Chapter 18

Gus lived in a dicey part of town where rent was notoriously cheap. His apartment was in a three-story complex built around a greenish-tinted pool and a playground where beer bottles, used condoms, and cigarette butts were scattered about. Nora walked past doors littered with kid toys and shoes. A used diaper was lying on the stairs as if the kid had slipped right out of it. One door had some potted plants neatly arranged to the side, which she appreciated. So did a cat—it was curled up asleep in one of the pots.

Gus's door was beat up, like someone had tried to break in. A bag of trash sat beneath his living room window.

It was shameful that she couldn't recall the last time she'd been to Gus's apartment. She knocked on the door and could hear some shuffling, something being moved. A moment later, the door cracked open, and she could see half of Gus's unshaven face. He opened it a little wider. "Nora? What are you doing here?"

"I texted you last night and said I was coming over, remember?"

He dragged his fingers through his greasy hair. "Yeah, but I didn't think you'd actually come."

Another small kick to the gut. "May I come in?"

"Inside?"

She hated that he sounded so incredulous. "No judgment, I promise."

He glanced uneasily over his shoulder. "Okay," he said reluctantly.

When she stepped over the threshold, her eyes watered with the pungent back-alley smell of alcohol and unwashed body. Gus's hair was disheveled, his shirt stained, his sweatpants dirty. His apartment was a mess—Big Gulp cups and empty fast-food wrappers littered the battered coffee table. Clothes and more trash were strewn about on the floor, and everywhere she looked, there was a bottle or can of some sort.

Gus rubbed his face with his hands as if he were trying to rub off his state of being. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I've tried, Nora, I really have tried—"

Nora turned and wrapped her arms around him. He sagged into her arms, a giant man trying to curl against her. She could hear her father's voice in her head—"Just a dumb drunk like your father."

"Hey." She gripped Gus's meaty shoulders. "It's okay." She stepped over an empty pizza box as she moved into his apartment, trying not to wrinkle her nose.

"Pretty bad, right?" he asked sheepishly.

"Well... it's not good, Gus."

He sighed.

"I've got a great idea."

"What's the idea? Rehab? Is this another intervention?"

An uncomfortable spasm of remorse ran down her spine. About three years ago, she'd picked him up under the pretense of getting some dinner but had driven him to her parents' house instead. Her mother had convinced her to do it, had said they only wanted to talk to Gus about his inability to keep a job. But to Nora's surprise, they'd had a whole team assembled to cart him off to rehab.

Once he was out of sight, he was out of mind for her parents. And her mother had used her—she knew Gus would come if Nora asked him.

The feeling turned to a low buzz in her chest; Nora sank down onto the arm of his grimy couch.

"Are you okay?" Gus asked, sounding a bit desperate. "I know it's pretty gross—"

"This is not an intervention, Gus. The only thing behind this visit is that I love you and I know I haven't been here when you needed me. For the record, I didn't know what Mom and Dad had planned that day. Mom said she wanted to talk. If I'd known, I never would have taken you there. Not like that."

"Nora... it's okay." He managed a smile. "I never blamed you. I didn't blame anyone. I mean, I needed it. I'm thankful to Aunt Roberta for trying to help me. But... I guess I'm too broken."

"You're not broken."

He smiled sadly. "We both know I am. It doesn't take a genius to guess why you haven't been around."

The buzz intensified. "Huh?"

He gestured to his apartment. "It's easy to drive me to an intervention. It's harder to hang out with a loser."

"Gus! That's not true."

"Yeah, it is."

He didn't sound angry, he sounded... indifferent. That hurt more, because he was right—in the Before, she couldn't handle his problems on top of her own. She'd ignored him. "I'm sorry, Gus," she said softly. "I sort of had my own demons."

He nodded. "Depression."

She shrugged. "It made me pretty useless."

"But it was more than that. You're ashamed of me."

"No," she said immediately, shaking her head... but that was a lie too. She loved Gus. And she'd been ashamed of him. But how could she be ashamed of him when she couldn't even help herself? She felt as if she'd betrayed her beloved cousin, and that left her feeling demoralized. How could she?

A moment in their shared history stood out. Lacey had won an award for an after-school arts program she'd created at her campus. Nora, her mother and father, Grandpa, and Gus had attended the presentation. And Nora, in her tailored suit and tightly bound hair, had sat on the other side of her father so that she wouldn't have to sit next to a lumbering, disheveled Gus, with his greasy hair, scuffed shoes, and a button-up dress shirt with the elbows nearly worn through. She hadn't wanted to be associated with him. And she didn't want to have to hear her father's disapproval, his biting remarks.

It disgusted her that she'd treated Gus the way her father so often treated her.

But what was truly amazing was that Gus had never been ashamed of her, even during those periods she struggled to get off her couch.

"So this isn't an intervention?" he asked, pulling her back to the moment.

"Nope. I came to invite you out."

"Not your mom's Sunday dinner," he said. "She already told me she didn't have room for me. Which, you know, is code for I'm not welcome."

It was appalling that her mother could behave so dreadfully toward her only nephew, but what else was new? "I would never invite you to the torture that is Sunday dinner. I was thinking of a painting class."

A beat or two passed as he took that in. "Seriously? Like one of those paint party places?"

She nodded.

"Why?"

"I thought it was something we could do together."

He looked dubious. Trust, she was learning, was a hard thing to get back once it was lost.

"Gus... this may sound a little nuts, but I feel really different now. Maybe I wasn't great at hanging out in the past, but I want to change that."

He grimaced. "I don't know. I don't know if painting is my thing."

"You won't know unless you try. Say yes, Gus. Please. If you say yes, I'll help you clean up." She stood up, put down her bag, and crossed to the bar that separated his kitchen from his living area. She began to pick up empty bottles.

"Let me do that," Gus said and grabbed a trash can as he pushed Nora out of the way, obviously embarrassed by the number of bottles.

"You're going to say yes, right?" she pressed him. "I've found a couple of places. We could go as soon as next week. And then... maybe we could go to an AA meeting? You used to like them."

His bottom lip trembled slightly. "Okay," he said softly.

"Okay?" The buzz began to ease. Nora hugged him again.

Gus said she needed to calm down. Nora said she couldn't, she was too excited. Gus rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.

Later, when Nora left with three bags of trash, she knew that Gus needed more from her than a painting class. But at least this was a start of being there for him.