The Lies About Truth(27)

“Sadie?”

“Yeah.”

His face relaxed into a near-smile. “Tell me something you’ve never told me.”

I laced my hands behind my head and relaxed.

“I made Trent that Lego temple-thing as a thank-you for helping me study for the SAT. It’s supposed to be Machu Picchu. We were planning a trip someday.”

Max nodded. “Yeah, he loved explorers. Even the brutal ones like Ponce.”

“He didn’t love Ponce for Ponce. He loved Ponce because he loved the Fountain of Youth. And he loved the Fountain of Youth because”—my eyes swelled with tears and I ground my teeth into my final words—“he was scared of dying.”

Max pulled me to his chest and found the strength for a few more words. “I’ll tell you something I’ve never told you. In the end, he wasn’t scared.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I was there.”





CHAPTER SIXTEEN


We took a long nap and I woke up around ten. When I opened my eyes, I gave Max a lazy look and he threw a thumb toward the window, toward our dock. “You . . . want to sit out—”

I wondered how long he’d been awake.

“Yeah. Let me check in with Mom and Dad first. They’ll be worried,” I said, thinking I really wanted to brush the nap-fur off my teeth.

Max’s cheek quivered. An almost-smile that I almost missed. For all the hard stuff we’d talked about today, that smile was like an eraser. I loved it. We walked to my deck together, and he took a seat on the edge of an Adirondack chair as if to say, I’ll wait right here.

I waved. My attempt at a wordless I’ll be right back.

He nodded.

After all those emails, we could speak without words.

The door was unlocked and lights were on in the kitchen. I stopped by and found Mom and Dad in some sort of hug.

Teasingly, I shielded my eyes. “I’m home. I’m home.”

Dad kissed Mom on the tip of her nose. I should have been fifty shades of grossed out by my parents, but they’d always been this way. It was sweet when you considered that many of my classmates’ parents stayed married because they had children and expensive mortgages. My mom and dad liked each other. From what I could tell, happiness was getting stuck with someone and never feeling stuck.

Are you okay? Mom asked with her eyes.

Better, I said, also without words. I was pretty decent at nonverbals tonight.

“I’m going down to the dock,” I announced.

“No run?” Mom asked.

“Not tonight,” I answered. No run. No list. No Latin phrases. No worries about Big. I’d had enough of those today.

Mom licked some frosting off a spreader, acted casual, too casual, and said, “Max still with you?”

“Yeah.”

My parents wanted to ask: Do you swear you’re okay? Should we call Dr. Glasson? You know you can talk to us if you need to? They didn’t ask or say any of those things; instead, they psychoanalyzed me from three feet away. Their eyes were piercing.

So I smiled at them.

And it worked.

The atmosphere lightened considerably. Mom offered me icing off a fingertip—buttercream heaven—and trusted my silence. No more Oh, honeys tonight.

After a full sixty seconds with my toothbrush, I darted toward the back door. Dad called at me, “Family movie sometime soon.”

“Sure,” I agreed as always.

“Tell Max to join us.”

I smiled again. “I will.”

“Honey . . .”

“I know, Mom. Love you too.”

“Stay out late,” Dad suggested.

The Social Experiments were finally working to my advantage.

Back on the deck, I apologized to Max for taking so long inside. “I interrupted my parents having sex.”

“Seriously?”

“No, but they were up to something.”

“My parents were like that too,” he said.

“Were?” I asked, thinking they’d moved around the world to fix crap like that.

“Sometimes they’re fine. Sometimes they’re not.”

I couldn’t imagine the McCalls in separate houses or lives, but I still asked, “You’re not worried about them, are you?”

“No. I think they grieve differently. Dad needs to move. Mom needs to sit and cry.”

“What do you need?” I asked.

“To be able to remember him.”

“Me too. Sometimes I still talk to him,” I said, thinking if anyone understood, it would be Max.

“I do that.” Max hooked an arm around me. “Did I ever tell you that he used to wake me up in the middle of the night?”

“No.”

But he’d done that to me, too. Peck. Peck. Peck. On my window. Sadie May . . .

“We’d walk to Waffle House. He’d eat pancakes and play the jukebox. That’s how we learned all those old songs.”

“He never told me that.”

“It was our thing.”

“We always biked to the jetty on my birthday,” I told him.

“Yeah, I know.”

“You can remember him anytime you want with me,” I offered.