Bright Side (34 page)

I oblige although I feel like I’m falling apart. How could this radiant woman be fading away before my eyes? “I love you, babe.”

“I love you, too, baby.” Her eyes shift to Gus and she motions to him. “You too, come here.”

Gus kisses her on the forehead. “Good night, Bright Side. I love you.”

She mumbles, “I love you, too,” as she drifts off to sleep.

I summon my courage and clap Gus on the back. “Come on man, I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”

We grab two scalding hot coffees from the vending machine on the second floor and return to Katie’s room. Katie’s free arm is wrapped around Stella, whose head is resting on Katie’s shoulder in the crook of her neck. I can’t help but smile looking at the two of them. I take a picture of them in my mind, carefully cropping out the IV and machines around them, just two sweet, sleeping faces in the frame, Katie’s bruises hidden against the pillow.

Gus is smiling at them as he drops into a chair on the other side of the room. “She would’ve been the best mom.”

I slide the other chair over to sit with him. “Absolutely.”

His smile grows. “You should’ve seen her with her sister, Grace. She was amazing. I don’t know how she did it. She took care of her sister every day. Don’t get me wrong, Gracie was easy to love. But being someone’s full-time caretaker is a lot of work, and Bright Side never once complained. Their mom was never around. Janice preferred the company of men to the company of her children.” There’s disdain and judgment in every word. “And even when she was around she didn’t take care of them. She had some mental health issues that required medication, but I don’t know what was worse, Janice on her meds or off. She also drank …
a lot
. And she was a big fan of coke.” Gus pauses, shakes his head, and chuckles sardonically. “Bright Side’s home life was a fucking nightmare. She took care of Gracie because her mom couldn’t, or wouldn’t. They spent a lot of time at our house. Ma and I always considered them family. And after her mom committed suicide—”

I interrupt
. “Wait. Katie’s mom committed suicide?”

“Yeah. She hung herself from a ceiling beam in her bedroom one night. Bright Side found her the next morning.”

I rub my eyes with my palms; my head is starting to hurt. “Shit.”

“Yeah, it was fucked up. Janice had been hitting the bottle hard for a few months and stopped taking her meds altogether. I guess it was finally too much and she couldn’t take it anymore. As bad as it sounds, I was
kinda relieved for Bright Side and Gracie. It was like being let out of prison. They were free.”

“She must’ve been bad.”

He shakes his head. “You have no idea. Of course, my mom and I didn’t find out about most of it until after Janice died. Bright Side got really drunk one night right after her mom died and told me everything … the drugs … the beatings.” He sighs and tightens his fist that’s resting on his thigh. “There’s no way we would’ve let them stay with her if we’d known. Bright Side never said anything while Janice was alive because she was afraid that social services would come in and split up her and Grace. And she was probably right, because there was some bad shit going down. Bright Side took the brunt of it, especially the physical abuse, to protect Grace. God, I don’t even want to think about it. It still makes me sick.” He shakes his head. “We never knew.” He takes a deep breath and continues, “Bright Side was just getting ready to graduate from high school when her mom died. She had a scholarship to go to Grant and play violin, and she gave it up so she could stay in San Diego and take care of Gracie. A week after the funeral she went to the doctor for a routine annual exam and found out after a series of tests that she had ovarian cancer, ‘a serous carcinoma,’ they called it. The next two months were brutal. They operated on her and removed it all. Then she went through a round of chemo. She and Grace stayed with us and we took her to all her appointments. You don’t know hell until you watch someone go through what she did. She lost her hair and she was so sick with the chemo. She couldn’t eat. She threw up all the time. She lost so much weight they had to hospitalize her just to feed her and get fluids in her. It was awful, but she never complained.” He points at Katie. “She’s a fucking fighter, that little woman. She had faith she was going to get better and it was all worth it. And she worried about Grace, of course. But eventually, she did get better. She went back to work and she rented a place for her and her sister. My mom wanted them to stay with us, but Bright Side said they needed to be on their own.” He laughs. “You should’ve seen their place.”

“She said they had an apartment.”

