“Fireworks for a benefit for a fire?”
“Jackson’s folks are raising over a 100 K tonight for the Malibu Fire Department. Everything they’ve spent money on is a tax write off. It’s a little over the top, but so’s the Ferrari.” He cradles my face in his hands and stares into my eyes. “I don’t care about that stuff, Maia. I haven’t cared about that since the accident.” He leans in and kisses my lips.
I reluctantly push him away. “Go.”
“I’ll see you at sundown next to the backyard pool. I’ll get us plates. By the way, we’re leaving here early. We’ve got better things to do.”
“Like what?” I ask.
He winks at me. “For me to know. For you to find out.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Javier fills in my eyebrow with a henna tattoo. “I heard what happened. You feeling okay?”
“For the most part, yes.”
“You got lucky,” he says, painting my face with brushes from tiny pots of color. He finishes and hands me a mirror. “What do you think?”
A sun, a moon and glittering stars fall down my cheek. I smile. “I love it. Thank you.” I dig in my purse and tip him.
“Go have fun,” he says. “You’re overdue.”
I wander off to explore Jackson’s parents’ estate before the sun goes down. I meander past a garden with fruit trees. I pass an herb garden accented with rose hedges. I close my eyes and inhale. It’s intoxicating. It’s as if Mother Nature created Her own potpourri and offered it to whoever longed for healing: ‘Hold this close to your heart. Breathe in its essence. This could make you well.’
A swimming pool is nestled adjacent to the gardens, peeking out from behind a barn-style garage. I walk the gray slate pathway toward it, curve around orange and lemon trees. This pool is smaller than the one behind the main house, as if it’s meant to be secluded for a person who deserves to be surrounded by trees and embraced by the scent of healing herbs and flowers.
Secure guardrails surround the pool. Not the kind of fence to keep people out, but rails to help people get in and out. A person with a disability. A lift platform accommodating a wheelchair is installed in the shallow end. This has to be Lauren’s pool. Jackson’s sister suffered a spinal cord injury when they drove off Malibu Canyon Road. The accident put her into a wheelchair and left her a paraplegic.
The sun sinks over the Pacific. I glance around and realize I’m the only person wandering this section of the estate. It’s a few minutes before nine. I’m supposed to meet Max back at the pool. I spot the rear end of a limo sticking out of the two-car garage. Its custom paint job is pink. I’m startled by a screech overhead.
The black sky lights up as a white flame tears into it and a firework explodes. Spider-like tentacles materialize from its center arcing down, and for a few moments I cringe as memories of the fire drizzle into my brain. It’s past time to meet up with Max.
“I’m surprised you didn’t figure it out, yet,” a guy says, and steps from the garage’s shadows in front of me.
I jump and see Jackson, hands in his pockets.
“Hey,” I say. “Your folks’ house is amazing. I could swear I’ve seen that pink limo before.”
“You have. You rode in it the night of my sister and her friends went shopping and graciously took you along.”
“Your sister?” Something’s off with Jackson. Maybe he’s had too much to drink. “I’ve never met Lauren. Although, Max told me about her and the accident. What a nightmare you all went through. I’m supposed to meet Max before the fireworks start. Can we talk later?”
He doesn’t answer. I turn and walk back to the main house. He follows.
“You’ve met my sister,” Jackson says. “Lulu told me all about you. You’re Blue’s friend, Maia. The girl from Wisconsin who’s in the MS stem cell study.”
I freeze. Max told me Jackson’s sister’s name was Lauren. “Your sister’s Lulu?”
“Yes,” he says. “Happy that you’re stealing away the guy she’s been in love with forever?”
“What do you mean?”
He guzzles his drink and tosses the glass. “Lulu’s been in love with Max since grade school. She’s in a chair, going through therapies, surgeries, experimental procedures. Finally, she’s seeing progress. Her toes are moving, the MRIs are showing positive results.”
“She told me. Lauren — Lulu — told us the night we went shopping for suits.”
“She’s a good girl,” he slurs. “But then, you waltz in here this summer, meet Max at the Grill, and,” he finger quotes, “‘hire him’ to be your Driver. Your bodyguard. The next thing we know is that after four years of being shut down he’s falling for someone that none of us know. He’s got his pick of any chick in L.A. and he’s falling for a no name girl from a no name family in Wisconsin.”
“Jackson,” I say. “There’s some kind of misunderstanding. I’m going to find Max. Why don’t we figure this all out tomorrow? Yes?” I turn and walk a little faster toward the main house. He grabs my arm and spins me around. He shoves me against a thick hedge. “Stop!” I say.
“You screw up all our lives and think that’s okay? It’s not.”
Fireworks rip through the sky and explode overhead.
I see Ethan in the distance talking on his phone. “Ethan!”
Jackson clamps his hand over my mouth. “I don’t want to hurt you, Maia. I just want you to go away. Forever. Could you just go away forever? And our lives can return to normal.”
Now I smell the alcohol on his breath. Now I see his eyes are dilated.
Red, white and blue fireworks pierce the layer of smoke from the fire that hovers heavy in the night sky. Ethan tears Jackson off me and we stumble. I catch myself before I fall but Jackson sprawls on the lawn a few yards away.
