The Lies About Truth(16)

It was cool.

“You’re a monkey,” I told him.

He swung down next to me, bumping my shoulder. “I’ll teach you,” he offered. “This summer or after school.”

I tensed, and he felt it.

Keeping his eyes on mine, he minced no words. “School will be fine. I’ll be there.”

“You did hear the little kid at the airport, right?”

“Kids are kids.”

“Kids are honest.” I gave him a good hard poke in the ribs, mustered a happy face, and teased, “Much more honest than you, Max McCall.”

“A truth is a truth is a truth, Sadie May.”

He ripped those words directly from Trent’s repertoire.

“Your mom said supper’s ready.” I tugged on his T-shirt, flirting a little, and left the room before he argued. He followed me all the way into the dining room, where our parents were laughing about something.

God, that was nice. Max and I paused in the door frame to watch.

“They’re . . .” The description escaped me.

“Better,” Max finished.

It was the right word. Laughter didn’t necessarily mean happy. There were gaps in tonight’s meal that laughter could never fill.

Mr. McCall noticed us and greeted me with a warm side-squeeze. He was skinnier and firm in all the places he’d been a little plush. The whole family looked healthier, as if they’d spent their days working out and eating salmon and salad.

“It’s good to see you, hon.”

“It’s good to be here, Mr. McCall.”

He tried the old Call me George routine, but I was over it. Sonia was one thing; Mr. McCall was another.

“I like the climbing wall you built,” I told him.

He gripped Max’s shoulder harder than he needed to—Max flinched—and Mr. McCall released him. “Projects are good for the soul,” he said, followed quickly by, “Dinner’s ready. Wash up.”

We’d shared dozens and dozens of meals around this table, but we’d never done it as a group of six. The McCalls had made the decision to move within a month of Trent’s death, and there weren’t any group dinners, except the one after the funeral. And I was too broken, too out of it, to remember much of that one. Max and I spent the whole time on the deck, away from all the people and their shoulder pats, funeral casseroles, and snotty tissues. I watched the neighbors hug my parents, not knowing what to say. I wondered if they thought it might be better to lose a child than to be left with one as monstrous as me.

I counted the chairs as we moved to our places. Someone, probably Sonia, had had the good sense to remove Trent’s chair, the one that used to sit between Max and me.

We made this first transition without tears, but that changed when Mr. McCall asked Max to pray. He chose the grace I’d heard Trent give a million times. His raspy voice sounded nothing like Trent, but it was a beautiful prayer.

“God, we thank you for this food, for rest and home”—Max paused, his fingers flexed against mine—“and all things good. For wind and rain and the sun above. But most of all, for those we love.”

You’re supposed to close your eyes when you pray, but I didn’t. I held Max’s hand the way I used to hold Trent’s, and watched for falling tears. There were several. Some of them were mine.

I double-squeezed his hand, an unspoken You did good.

He double-squeezed back and whispered, “Been trying to get through that prayer all year.”

Stories were passed around the table like bread and pie. Thankfully, no one talked about rehab or scars or paralyzed vocal cords. Mr. McCall told us about the bridge construction crews he’d worked with every day. By the sound of it, that contract had been a godsend. Sonia, a nurse, had found a place in the community as a midwife.

“Bringing babies into the world is always breathtaking, even in dirt-floor shacks. Being needed that much is a glorious thing,” she declared.

She was a beautiful delight in that moment, resilient and strong. I envied her.

Max shared things he hadn’t mentioned in his emails or IMs. Soccer, a little boy named Dixon, and helping build houses for people in an HIV community near San Vicente. Guilt doubled back and crawled up my spine and into my throat. The McCalls had spent the year finding their reasons to move forward, and I’d barely found my way out of my room. Trent had been their son and brother. What was wrong with me? I had no business being this stuck.

“Where are you going next, George?” Dad asked. “Any other contracts?”

“Next one is local, a small bridge near Miramar. I scoped the area yesterday morning on my way in from Panama City. I might take one in the northeast next year after Max goes to college.”

Dad tossed his napkin on his plate. “George, I can’t believe you were back on Wednesday and didn’t tell us. Can’t believe I didn’t see one of your lights on.”

Mr. McCall wore a proud smile as he said, “I slipped in quiet as a mouse. Knew Max wanted to surprise Sadie.”

George McCall winked at his son.

Max winked back and rocked his chair sideways toward me. “It was a good surprise. Right, Sadie?”

I nodded as Sonia said, “Four on the floor.”

Max rested the chair legs on the hardwood and teased Sonia. “Mom, we aren’t little kids anymore.”