He laughs again. “That’s a stretch. It was a single car
garage
. They had a double bed that they shared, some boxes they kept their clothes in, and a card table. That’s it. They fucking loved it.” He laughs again. “Only Bright Side and Gracie could live in a fucking garage and think they were in paradise.”

“Didn’t their mom leave them any money?” This just keeps getting worse.

“Hell no, that’s another thing we didn’t find out until after Gracie died. Apparently Janice had been living off Bright Side and Grace’s child support all those years. She never worked. Their old man left when Bright Side was a baby and moved back to England where he was from. I guess he met someone and started a family and forgot about the one he had in California. He never talked to Bright Side or Gracie, but he paid Janice a pretty penny to raise them. Janice just spent it all on herself. The guy’s loaded, so paying her off was nothing to him. The money stopped when each of the girls turned eighteen and Janice started getting deeper and deeper in debt. When Bright Side sold the house and her mom’s car, it barely covered the debt Janice had racked up. Bright Side walked away with her van and the clothes on their back. She and Grace lived on what she made working in the mail room with me at my mom’s advertising firm. It wasn’t enough to get by, but somehow they did.”

There’s a surprise at every turn with this girl. “I never knew she had it so bad.”

He huffs. “That’s because it’s Bright Side we’re talking about. The girl never complains. She hates it when people feel sorry for her. I bet if you woke her up right now and asked her about her cancer she’d tell you that there’s someone out there who’s worse off than she is. That’s Bright Side.”

(Kate)

My phone’s vibrating across Keller’s dresser. I blink the sleep out of my eyes and glance at the clock. 1:37am. The ringing stops before I answer it, but once I have it in my hand, it vibrates insistently again. It’s Franco.

“Hey Franco,” my tongue feels too big for my mouth, making my voice sound thick and slow. This new pain medication makes waking a slow process. As if consciousness doesn’t agree with me. It’s powerful shit.

“Kate. Sorry to wake you, but what in the hell is up with your boy?”

I pull myself to a sitting position and say
, “What? What’s wrong, Franco?” I glance at Keller sleeping beside me.

“Gus. The punk ass shows up yesterday afternoon at the venue fifteen minutes late for
soundcheck, wasted out of his fucking mind. Then he disappears afterwards. We find him at a bar down the street and have to practically carry him out to get him back for the show, which in hindsight was a mistake of epic proportions. That show was a full blown shit-storm. He was so drunk he forgot half the words, he refused to play his guitar, he cursed at the crowd, and he fell down twice. It was fucking
brilliant.
” The sarcasm weighs heavy in that last declaration. “Sure, he can perform drunk. He’s done it a million times.
But this … this was beyond fucked up. He’s locked himself in the bus now and won’t let anyone in. He won’t talk to any of us. His phone goes straight to voicemail. What the hell happened in Minnesota? I’ve never seen him like this.”

Shit. This is bad. I know that Gus shuts down when he’s upset. The only people he’ll talk to when he’s like this are his mom and me. It’s always been that way. I can’t hold back the sigh.

“What is it Kate? What’s wrong? It’s bad, isn’t it?” The anger in his voice softens.

I whisper, “Yeah, hold on,” as I slip out of bed.

Keller stirs in bed next to me. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

I hold the phone away from my face. “It’s okay, baby. I’ll be back in a few minutes. I need to take this call.” I put on my coat and boots and open the door to step outside as quickly and quietly as I can. It’s freezing out here. “Okay, Franco. Sorry, I had to go someplace I could talk.”

“It’s fine. Sorry to wake you, Kate, but I didn’t know what else to do. This isn’t Gus. I’m worried.”

“Yeah, me too.” I take a few deep breaths before I speak. “I’m sick, Franco.”

“Oh. Fuck.” And then quieter, “Fuck.” And then louder, “Please tell me the cancer isn’t back?”

“It’s back.” I feel terrible saying it, like I’ve somehow let him down giving him the answer he didn’t want.

I hear a loud crash like he’s kicked or hit something followed by silence.

I continue. “Gus found out Thursday night. We spent the night at the hospital. He dealt with it pretty well until we dropped him off at the airport this morning.”

“Yesterday morning,” he corrects.

