The Lies About Truth(9)
Mom says they feel guilty for causing the wreck, which I get, but losing them, and Trent, and even you (in a way) is too much for me right now.
Sadie
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: July 30
Subject: RE: No Skype, Please
Max,
The fact that you can’t see me helps big-time. It’s easier to email someone the truth when you know you don’t have to face him. Maybe if Gina and Gray went away, it would help. Maybe I’ll go away instead.
You and I didn’t hang out as much as Trent and I when you lived next door, but it’s nice to have something new that didn’t exist before our world hit the spin cycle. Mom says painful events are life’s wrecking balls—they make doorways that let some people out and others in. I guess these emails are me putting a welcome mat at the foot of the rubble and whispering, “Max, come on in.”
That’s scary, but it’s helpful. If that is ever too much pressure, let me know. Something about this feels right. Or maybe it just feels easy.
I need some easy.
Other people mean well, but they don’t, or can’t, understand. They ask how I’m doing and it’s awkward because I don’t have a clue. There are two parts to the question: 1. How am I doing physically?
2. How am I doing without Trent?
I don’t know how to answer either. Do you?
As for number two, this is my guess: He was your brother. He was my friend. I know exactly how you’re doing without him. I take how I feel and multiply times a billion.
Sadie
CHAPTER SIX
I humbled myself the next morning and asked for a ride to the airport. That ask went down better than expected. Mom was as ecstatic to see the McCalls as I was. She even offered to straighten my hair and do my makeup—an offer I happily accepted. I’d take all the help I could get.
About forty-five minutes into the process she threw down the eyelash curler and said, “Looking good. You want nail polish, too?”
“Nah, I’ll just chew it off.”
She smacked my hands away from my mouth. “It’s Max. You don’t have to be nervous.”
“That’s exactly why I’m nervous. I don’t want to screw this up.”
“Flip your head over a few times.”
I did as instructed. When I straightened back up, she set a straw fedora on my head and tweaked two rogue strands into place. “Beautiful,” she whispered.
I stuck my feet in a pair of sandals and said, “Let’s hope Max agrees.”
Mom placed both hands on her hips. “If he doesn’t, he’s fired.”
I laughed and thanked her.
“Hey, it’s what I’m here for.”
Mom took advantage of getting me out of the house, doting on me, treating me to a meal at the pier (dark, corner booth) and gelato (chocolate). We were almost late to the airport.
Was it against the rules to buy a guy flowers? It was either roses, magazines from the Hudson News stand, or ten bucks toward something sketchy from the refrigerated case. I couldn’t show up empty-handed after a year, so I went with the roses. Yellow, because yellow was more masculine than pink.
“Yellow means friendship,” Mom said.
“Dammit.”
Mom laughed. “Max probably won’t know that.”
I stared a hole through the arrivals board from my corner of the small waiting area. Mom plopped down in one of those uncomfortable leather seats, tapping her foot while she checked email on her phone. When flight number 4563 from Miami changed from On Time to Landed, I came and stood next to her. Right on cue, my phone buzzed in my pocket.
Max: On the ground.
Me: Waiting area!
“You ready?” Mom asked.
“I’m . . . not sure,” I admitted. My hands poured sweat, and I wiped them on Mom’s shoulders to demonstrate. I figured she used to spit-clean my face in public, and paybacks were a bitch. She gave me an “Oh, gross,” but smiled the whole time.
“You look great,” she promised.
“We did our best.”
To keep from pacing, I tucked into a ball at her feet and smelled the roses. They were sure to make Max laugh—a nice way to kick off his return. Perhaps a distraction from my face.
Max: At the gate. Warning! I smell like a plane & I sound like an engine.
Me: I don’t care.
Max: Smiles
Mom and I stood up, anxious. Sonia appeared first and waved.
“Hey, Sadie! Hey, Tara! I’ll be right there.” Her voice stretched down the monochrome hallway to greet me before she darted into the women’s restroom.
Behind her was Max. I nearly collapsed at the sight of him. When Max left for El Salvador he was five six and 175 pounds; I never dreamed he’d return at over six feet. Stocky and boyish transformed into lean and ropy and . . . sort of hot.
Hot. (adj.) a word I never expected I’d use to describe Max McCall.
The closer he came, the more I realized he looked nearly identical to Trent. I lowered the fedora, ensuring it fully covered Idaho, and prepared myself for his examination. Max half jogged, half ran toward the security exit and flipped an apologetic wave to the TSA lady guarding the Point of No Return.
I imagined the TSA lady smiling at him, loving her job of witnessing reunited families.