Gus (33 page)

But today? Today is different. Today we celebrate. Gustov hasn't been with us for years during the holidays.
 

It's habit to go outside right after I wake up. Even though I don't have that morning cigarette, I still go through the motions and I chew gum instead. When I slide open the door, Gustov is sitting out on the deck in one of the lounge chairs, drinking a cup of coffee.

"Morning, maestro."

He turns toward me and smiles. I've always loved it when he smiles at me like that. That smile always made me feel like he was proud of me, proud that I was part of his life. Validation of so many things that I doubt about myself. "Gus. Good morning. And Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas." I nod to his coffee. "I see you already brewed some java."

He raises the cup and a roguish smile emerges. "I sure did. It's good. You should have a cup with me."

He always brings his own coffee with him when he visits. It's European, Turkish I think, and strong. Like so strong, I have to cut it with half a mug of milk and add a shit ton of sugar. I don't even like milk in my coffee, but it's the only way to make his coffee tolerable. "I'll pass, dude. I don't know how that shit doesn't eat out the inside of your plumbing."

He laughs at that, and then he falls quiet for a few minutes as we watch the sun rise. "Kate was the only one who liked my coffee."

That makes me smile. He's right. She was. "Liked? She loved it. You, my friend, were a bad influence on Bright Side."

He looks offended. "How so?"

"You introduced her to her two vices: coffee and the violin." They're two things I'll forever associate with her.

He smiles and nods thoughtfully. "I shall gladly take the blame for both of those." It's the smile he always reserved for Bright Side and Grace. Even though he wasn't around a lot while I was growing up, he always took the time when he visited to spend time with Kate and Gracie, to make them feel special. Their dad was never around, and Gustov had a soft spot for them both. "It's strange being here without them, isn't it?"

I nod. "It is."

He looks at me and I know what he's about to say is something I need to hear. He's always been this wise, old soul, I think that's why Bright Side liked him so much. "We all have our own journey. The older I get the more I'd like to believe that I'm here to set an example for a younger generation ... like you. But what Kate and Grace," he looks pointedly at me to make sure he has my attention, "and you, my boy, have taught me over the years is that I am the student, not the teacher. The three of you young people are the most sincere, passionate human beings I've ever met. The care you put into your friendships is unsurpassed." His face softens as he smiles at me again. "You are
so
like your mother."

I smile. It's all I can do; because that's one of the nicest things anyone's ever said to me.
 

He nods and smiles to acknowledge my silent acceptance of his compliment. "Where is Kate's violin?"

"It's in my room. She left it to me." I pause, then say, "You should really take it. You gave it to her."

He smiles and shakes his head. "I may have given it to her and encouraged her to play, but it belongs with you."

I've been thinking about this for a long time. "I want to have it mounted in a glass case to display on the wall. What do you think?"

He nods. "I think that would be a fitting memorial to a very talented and dear girl."

Instead of feeling sad, I feel resolved. "Will you play it one more time? Today? I think Bright Side would like to see you play it one more time before it's retired."

He looks up to the sky and his Bright Side smile returns. "I would be honored."

Silence settles in for a few minutes before he says, "I haven't seen you smoke since I've been here. Am I too hopeful to assume you've quit?"

"I quit. I'm sucking it up. Oh, but I'm addicted to gum now." I point to my mouth to illustrate my point. "Traded one filthy habit for another."

"Good. And one more thing, Gus. I know we haven't talked much about your career, but I keep an eye on you. Through Audrey, of course, but I also follow your tour schedules, your album rankings, reviews, and interviews online. I have a feeling you haven't peaked yet, not with your incredible potential. With that comes success and failure, depending on how you foster, nurture, and embrace that potential. I think you're at a point in your life now to do all of those things in a way that fulfills you. And I wish you all the success you can handle before it breaks you. Everyone has a limit and some break far more quickly than others, destroyed by fame and money," his face looks intense for a moment, before he looks back at me, smiling gently. "I know neither of those appeals to you and I hope for your sanity's sake, they never do."

