The Lies About Truth(66)

“Sadie.” Gina tried to stop me.

“We still messed up,” Gray said.

“You’ve given me a year of apologies; I still owe you a few more,” I said.

They nodded and slid closer together.

Max placed his hand on the small of my back, and as I continued, I inched toward his strength. “Guys, I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t tell me the truth. And that all those times when you apologized, I wasn’t listening. We lost Trent together, and I’m sorry it took me a year to start healing. And Max . . .”

“Hey, we’re good,” he said.

“We are good,” I said with a slight grin. “But I should have Skyped with you. Should have shown who I was and trusted you to see me the way you do. I was scared I’d lose you, too.”

He shrugged, as if it was no big deal. “I get to see you now every day. We’re all better than we were.”

“Hear, hear,” Gina said.

“Hear, hear,” we all echoed.

No blubber sessions followed. No conversations. We all filled up another cup and chugged.





CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE


Outside the Spring House, the sun scorched us. I lowered my sunglasses and squinted at Gray, who pointed in the direction of the gift shop. Woe to us if we didn’t commemorate the experience with a souvenir magnet.

Max used the coupon and bought two bottles of water. “For next year,” he told me, and dropped them into my bag.

“Who’s driving?” I asked.

They all paused nervously.

“Don’t look at me,” I said. “I drove the whole way here.”

Our laughter started as a peep and became thunderous. The three of them happily decided they’d share shifts on the way home.

Three hundred and sixty miles with Gina, Gray, or Max at the wheel was much quicker than one mile with me. Every time we stopped, we rotated seats. Shotgun controlled the radio, and whoever sat there kept us on a steady diet of hard rock and easy listening. We had musical whiplash by the time the radio died. After that, we told stories.

We laughed harder than I thought was possible. We cried some, too.

The tears led to talk of autumn and the future. Gray was headed down the road to Valparaiso for his freshman year; Gina, Max, and I had two more semesters at Coast Memorial. Bells and teachers and crowds weren’t so bad.

With friends.

About halfway home, I texted Mom.

Me: The Social Experiments worked.

Her: You better not be driving and texting.

Me: Not a chance.

Her: Be safe. I want to hear all about it.

I had plenty to tell.

Back at the yard, Metal Pete was still up and working in the garage. He slid out from under a Honda Civic and yelled, “So did you find the fountain?”

“Yeah, it was under a big sign that said ‘Fountain of Youth,’” I answered.

Metal Pete grinned. “Go figure.”

I gathered up my bag from the truck, ran the keys back to him, and scrubbed Headlight between the ears.

“You’ll tell me about it?” Metal Pete asked.

“Tomorrow, when I come to work.”

“Work?” he asked.

“I sort of need a job if I’m going to start driving again. Gas and insurance and stuff.”

He wiped a smudge of grease on my nose. “Does this mean I have to pay you real money?”

“Well, you can’t pay me in doughnuts,” I said with a laugh.

“Then I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.

When I got back to the group, we stood around as if we weren’t sure if the day was over or not.

“Thanks for going with me,” I told them.

Gina said, “We should try to road-trip somewhere every anniversary.”

We all agreed, but I wasn’t sure we’d follow through. Maybe we would.

Gina and Gray walked wearily toward her car, and I asked Max if he’d escort me to the Yaris. Max gave me a little chin-nod, and we trudged toward an aisle I’d been down many times.

“What are we doing?” he asked.

“You’ll see.”

He didn’t seem to need more than that.

Halfway down the Yaris’s aisle, we passed the Buick I’d written my list on the first day I brought Max to see Trent’s car. Wind had blown the dust around, but it hadn’t rained, so the list was still visible. Max ran his hand over the hood, erasing the list, since it was nearly complete. We followed the moonlight to Trent’s car.

“What are we doing?” Max asked.

“We’re leaving the rest of the past in the past,” I told him.

When we reached the Yaris, I asked Max if he needed a moment, but he said no. The old heap didn’t draw blood or tears from him as it had the last two times. Instead, Max walked around to the bumper and ripped away the top layer of an I Love Climbing sticker.

“I never asked where he got that,” I said.

“Souvenir shop in Denver. On family vacation. Right before the accident.”

“Did y’all climb?”

Max shook his head. “We tried. He was scared of heights so he bought a sticker and said he’d do it next time.”

“Sounds like him,” I said.

Trent, lover of star and sky. Fear couldn’t tie him to the ground anymore. I think Max and I were both considering that as he let the sticker curl in on itself and placed it in his pocket. Max was taking something with him. I was leaving something behind.