The Lies About Truth(57)

“I love this drawing,” Max said, taking it from me and holding it like a talisman. “I snapped a picture before you hosed it off.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I was in the hammock when you drew it. You kept repeating a phrase. Do you remember what it was?” he asked.

I didn’t remember, but I knew.

“‘Hold on. Hold on. Hold on.’”

“That’s right,” he said. “When you were drawing that, you had steel in your eyes. You had . . . mettle.”

“I didn’t have a clue.”

“You did to me.”

“I don’t even remember this moment,” I admitted.

“You don’t have to, because I do. That’s when I knew you had pain that looked like mine. We were in that car together. We lost Trent together. I didn’t have to go through the rest of life alone.”

“You’ve always seemed like you were okay. Sad, but okay.”

“Sadie, I was a thousand miles away. You can’t say everything in an email.” Max folded his body in half, practically burying his forehead in his knees as he spoke. “There are things I never told you, too. Like . . . I woke up one day in El Salvador, and I couldn’t breathe.”

He exhaled so hard that it felt as if it bounced off all the walls. “I just lost myself. I took off running, and I ran until I collapsed. I couldn’t get back up. My dad found me lying in a street. He carried me back to the compound in his arms.”

We were months past this pain in his life, and it sounded as if it had occurred today.

“You could have told me,” I whispered.

“I wanted what I gave you to be the good stuff. That’s why I disappeared this weekend. Stupid. I was angry and hurt and . . .” He stood up and looked at me and then focused again on the photo. “I forgot how strong you were. I’ve been forgetting for a while. The picture reminded me.”

I wanted to ask about Big. If that’s what he meant when he said he’d been forgetting for a while, but I didn’t want to ruin this moment.

I chose to say, “You can just be you.”

His voice was on the brink and he went back to minimal answers.

“I know.”

“How was Callahan?” I asked.

“Happy I knew.” Max’s eyes misted over. “He loved my brother.”

“We all did,” I said.

Max pointed to the blanket fort I’d made in the corner of the room, put a finger to his lips, and said, “Let’s not talk about Trent right now.”

I followed him to the floor and through the entrance.

“You want me to read to you?” I asked.

“Nope.”

“You want me to tell you something?”

“Nope,” he said. “I want you to tell me everything . . . tomorrow.”

I imagined him grinning. I imagined me grinning. I didn’t have to imagine us happy, because we already were.





CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN


In the early dawn, Max and I whispered back and forth about nothing. Talking about nothing was sometimes better than talking about anything.

“You never told me what your surprise was,” I said, poking him awake.

He yawned and asked, “What surprise?”

Even though he knew exactly which surprise. I dug my chin into his chest for teasing me.

“Okay, okay,” he said, stroking my back. “I was going to ask if you wanted to go to the Fountain of Youth Park on the anniversary. Thought it might help to get out of town, and I know it’s on your list.”

Suddenly, it clicked.

“You’ve been working on my list? Haven’t you?”

His hands paused midtouch. “I read your emails over and over. Memorized the things you wanted. Like the tank top and the park. You want to go; just like I know you’ve been working on driving with Metal Pete.”

“How?”

“I asked him.”

“You asked Metal Pete?” My voice climbed a ladder.

“Shh, we’re going to get caught,” he warned. “Yeah. Of course I did. I’d do anything to help.”

I tested Fletcher’s idea on him.

“What do you think about the four of us going?” I asked.

Silence.

More silence.

“Max?”

“If that’s what you want, let’s do it,” he said.

“You hesitated.”

“Five or so hours in the car with Gray—” he said.

“Ten or so hours,” I corrected, since we had to also drive home. “And I’m not sure I can do it either. I’m not even sure he’ll agree.”

“Well, I’ll bring the paintball gun just in case,” he said. “I’ve heard that works pretty well.”

Neither of us laughed. “That was a mistake. I shouldn’t have shot him.”

“He told you to.”

“That doesn’t make it right. But maybe this will.”

“For your sake, I hope he says yes.”

Later on in the day, long after Max slipped out my window, Gina and Gray agreed to meet Max and me at the Salvage Yard on the morning of the anniversary. Two days from now.