“What are you doing, asshole?” Ethan says. “Max will kill you.”
“I’m not doing anything that shouldn’t have been done a while back.”
Ethan puts a hand on my arm. “Maia. You okay?”
“Yes.” I shiver. “Thank you.”
“He’s drunk.” Ethan says. “I’m sorry.”
I nod. “Is it true about Lulu and Max? Did I screw things up for them?”
“I don’t know. I can’t keep up with who’s dating who stuff.”
I have this sudden, sinking realization that someday I’ll be the girl in the wheelchair. If I stay with Max, I’ll be a constant reminder of his painful past. Everything he’s worked so hard to leave behind will be shoved in his face. Every time he looks at me, he’ll be transported back to that awful time when he believed he was a monster.
Jackson picks himself off the ground and lumbers off. “I’m out of here.”
“Get your act together,” Ethan says.
Jackson waves ‘goodbye’ over his shoulder.
My cell buzzes and I pluck it out of my purse. It’s a text from my Mom.
“I’ve got to go, Maia. Someone needs a Driver back at the Grill,” Ethan says glancing down at his phone. “I’ll message Max. He’ll come get you. Everything will be fine.”
I read Mom’s text.
Mom: Nana had a stroke.
Mom: She’s not well.
Mom: Come home, Maia.
Mom: Now.
Mom: I love you.
“Ethan.” My knees go weak. “Take me with you.”
Ethan drives me back to West L.A. At first he tries to ask questions. “Did Jackson hurt you?”
“No.”
“Did you and Max have a fight?”
“No.”
“Anything you want to share?”
“No.”
I can’t talk about my grandmother to Ethan. Because, how do you tell a guy you barely know about a person you’ve known forever?
Max texts me over and over.
Max: What’s wrong?
Max: Are you okay?
I finally text him back
Maia: I can’t talk about it.
If I talk to Max about i
t right now I’ll just lose it. How do you pick words to describe the woman who recorded your first steps with a clunky video camera? The angel with a huge heart who attended every kindergarten ballet recital, grade school play, high school volleyball tournament? How do you say that my nana had a stroke? That she’s is in a coma two thousand miles away and might not make it?
I can’t find the words, so I don’t try.
I tell Ethan my address and stare in silence out the window the rest of the trip.
He drops me in front of my apartment. “Do you need anything else?”
I shake my head. “Thank you. Go yank that person’s keys away.”
He smiles at me from behind the wheel. “You’re a sweetheart. I hope whatever it is you figure it out.”
I feed Napoleon, flip open my laptop and book a red-eye back to Milwaukee. I yank clothes from my closet and pitch everything inside my suitcases. I collect the few framed photos, roll them in clothing and tuck those in as well. I pack the bathroom. I leave the food in the kitchen, write a note for Cole, and slip an extra key to my place in the envelope.
I shove it under his doormat, the edge peeking out. I call a cab. I look around the apartment. It’s empty, just like when I walked into the place a few months back. I slip Napoleon inside the cat carrier and he starts meowing as I set him on the front porch. I drag my suitcases to the curb.
Cole’s door pops open. “What’s going on?” He cradles Gidget in his arms.
“I’m going home. Family emergency.” I pick up Napoleon’s carrier and my purse. “I can’t talk about it. I left you a note and a key. Take all the food.”
“Okay,” he says. “When are you coming back?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you okay?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I’m sorry…” His eyes widen as Max’s Jeep rounds the corner with a screech. “Call me.” He steps inside his place and shuts the door.
Max strides toward me, dark, brooding. He doesn’t look happy. “I got a text that Jackson was a dick to you at the party. That he might have tried to hurt you. I showed up ready to kick his ass, but he was gone and you were too. Then I got a text that Ethan was driving you home.”
“That sounds about right.”
He points to my suitcases. “What the hell is going on?”
“It’s a family thing. I’ve got to go.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No. I’ve been thinking. You are finally getting over the worst thing that ever happened to you. And I realized tonight that I will always be part of that. I will forever be the girl who makes you remember that you once believed you were a monster.”
“That’s not true.” He paces. “You made me laugh again. Smile. You made me think that tomorrow could be an adventure filled with fun instead of something sad or tragic.”
“I have MS. And MS is a stupid, mean disease,” I say. “Someday, I might be in a wheelchair. And that’ll put you right back in the darkness.”
“That’s not true. I’m bigger than that.”
“I know you are.” My cab approaches. “You are bigger than that. I suspect you’ve always been bigger than that. You rescue animals, you rescue people. You’re a caregiver. You belong to the world.”
“That doesn’t stop me from —”
“You belong to every single soul that needs your help, because you’ve never forgiven yourself. Your mind and your heart and your entire life is still with that girl who died the night you drove over the cliff.” I shake my head and wave an arm at the cabbie, who pulls up behind the Jeep. “We had an amazing story that lasted for one magical summer, Max, but you’ll never belong with me.”
“I do belong with you Maia. Our story doesn’t have to end.”
“Our story’s complicated. Complicated stories usually end badly.”
