negative have been stripped away along with the heavy makeup and seductive clothing to reveal this new person hiding underneath. "Hi, Gustov."

"Gustov? Do people really call you that? I thought Scout was the only one who called you that." It's Pax. He's still a shadow behind me.

I laugh. "It is my name, Pax."

He's embarrassed. "I know. I guess I just thought everyone called you Gus."

I nod. "Most of them do. Or douche canoe, that nickname's popular, too. I'll answer to almost anything. Just ask Franco."

Clare smiles. "That's true. How is Franco?"

"He's good. He's building an old motorcycle now that we're home for a while. It's keeping him busy." He's obsessed with the bike and it's taking all of his time, which is good. I'm glad he's keeping busy with something he loves.
 

"Good for him." Clare looks around the room and smiles. "Your mom has a beautiful home. What a
magnificent
view." She glances back over her shoulder out the window.
 

"It's pretty amazing. We're lucky."

She nods her head.

"Pax, you wanna tag along and get some grub?"

He clams up and shakes his head. On the inside I can see him trying to play it cool, but on the outside he's giving off a different message. He looks like he's going to faint.

"Okay, soldier. Hold down the fort while I'm gone." As Clare and I decide where we're going to eat, Impatient walks through the living room from her bedroom toward the front door. She's dressed to run, which is strange because she always runs in the morning.
 

She doesn't say anything. Pax stops her at the door. "Scout, where're you going? I thought we were going to eat dinner? You made lasagna."

She looks back and her eyes pause on Clare and on me before they land on Paxton. "I'm not hungry. You go ahead, though." Her face is pale, her pink lips are closed in a frown, and there's pain in her eyes. Her voice sounds terribly sad. Sad like everything in her world is crashing down around her and she has no control over it. Sad like she desperately wants life to go one way, but instead it's going another. I know that kind of sad intimately. And when I blink she's disappeared out the door.

Clare and I end up going to a little Italian dive a couple of blocks from Ma's house. We walk since it's so close, and we make small talk until we're inside sitting at a tiny table for two. Then shit gets real.

"I'm sorry, Gustov. From the bottom of my heart. I was a mess. For a long,
long
time I was a mess." She smiles, but it's apologetic, like her words. I can tell that she's being sincere. Some things just can't be faked. "I actually just got out of a rehab facility a few weeks ago."

"How long were you there?" I ask. She needed it. I knew that before, but seeing her here now and seeing the transformation that's taken place, it's apparent the benefit is pretty goddamn miraculous.

"Six months. I checked myself in as soon as I got back to the states. Initially it was at the request of my employer, but before I even got there, I knew I needed it. I'd needed it for years, but I couldn't face it. I had been acting recklessly. Sometimes, punishing yourself is easier than facing down your demons, you know?"

I do. I nod. "I'm with you on that, sister."
 

She raises her eyebrows to acknowledge my admission. "I know you are, and I also want to say that I'm so sorry for your loss. I didn't know at the time what was going on with you, I just knew from the first moment I saw you that you were hurting. You were hurting like I was. I think that's why I was so drawn to you. I needed to feed on that agony. I needed my pain to commiserate with someone else's. I felt like I had a partner in grief, you know. Someone that got me, even though I knew you didn't like me."

I nod. I understand. Addicts don't choose tragedy. Tragedy chooses them. And addiction is the result. "Like I said, I'm with you. I don't blame you for anything that happened, Clare. Please don't think that. I accepted whatever you gave me. I could've turned it down. I should've turned it down. But I didn't." I take a deep breath. "We used each other. It filled a void we both had. I'm sorry for that. No one deserves to be used."

Her clear eyes are welling up with tears. "Thank you. Thank you for not hating me right now. I was so scared to call you this afternoon. I was so scared to face you. I'm still in follow-up therapy. I probably will be for a very long time. I've got some major issues I'm still working on. I've apologized to everyone in my life that my addiction hurt; you are the last person to whom I felt I owed an apology. So again, I'm sorry, Gustov."

I hand her my napkin, and smiling, she takes it, blotting her eyes. "Apology accepted," I say. "And right back at ya. I'm sorry, too. I knew you had something major you were contending with and I never tried to help you, because I was selfish and drowning in my own shit."

She dabs her eyes again and smiles. "I'm good now. I'm clean. Clean for six months. I haven't been clean since I was eighteen, if you can believe that. It feels good. I'm dealing with my eating disorder, too, which is harder than it sounds like it would be. I mean, I don't need coke to live, but I do need food. It's a daily struggle, but right now I'm winning. Today, I'm winning. I'm healthy and that's where I want to stay. I still can't give up the goddamn cigarettes though," she says, laughing. "But someday I will."

I huff in agreement. "They're evil. I can't give them up either." I think twice about asking, but then I give in to my gut. "So, what happened?"

"What do you mean?" She looks confused.

"What happened when you were eighteen?" I have a feeling that she brought me here for more than an apology. That maybe she has more she wants to talk about, more she wants to explain. And I'm a fantastic listener.