Page 40 of Forever

Gus patted the chair again. “Sit with me. Let’s keep talking.”

Lydia did what she was told because she couldn’t think of anything else other than following Daniel out into the larger lab. But then what was going to happen? An argument in front of the researchers? Yup, that was going to go well.

And what exactly were they fighting over?

“So how bad is it between you two?” Gus nodded at his computer. “I have the clinical picture. How’s the interpersonal one going?”

Oh, we’re great. You know, it’s a hard situation, but with love, two people can get through anything—

“We’re just bouncing all over the place,” she said. “One minute connected, the next… flying apart. There’s no stride to any of it anymore. And the idea that we’re wasting today doing anything other than holding each other or—I’m babbling. I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about.”

“Yeah, you do.” Gus eased back. “You know exactly what you’re saying.”

“I want to change the channel on this TV show. How ’bout that.”

“I totally believe that’s true, too. Look, I’m a medical doctor, not a psych guy, but this will work itself out. You guys are adjusting to where things are and it’s heavy shit. It’ll come around, especially as he feels better.”

“Temporarily feels better.” She held up her hand. “Sorry, did that sound bitchy?”

“No, and no offense taken. Trust me, I know exactly where you’re at as the one who’s not sick. The wanting to be a paragon of perfection, give all the right reactions, do all the perfect things. And meanwhile, you’re losing your fucking mind and scared to death.”

“I guess you’ve seen this a lot in your patients, huh.”

Gus moved the mouse around, making circles of the little arrow on the screen, and after a moment of watching the rotations, she was able to focus on the lab report. On the left-hand side, there was a listing of tests, in the middle was a column of values, and over on the right, blocks of color. Red, yellow, and green. She wasn’t exactly sure what had been assessed, but she understood the coding. Everything was red and yellow. No greens. And Gus thought things were going better?

Or would go better?

He clicked out of the report, his email account taking over the screen as the last thing he’d checked.

“I lived it, actually.”

Lydia blinked and tried to remember what they’d been talking about. Those traffic light tiles were distracting as hell, a road map of this trip she didn’t want to be on promising construction delays at best… twelve-car pileups on the highway at worst.

“Wait, what?” She snapped to attention, as Gus’s words sank in. “You’ve—”

“My sister was eight when she died. I was fourteen. It was fucking awful—and I made it worse. I was a total shithead to my parents. Been trying to make it up to them and to her ever since. So yup, I know exactly where you’re at.”

He circled the mouse again, and the list of emails bumped down as a new one came in. For a second he frowned, as if the subject or sender was significant. But then he kept talking.

“It’s a pretty typical story,” he said. “Lot of us in this field are survivors one way or the other—and I’ll tell you, regret is one hell of a motivator. You either do something with it or it eats you alive from the inside out. And sometimes, it’s both.”

Lydia put her hand on top of his, stopping the circling. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks.” His reply was crisp, and she wasn’t surprised when he moved away from her. “Anyway, back to Daniel—”

“What was her name.”

More with the mouse. And beneath Gus’s rolling chair, his heel started tapping on the tiled floor.

“Anicia,” he said. “She was… my younger sister. She was eight. When she died. I was… fourteen.”

The words came out of his mouth, but they were more like a mantra than information he was sharing. And in the silence afterward, she pictured him in all different parts of his life, all different eras, repeating those same combination of syllables, the meaning definitive for him and also a blur now, after so many repetitions.

He seemed lost in the world of his familiar.

And it was helpful, although she wouldn’t have wanted him to suffer.

“You know,” he said absently, “I hated her sometimes. She was the focal point around which we all spun, whether we wanted to or not. I had dreams of being Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, you know.”

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