Gus (26 page)

I can faintly hear Keller now, trying to coax her. "Let me talk it over with Gus, baby girl, and I'll let you know. Can I have the phone please?"

"Just a minute, Daddy, I need to say bye." And then she's back to me. "Daddy needs to talk to you, Gus. Bye."

"Bye, Stella. Tell Miss Higgins hi."

"Okay."

Keller sounds a little tentative, but slightly amused, when he gets on the line. "Hey, Gus. Thanks for letting Stella entertain you for a few minutes."

"Yeah, she told me you were in the john building a log cabin."

He snorts out a laugh and it sounds relieved and embarrassed, like he's as happy as I am that this conversation is easy so far. "Please tell me my little girl
did not
use those exact words."

"Nah, she said you were in the bathroom goin' poop."
 

He sighs. "God, that's really not any better, is it?"

And just like that we're both relaxed. "She's awesome, Keller."

"Yeah, she is awesome. I have to admit I'm almost completely desensitized to any kind of embarrassment at this point. Little kids' honesty hardens you, man. There's nowhere to hide and it comes out at the most inopportune times."

I smile, because he sounds good. "You can't go wrong with straight-up honesty."

"So, what have you been up to, Gus? I think about you all the time and I have every intention to call, and then I have homework, or work, or Stella's ballet practice. Something always comes up. I'm sorry we haven't talked." He means it.

"No worries. I'm in the same good intention boat. That's kinda why I'm calling. Ma and I were just talking and wondered if you and Stella had plans for Thanksgiving this year? I thought maybe we could rekindle the bromance in San Diego." Last year I surprised Bright Side in Minnesota for Thanksgiving, with Keller's help. He called me and planned it all. I teased her that I was stealing her man away.

"The sacred bromance." He stops and laughs again remembering. "Damn, that's tempting. You're a good-looking guy." He hasn't lost his sense of humor. I'm glad. "But, I think Stella and I are just going to hang out here in Grant. My father might come up if he can get some time off."

I try again. "You should come out. If this is about money, I've got it covered."

"Gus, man, that's really nice of you to offer, but I can't accept that."

"Sure, you can. You just say, 'Yeah, Gus, we'd love to spend Thanksgiving with you and your mom. That sounds like a righteous fucking way to spend the holiday.' It's as easy as that. And then you tell me what time you can fly out and when you have to be home, and you let me take care of the rest." I don't know why, but I need him to give this to me. I need to see him and Stella to help me deal.

"Gus, it's too much. I just can't."

I sigh. "What if I told you you're gonna make Ma cry if she can't see Stella? Like, to the point of goddamn sobbing. I'm not kidding, she'll throw a full-on shit fit. It'll be ugly, dude. I'll be forced to record it and send the video to you. You'll probably feel guilty for the rest of your days. The brutal type of soul-searing guilt."

He's quiet. I can tell he's about to give in.
 

"C'mon dude. We really want to see you guys." It's as sincere as I can possibly be.

He sighs. "We're not going unless you let me pay you back someday."

I smile because I would never accept his money. "Sure, whatever you want."

He sighs again. "You're really sure you want to do this? It's going to be expensive."

"Don't have anything else to spend my money on, dude." I don't.

He's quiet and then he gives in. "Okay. We'd really like that. I could use a break for a few days." He sounds exhausted all of a sudden.

"Excellent. Text me times that work for your flights and I'll make it happen."

"Thanks, Gus."

No, thank you. "It'll be great to see you guys."
 

"Later, man."

"Later."

I don't know why, but I feel like a goddamn weight's been lifted off my shoulders.

Monday, November 27

(Gus)

It's cold out this morning, so I'm walking along the beach instead of surfing. The text alert comes from the phone in my pocket.
 

KELLER:
I just saw the email, thanks for the airline tickets. My father called this morning and said he got a few days off. Not to throw a wrench in the works, but do you think Audrey would mind if he came out to San Diego, too? I don't want to put you guys out.

ME:
No prob. The more the merrier.

KELLER:
Thanks Gus. See you Thursday!