"Who just said they weren't wise?" I tease, but his words linger in my ears. They reinforce a lot of my hopes and fears. He's right. He's always right.
 

Ma makes two pans of her famous cinnamon rolls. We're all sitting on the beach wrapped up in blankets, because it's chilly out by the water. Pax and I destroy one pan between the two of us like a couple of greedy savages. And everyone else shares the other pan like civilized people.
 

A text comes in from Keller while we're eating. When I open it, it's a video of Stella and him singing, the little purple CD player sitting on the table next to them. Stella's really belting it out. I turn up the volume and we all watch. Every one of us is smiling because what's going on in this video is pure joy and love, and that's what this day should be all about. When they're done singing they both wish me a Merry Christmas and thank me for the gifts. I didn't send the gifts for a thank you like this, but I know I will never erase this message.
 

When we return to the house, I go straight for the tree and hand out my gifts to everyone. Gift giving, not gift getting, is my favorite part of the holidays. I got Pax some nice headphones, Impatient a first edition of her favorite book, and Gustov a bottle of his favorite wine. I'm most excited about Ma's present, so I save it for last. Bright Side and Grace used to always spend Christmas morning with us, because their mom was a slacker on the whole parental obligation front, and we used to exchange one homemade gift. Bright Side and Grace never had any money, but they always managed to make something heartfelt and meaningful, so Ma and I tried to do the same. This year I'm giving her music: it's a few verses of lyrics that Bright Side wrote, God only knows when, accompanied by a couple dozen measures of piano music I wrote last week to go along with it. I hand wrote it all out on thick vellum and had it matted and framed. I tell Ma before she opens it that it's from Bright Side and me, and the happy tears are already flowing before it's unwrapped.
 

Day made.

The only thing that makes the day better is listening to the maestro play Bright Side's violin. We're all sitting in the living room after dinner when I bring it out and present it to him. Ma, Impatient, Pax, and I sit on the sofa and Gustov takes a chair off to the side. He always sits on the very edge of his seat when he plays, like he's poised to leap up off of it at any moment. He sits like he's spring-loaded, and only the music keeps him confined to a sitting position. He quickly tunes the instrument and rosins the bow. And then he plays. They each had their own style, he and Bright Side. Finesse was a common link, and grace, but their emotions came through differently. Bright Side played with her entire body; it was a reaction to the music. If you had put earplugs in and just watched her play, I swear you would've still heard the song. And you definitely would've felt it. The maestro is all energy when he plays, vigor more than emotion. It's like winding up a top and letting it go. Him playing her instrument is a fitting, beautiful way to seal the day. It's like the coda in the song of her life. I finally feel like that part of Bright Side can rest. I'll hear her forever playing in my mind, and that's enough for me.

Tuesday, December 26

(Scout)

I'm packing my lunch for work when Gus walks in the kitchen. Paxton is still sleeping and Audrey took Gustov to the airport early this morning to catch his flight home.

"There's some banana bread left if you want some."

He stops and thinks for a minute, he looks tired, and then he nods like he's made up his mind. "I want some."

He's always hungry. I can't do much for him, but I do like feeding him. It's something I can do every day. It's a guaranteed connection. I like doing nice things for him, because he's always so nice to me.

"I like Gustov."

He pulls three slices of bread out of the Ziploc bag and takes a bite out of one before he answers, "The maestro is a good dude."

I'm full of questions and this might not be the right time to ask, but I'm going to try. "Do you wish you saw him more often?"

"Mmm ... I don't know, it's hard to say. I mean, it's always just been the way it is, you know? He lives his life on the East Coast and we live ours here. We talk. I know he's always there if I need him and when we see him it's always a big deal. I kinda like that."

"It sounds like he and Audrey have always been best friends."

He smiles. "Always."

"And they love each other, that's pretty clear. I wonder why they never dated?" It's none of my business, but it seems odd given they have so much in common.

