The Lies About Truth(30)

However, my Tell Me Something is: If you weren’t there, and I weren’t here . . . If I weren’t me . . . but you were still you, I would be interested in letting you like-like me.

Next?

Sadie





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


The first half of the week dripped by like an old faucet. Gina reached out by email. Gray texted. Both wanted us all to attend Pirates and Paintball.

I ignored the communications, which only made them send more.

They weren’t the only ones who brought it up. Thursday morning, Max was on the back deck waiting for me. He walked me to the mailbox.

“Pretty sure the mail runs later in the day,” he said. “Like after the sun comes up.”

What did that mean? I didn’t take the bait, if that’s what it was.

“I forgot to check it yesterday.”

“Expecting love letters?” he asked playfully.

If this was an open door, I played it halfway in, halfway out. “Are you writing me one?”

“Maybe.”

Then he elbowed me and winked. I tasted the orange juice I’d just downed in the kitchen, and swallowed hard.

“We’re past our letter-writing days,” I said suggestively.

“I’ll keep that in mind for the future. So, besides the mailbox, where is it you run off to in the mornings?” Max asked.

I shied away from telling him about Metal Pete’s. It was something I hadn’t exactly disclosed in my emails, and I worried he wouldn’t understand my obsession.

“Uh . . .”

His eyes rolled up and away. His jaw set and he asked, “Do you go sit with Gray?”

“No!” I said quickly. “I’ll show you, but no commentary. Okay?”

“I’d rather know than wonder.”

I retrieved two helmets from the garage, and we climbed on the Spree.

“Did you choose this instead of a car because of riding motorcycles with Trent?” he asked as we pulled into Jenni’s parking lot at the Donut Barista.

“No. Maybe. I never thought of that.”

“Any luck driving?” he asked.

“Nope.”

“You’ll get it,” he said as we walked up to the barista shack.

“Ooh, I’ve been waiting for an introduction,” Jenni said, leaning out the window.

“Jenni, this is Max.”

“As in Maximilian,” she cooed, making Max blush.

“As in Maxwell, ma’am,” he said.

“Well, what does Maxwell love to drink?”

He let me choose for him. I ordered the usual plus a Pacho Nuevo black coffee blend and two crullers.

“Well done,” he said as Jenni left to prepare our food. “So . . . you talk about me to your barista?” His cheeks were as pink as the sunset.

“Yes. And I call you Maximilian.”

We left Jenni’s loaded down with sugar and caffeine. I wagered we’d need both for Max’s first Salvage Yard experience. Lord, I hated to break his smile.

When we rolled into Metal Pete’s, Max had questions he didn’t ask. I watched the way his eyes narrowed and he surveyed the rows of cars. Headlight trotted out to greet me, and I introduced them.

There is something about dogs. They understand. Better than most humans. Headlight nuzzled Max with the best of her affection. Pre-love for the trip to the Yaris.

We walked to the office. Metal Pete wasn’t there, so I left a note on the door and explained to Max that this old yard was my sanctuary.

“You come here every day?” Max asked, sipping the coffee.

“Most of them.”

“What do you do?”

“Well, I talk to Metal Pete, look for cars, and . . . I sit by the Yaris.”

“Trent’s Yaris.” His voice rose in surprise.

“Yeah.”

“Jesus.”

“I know it’s weird.”

“It’s . . . unexpected,” he said carefully.

“I look for courage here.”

Max’s eyes roamed over the lot around us. He took in the decaying metal field and said, “And you find it?”

“I find something.”

I thought he was disgusted with the idea, but he took a doughnut from the bag, held it firmly between his teeth, and said, “Show me,” as he chomped down.

Headlight walked between us as we made our way to the row where the Yaris lived.

“This place is like a cemetery.”

“No. In a cemetery everything is final. This place is like a huge spare-parts store.” I pointed to a totaled Camaro. “See. Those side mirrors, the tires, the steering wheel, maybe the bucket seats, plus who-knows-what under the hood: all of it’s salvageable.”

“Is there stuff missing from the Yaris?” Max asked.

“You’ll see.”

When we got to Trent’s car, Max walked around it several times. I didn’t disturb him. He needed this moment the same as I’d needed mine. Headlight trailed behind him, always within petting distance. Max opened the door to what was once his seat. It creaked angrily, but he and Headlight crawled inside and sat on the floor, since the backseat was gone. It must have been ninety degrees in there, but he showed no signs of moving.