“Right, I guess it is Sunday, isn’t it.”

“So, what’s the prognosis?” He sounds scared.

“Not good.”

“Oh Kate.” And now he just sounds sad. “I’m so sorry.”

Keller’s voice breaks through the darkness. “Katie, it’s freezing out here. Come inside and talk. You won’t wake Stella. She’s asleep on the
loveseat.”

My boots crunch against the snow as I walk shivering back toward the door.

“Listen Kate, I gotta go. I may have to bust the goddamn door down on that bus.”

I’m whispering when I step inside and Keller wraps his arms around me. “I wish there was something I could do to help you. To help Gus.”

Franco laughs but there’s only a hint of amusement behind it. “And there’s the Bright Side Gus loves so much. We’ll take care of him, Kate. You take care of yourself. Fight the good fight. Do you hear me? Fucking fight this.”

I nod even though he can’t see me. “Okay,” I say, even though there’s nothing to fight now.

“Later.”

“Bye Franco.”

This is why I didn’t want Gus to know. I’ve just become his downfall.

I text Gus immediately:
Call me. That’s an order.

My phone rings in my hand at 2:25 that afternoon. I’ve been holding onto it for over twelve hours waiting for this call. “Hey Gus. You okay?”

“I feel like Bruce Lee is battling Mike Tyson inside my skull.” He sounds like he’s on the losing end.

“Who’s winning?” I have to try to cheer him up.

He coughs. I think it was supposed to be a chuckle. “Bruce is a fast little fucker, but Mike is fierce. It could go on a while, dude.”

“Rough night, huh?” I don’t want to chastise or nag. I’m sure he’s heard enough of that already.

He sighs. “That’s what they tell me. Though I beg to differ. I’d take a night I don’t remember over the way I’m feeling right now any day.”

“Gus, I’m not
gonna get all sanctimonious on you, because that would make me the world’s biggest fucking hypocrite, but maybe there’s a better way to deal with all of this. Maybe a way that’s more conducive to keeping the band afloat and the tour train in motion. You have to be able to function, dude. This is your dream, remember? Don’t fuck it up.” I can feel sorry for him, but I can’t baby him. Coddling doesn’t do anyone any good.

I hear the click of a lighter, followed by a long inhale and an equally long exhale. For the first time in my life, I don’t have the heart to put in my two cents.

“I know, but this is all so fucked up. I’m sorry, Bright Side. I just don’t know how I’m going to get through this. I don’t even know how to begin to deal.”

He’s sounds sad, it breaks my heart. “I wish you didn’t have to. I’m sorry.”

“Stop.
Please
don’t apologize. You being sick and me worrying about it is not something you’re allowed to be sorry for.” Annoyance fades to an aching echo.

We’re both quiet for several seconds. “You should write, Gus. Get it all out.”

He huffs and I know he thinks it’s a bad idea. “No one wants to hear that kind of anger.”

“Who says anyone needs to hear it? Just write the song for you. You can share it with me if you want. We could collaborate. Kind of a last hurrah. What do you say?”

“Is that a challenge?” He’s thinking now. I don’t hear concession yet, but he’s thinking.

I know he never backs down when he’s called out, so I bully him a bit. “Yes it is.”

“Aw, damn you woman. You’re evil, you know that?” I can hear his smile through the phone.

The weight’s lifting off both of us. “So I’ve been told.”

“Well shit. Nothing to lose, right? Maybe I will. Besides, my liver could use a rest. Just the thought of whiskey makes me want to throw up.”

“It will help, I promise. I wrote a lot after Gracie died.”

“You never told me that.”

“That’s because I never told anyone. I just wrote. Most of it’s for guitar because I couldn’t bear to play my violin. It’s probably all shit, but that’s not what mattered at the time. At the time it was cheap therapy. And that’s what I needed.”

“Huh. I’d like to hear it sometime, what you wrote.”

“Sure. Someday. Now go get some rest before your show tonight and promise me you’ll start writing tomorrow.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He sounds more like himself now.

“Do epic.”

“Do epic,” he echoes quietly.

“I love you, Gus.”

“I love you, too, Bright Side.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”