Tuesday, November 28

(Gus)

Bingo with Mrs. Randolph starts at ten-thirty this morning. She insisted I pick her up at nine-thirty. It's only a fifteen minute drive. She's dressed in a purple blouse and matching purple dress slacks. Her outfit highlights the lavender tint of her silver hair. She looks nice, and I know she put effort into her clothes and her coif this morning. She went ballistic when I showed up ten minutes late and said I've messed up everything and there won't be any good seats or cards left by the time we get there. We'll be fine, I assured her. It's a goddamn game of chance; there are no good cards. And as far as the seats go, there are monitors all over the room with the numbers on them so there really aren't any bad seats. Besides, I've been here before, and she hasn't.

When we arrive, I stop in front of the entrance and help her out of my truck. I think she's going to wait for me while I park, but when I return to the entrance she's nowhere to be found. I freak out momentarily and wonder how I'm going to tell Francine I've lost her mother, but then I realize she's probably already inside, buying her loot.
 

And that's exactly where I find her. She's at the cashier buying a stack of cards and two dobbers.
 

I pull a few twenties out of my pocket and try to pay, but she swats my hand away. "Put that money away, boy. This is my treat."

I laugh at the sting she left on the back of my hand and shove the bills back in my pocket.
 

After she pays, she surveys the room and points me in the direction of an empty table in the front corner.
 

I point to two empty seats at the table directly in front of us. "Why don't we just sit here?" I'm trying to save her the walk across the room.

She puts her hand up to shield her words. "Them people don't look like the friendly-type." Then she looks pointedly at the three women sitting across the table from the empty seats.

They don't look friendly. They look territorial and they're shooting daggers at me and Mrs. R. with their eyes. The vibe they're putting off is far from welcoming. So, I follow her to the front corner and when I make sure she's comfortable, I check my watch: five minutes past ten. "Hey, we've got some time before they start." I turn toward the snack bar to see what they're offering. "Looks like they've got quite a selection of delectable donuts and some damn tasty coffee. You want some?"

She's arranging her cards in front of her. It's meticulous, a science really. She doesn't look up when she answers. "Don't give me that delectable and tasty sales pitch. You don't know what you're talkin' about."

I laugh. "You're right. Looks like they've got a sad selection of day-old donuts and shitty coffee. You want some?"

She grins at that, but still doesn't look up at me. "I'll take a stale, chocolate donut and a shitty coffee. Two sugars."

I walk away laughing to myself. I love this lady.

We eat our donuts, which were, to our surprise, pretty damn delectable indeed, and drink our shitty, but sugar-filled coffee while we wait for the first game to begin.

When the first ball drops, I find out just how bad Mrs. Randolph's eyesight and short-term memory is. She can't read the monitors at all and she's squinting to read the cards in front of her, even with her reading glasses on. After watching her struggle with the first few calls, I start repeating the letter and number aloud after the caller says it. I say it quietly to myself, but loud enough that she can hear me. "B ten, B ten," I say repeatedly while scanning my cards and hers, as if I need the reminder while I search. I notice she does much better when I do this, so I keep it up for the remainder of the morning.

Mrs. Randolph walks out with four hundred-dollar bills. During the ride home, she's wearing a look of contentment and pride. I pull up in front of her house to drop her off, killing the engine and walking around to open the door for her and pull the walker from the bed of my truck. She tries to give me half. "Here, boy, you take this. You ain't got no steady job. Everybody needs a little spendin' money."

I shake my head. "No, I can't accept that. You won it. You keep it. And what makes you think I don't have a job?"

"You're almost always home. You don't go nowhere, unless it's out to the beach. You drive that old truck. And you just ain't got no fire. Nothin' drivin' you."

"I'm a musician. I'm in a band."

"Say what? Why didn't you mention that before?"

I shrug. "I haven't played in a while."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I guess maybe you're right." I sigh. "Maybe the fire died."

She grabs my hand and holds tight. Her fingers are crooked with arthritis, but she's pretty damn strong. "Listen to me, boy. You only get one chance at this circus called life. Don't sit in the crowd watchin' it happen. You jump right in and be the ringleader. That's where you find your fire."

"What if your fire died with someone else?"