Gus is on his second slice of bread and he's talking with his mouth full. "Oh, they did date. They went out a few times when they were in high school, I guess. It didn't work."

"Why not?"

Gus shrugs like the answer is obvious. "Gustov is gay. That kinda put a damper on the evolution of anything romantic."

"Gustov is gay?" I don't know why I'm surprised. It doesn't matter. It's just another twist in their family story.

Gus nods. "Yup. Ma was the first person he came out to. She helped him a lot, from the stories I've heard. I think going through that together is the reason they're so solid all these years later. They always had each other's backs after that." He takes the last bite of bread and goes for the milk in the refrigerator. That's where the story ends.

This family's uniqueness and compassion surprises me at every turn.

Wednesday, December 27

(Gus)

We ran through our New Year's Eve set this afternoon at Franco's place. The first few songs sounded like shit. It was like my guitar was fighting with me. My voice was fighting with me. I felt like my nerves were strangling me at every chord. I think I chewed through an entire pack of gum. Writing is different than performing, that's for damn sure. But after a few times, once I relaxed and let the music just take me away, everything fell into place. We'll do this again tomorrow and the day after. We'll be ready.

Sunday, December 31

(Scout)

I'm nervous. Paxton and I are riding with Gus to Rook's show at a local bar. I purposely never watched Rook play while I was on tour with them. I always told myself I did it to stay disconnected from the hype. I hated the hype. I only had to deal with Gus on a business level. The performer side of him seemed too personal, too artificial, too unpredictable, and I didn't want any part of it. I didn't want to see him in that light, because I thought it would make me dislike him even more. Now I fear it may have the opposite effect. Time and familiarity has completely transformed my opinion of him. And after listening to him write and play at home these past few weeks, I'm more attracted to him than ever. And I'm fighting it, which is difficult because every day I notice something else about him, about his personality, that draws me closer. So, I'm nervous.

"What song are you going to close with tonight, Gus?" Paxton asks eagerly. "I hope it's 'Killing the Sun'."

Gus nods. "That's usually how it goes down, Pax." He seems nervous, too. Not himself.

He pulls into a dirt lot that's packed with cars and parks behind the bar in a spot clearly marked 'No Parking'.

Paxton jumps out as soon as the truck is in park and starts pulling Gus's guitar cases and amps out of the bed. And I take this moment of privacy to talk to him. "Hey?"

He's distractedly searching his pockets. He's not listening.

"Hey? Over here." I wave my hand to get his attention.

He glances at me. "Yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

"I need a fucking cigarette." He really wants one. It's the reason he was absently checking his pockets for the pack of cigarettes he used to carry. Old habit.

"No, you don't," I remind him.

"I need a fucking piece of gum."

I dig a piece out of my purse and hand it to him. "Suck it up."

He's motioning with his fingers like he wants more. "Gimme three."
 

I hand him two more and he takes them immediately, unwraps them, and pops them into his mouth. He talks while he's chewing. "I don't know, Impatient. I thought I wanted this, but now that I'm here I don't know if I do."

"Paxton's really excited to watch you guys play." It's the only encouragement I feel like I can offer that will make a difference. And it works.

He smiles, a genuine grin. "He is pretty stoked."

I nod again and smile. "This is probably the best night of his entire life. And I'm not just saying that."

He nods again. "What about you?"

"I'm pretty excited, too."

"You don't have to lie to me." He doesn't sound hurt, he's just being honest.

I push on, even though it's hard for me. "I'm not." And suddenly, I feel a surge of energy. This is about him finding himself again, and I need to help him believe he can do it. "I want to watch you play your guitar. I want to listen to you sing. This is my first Rook show. I want to be impressed. Show me what you've got, rock star."

He smiles. "That sounds like a challenge." He winks. "I like a good challenge."

"You do?"

The smile remains, but it's transforming into something far more sexy. "Hell. Yes."

I surprise myself when I add, "So do I."

He echoes, "You do?"