The cabbie’s out of the car. “LAX?” he asks.
I nod. He puts my bags in the trunk.
“You can’t leave for good,” Max says. “You have to come back. What we have isn’t that complicated. It’s real and it’s simple. What we have is love.”
I will myself not to cry. Force myself not to tell him about Nana. I gaze at him, under the streetlight, the moon shining high behind him. He’s my dark beautiful angel without the wings.
He’s my Max.
And I have to let him go.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I stand on tiptoes and kiss his cheek. “Whoever writes the fairy tales never tells you that eventually the magic ends. Cinderella grows older, develops bunions and can’t wear her slippers. Snow White eats apple pies instead of just apples and loses her girlish figure. The Prince cheats on her. Sleeping Beauty develops insomnia and gets addicted to Ambien.” I place Napoleon’s car carrier in the cab.
Max takes my arm. “You and I are not a fairytale.”
My heart sinks as I realize what I have to do. “I forgot something.” I fumble through my purse, pull out my checkbook and a pen. “We have a deal. I promised to pay you for your services.” I fill in the date. My hand trembles. “Maxwell Levine. For—Bodyguard services. How much do I owe you?” I gather my false courage and gaze up at him.
His face turns crimson. “You’re freaking kidding me.”
“No. You rendered a service. I pay my bills. How much should I make this out for?”
“I don’t want your money.”
“Okay then.” I sign my name with a flourish. “I’ll let you fill in the amount.” I rip the check out and hand it to him. “Text me the total later.”
His eyes turn to ice and his face hardens. “This is how much you owe me.” He rips the check into pieces and drops them. He turns and strides back to his Jeep.
“We’re just a dream, Max. Eventually we wake up from dreams.”
Max gets in the Jeep and screeches off.
The cabbie pulls away from the curb. I wait until we round the corner before I start sobbing.
Mom texted that she’d pick me up curbside. The sun has already risen by the time I cart Napoleon to baggage claim. That’s when I see her. Tears stream down her face. And I know the worst has happened.
We don’t have a funeral for Nana. We have a party.
We hold it in the activities room at The Seasons Assisted Living Center. We serve an assortment of deli meats, cheese and crackers, and cupcakes. We have two punch bowls: one’s gently spiked with vodka.
We decorate a table with framed photos of Nana through the years: A young woman wearing red lipstick and a pretty dress, her hand draped casually over the arm of my grandfather. Her arm squeezed tight around me when I was five years old at my ballet recital. A group shot of Nana with her girlfriends from Assisted Living smiling, holding cocktails and toasting the camera.
Nana’s going away party has a terrific turnout. The spiked punch is so popular that I make a run to the liquor store for more vodka. When the place’s choral group delivers an acapella version of “Somewhere over the Rainbow” there’s not a dry eye in the house.
The event flies by in a flash. At the end, we clean up the room. I watch Mom to gauge how she’s doing. She alternates between smiling and crying, which seems pretty normal to me. We take down Nana’s pictures, wrap them in towels and place them in a box.
“She was so beautiful,” I say, swallowing tears.
“She was, indeed. A force to be reckoned with. Which is why I named you after her.” “You’ve got her spirit. Or as she recently liked to say, her ‘chutzpah.’” Mom pulls me into a hug and I wish I was a little girl who could stay in her arms for hours.
Two weeks have passed since that messed up night when I left L.A.
Blue texts me but I don’t have the heart to text her back. Cole messages me. Someone’s already moved into my former apartment and replaced the see-through curtains with vertical blinds, which he considers the biggest eyesore in the world. He’s also peeved that I moved out for good.
I hear nothing from Max. I text him vague, ‘Hey, it’s me chec
king in’ updates but he doesn’t respond. I gather my courage, call, and leave a voicemail when he doesn’t pick up. I don’t get into the details about Nana over the phone. It doesn’t feel right. He doesn’t call back.
A rep from the UCLA stem cell study emails me wondering why I’ve missed appointments. I email them back and explain what happened. They’re polite, but request I return as soon as possible for a clinical check in. I agree and book my flight.
Mom and I visit Nana’s plot to check the installation of her headstone. She’s buried on the top of a steep hill overlooking Lac LaBelle. She always loved the lake. Mom and I hold hands and watch the workers cement a pretty headstone into the ground.
“I’ll miss her,” I say
“Understatement,” Mom says.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have gone to L.A. Maybe I should have stayed here.”
“Nana wanted you to take that trip. She even financed it, against my better wishes, might I add.”
“Why didn’t you want me to go?”
“All the usual reasons. Your grandmother cornered me in the kitchen one day and said, ‘You need to let Maia go. She needs to stretch her boundaries and find her strength.’”
The workers finish up and nod at us respectfully as they leave.
“Thanks,” I say.
“Beautiful work,” Mom says.
“I tried everything to save her, Mom. Stem cells. Acupuncture. Vision Quest—”
“I know. She knew it too. You journeyed for her but she wanted that journey to be for you.”
“But maybe I didn’t do enough. Maybe if I had—”
“Stop. If Nana was here right now, she’d say, ‘Maia. My favorite granddaughter—’”
The Bodyguard Page 14