She shakes her head. "Nope. Here's the thing about life, boy. We meet a lot of people along this journey. Some of them are sonsabitches and some are special. When you find the special ones you don't take a moment for granted, because you never know when your time with them is gonna be up. I got over fifty years with my Fritz. Fifty wonderful years. When he died, I was lost for a few months. I lost my fire. But then I realized that life's short and I had a choice to make. I could keep bein' miserable, or I could go find joy and live again." She's squeezing even harder now. "If you only listen to one thing this crazy old lady tells you, I hope it's this: ain't nobody gonna stoke your fire but you, boy." She looks at me hard with her grey, cloudy eyes. "You go make life happen."

I nod.
 

She smiles and loosens her grip and releases my hands. "So, you any good?"

"At what?"

She huffs. "At music, boy."

"I'm all right."

"All right?" She gives me a scolding look. "Have some pride. Tell me you're good. I have a feeling you are. No need to be humble with me, we're old friends now."

I smile and nod and then I lay it on thick for her because even though she's got me thinking, I can't be serious. "I'm
fantastic
."

She rolls her eyes at my sarcasm and answers with a little of her own. "Who do you think you are, Elvis Presley? The good lord only done made one of those." She pulls the bingo parlor schedule from her purse and begins fanning herself with it. "That man certainly had himself some fire," she adds under her breath.

I laugh. "Have a good one, Mrs. Randolph."

Thursday, November 30

(Gus)

Ma is in the kitchen, wrapped in a bright red apron, up to her elbows in dead carcass cooking glory this morning. I've been a vegetarian since I was fifteen, and Bright Side and Gracie were, too, so Ma hasn't cooked a bird for Thanksgiving in years. I'm severely outnumbered by carnivores this year, judging by this gigantic turkey. Good thing she's making shitloads of green bean casserole and sweet potatoes to accompany that pumpkin pie. I'll be in food heaven all afternoon.

Ma and Impatient are both in the kitchen when I check in. "Need any help?"

Ma smiles. I haven't seen her this happy in a long time. She only busts out her apron when things get hardcore. "I don't think so, honey. Scout and I have everything under control. But, can you get some more whipped cream when you go to the airport." She looks pointedly at me. "Someone ate all of it."

I raise my eyebrows and shrug my shoulders, feigning innocence.

She smiles again. "I don't want Stella to have to eat her pie with no whipped cream."

"I'll buy extra." I look to Scout. "Wanna ride with me to the airport?" I don't really know why I'm offering because I know she needs to help Ma, but I can't help but feel protective of her after all the shit that went down last week. Plus, I like being around her.

She nods her head toward the front door. "When we're done with this, I'm gonna go for a run while I can. Thanks, though."

I nod. I understand, but disappointment tugs at me.

After a quick cigarette, I take Ma's car (because I can't get everyone in my truck) and head to the grocery store. Four cans of whipped cream and a Twix bar and I'm out the door and on the way to the airport. Keller and Stella's flight gets in about twenty minutes before his father's. I find the closest parking spot I can, which is like finding a needle in a haystack on a holiday weekend, and head to baggage claim. I'm early; it's a miracle. I take a seat and people watch. The airport is crowded and bustling with hurried people. Emotions range from extreme irritation to complete, off-the-charts happiness on the faces before me. You can both see and feel which people are doing holiday travel out of obligation, and which ones are amped up on the prospect of what's to come. I like watching the happy ones. It feels almost therapeutic, like a reminder that this life is all about embracing the good and making the most out of the good moments, even if they're fleeting.

As I'm watching the masses, I catch the eye of a teenage boy. He's probably sixteen. He's standing by the baggage carousel with two adults—I'm guessing they're his parents. He's keeping a distance from them that says,
I'm not with these people
, but I have a feeling they're family. He has earbuds in his ears, and he's wearing a Rook T-shirt. For a moment, I debate my next move. I treasure being inconspicuous. On stage, I'm all about the crowd. Off stage, I'm just Gus. He's open-mouth staring now; I've just been recognized, so I wave him over. He looks behind him with wide eyes, as if I'm gesturing to someone else. When he looks back at me, I nod and smile and wave him over again. He says something to his mom quickly and points to me. Her eyes widen, too. This kid has his mom's eyes. She smiles and nods and I see her mouth form the word, "Go," and he walks quickly toward me, but not so quickly that he's lost his swagger. Teenage boys know how to work the image-thing, 24/7.