Читать книгу Killing Hour - Andrew Gross, Andrew Gross - Страница 12

Chapter 5

I went around the side through a brown, patchy courtyard, past a broken plastic kiddie car on its side. I stopped outside apartment two, wincing at what smelled like dog urine. Lurid, brightly colored graffiti spread all over the asphalt wall.

I knocked on the door.

After a short while I saw the curtains part, and the door opened. Gabriella appeared in a blue terry robe. She was normally a pretty woman with short blonde hair, a nice shape, and a deep, throaty laugh, but now her cheeks were sunken and pale, her eyes raw from tears, her hair matted and unkempt. As she let me in she kind of turned away, almost unable to face me. ‘I’m sorry that you have to see me this way, Jay . . .’

‘It’s okay, Gabby, it’s okay,’ I said. We hugged, and I felt her latch on to me. It always made me feel a bit awkward, her gratitude for me for how we helped them get by. ‘I’m so sorry, Gabriella.’

‘Oh, you don’t know what it’s like,’ she moaned, anguish etched into the lines around her eyes. ‘I never thought I would ever feel something as difficult as this. Never to see my son again. My heart breaks, Jay . . .’

‘I know.’ I kept hugging her. ‘I know.’

‘Your brother is not so good.’ She pulled away, brushing the hair out of her eyes. ‘I don’t know how he’s going to make it, Jay. You’ll see for yourself. He’s old now, and Evan was all we had. I’m glad you’re here.’

She led me inside. The place was small. Still, it was neat and tastefully decorated, with floral pillows and pictures of her family in Colombia and even some water-colors done by Charlie’s mother.

I heard a familiar voice on the stairs utter quietly, ‘Hi, Jay.’

My brother came down. He looked grayer, older, hunched a little in the shoulders, a shadow of what I last recalled. His beard was flecked with gray now, his hair straggly and wild. Charlie always had a twinkle in his eyes and an irresistible, wiry grin. It was what always captivated the girls. But nothing seemed to be there now. He wore a pair of ragged sweatpants and a brown flannel shirt. He forced a smile. ‘I’m glad you came, little brother . . .’

‘Of course I came, Charlie.’

‘C’mere . . .’ He got to the bottom of the stairs and we hugged. I was surprised how natural it felt. Hugs weren’t exactly the norm in our relationship. He placed his face on my shoulder and started to weep. ‘We’re sunk, Jay. It’s gone for us. I can’t believe Evan is dead.’

‘I know. I know . . .’ I said, squeezing him back and patting his shoulder.

‘We failed him, Jay. He was a good kid, in spite of everything. We didn’t do right by him.’

‘You did your best, Charlie. He wasn’t an easy kid.’

We all sat down at the small table in the kitchen. Gabriella poured out some coffee. She laid out the long line of medications he was taking: trazodone, Caduet, felodipine, Quapro, Klonopin. Sedatives, blood pressure controllers, mood stabilizers. I didn’t really know much about what had happened. Only that Evan had jumped off a rock, but not how he had gotten there or why.

‘Can you talk?’ I asked him.

Charlie nodded, cupping a few of his pills in his hands and knocking them back. Dully, he looked up at me like, What is there to say?

I said, ‘Then tell me what happened.’