Heart on a Shoestring

by Marilyn Grey

  “Okay. Fair enough.” She paused. We held the phone to our ears in silence for a few minutes. I heard her pay the cashier, walk out of the store, and shut her car door, but we still said nothing. We did that sometimes. Enjoyed knowing we were there without the need to speak. Eventually she broke the silence. “I want you to know that I will always, always be here for you. Okay? I will never tell your secrets to anyone and I will always be on your side.”

  “Thanks, Miranda.” I smiled, wishing I could see her face. “Take a picture of yourself and text me. I’m gonna get a quick shower and maybe get some groceries.”

  We hung up. Her picture came through a few minutes later. I dropped the phone. Picked it back up. Stared for a few minutes. Then typed back, You were beautiful with pink, purple, blue, and green hair, but right now you are stunning. Stunningly normal. :)

  I took a shower and read her text after I got dressed. Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Turtle. Best buds forever.

  I needed to win her heart. And if that meant spilling my own all over the place, I guess that’s what I needed to do.

  Another text came through. I wear my heart on a shoestring. And so do you.

  Me: But you wear those converse shoes or some kind of heel. And neither of those have shoestrings.

  Miranda: Exactly.

  Me: Does that mean we keep our hearts far from reach?

  Miranda: Yes.

  Me: What about your date?

  Miranda: I have been with many people. Too many. I enjoy that fun first kiss feeling. But I’ve kept my heart on a shoestring. Far from anyone’s hands.

  Me: Why waste your lips on people who won’t admire them forever?

  Took her a while to respond. Something changed between us. Almost overnight. Before we spent more time bickering and annoying each other. Now we talked about love and life. We were opening up our chests and revealing the hidden parts. I enjoyed it. Even if it was just a text message conversation, but her delay made me question her enjoyment. She got quiet for a reason. Maybe she sensed my growing desire for her and couldn’t receive it.

  She finally responded. Only it was her number calling mine. “Sorry. Matt called. He said Max is missing.”

  “Missing?”

  “He ran away.” Her voice quivered. “Max is my autistic brother.”

  “I remember who he is. What happened?”

  She didn’t answer, but her sobs pinched my nerves. I couldn’t stand hearing her cry.

  “I’m coming right now,” I said, then grabbed my keys and headed for my car. I put the phone on speaker and left it on my lap as I drove. She sniffed the entire time, but never said a word.

  Neither did I.

  A few hours later I parked. “I’m here.” We hung up and I texted Ella, I’m here again to help Miranda look for Max. Can I stay with you guys this week? Really not interested in another few hours of driving and I want to be here until he’s found.

  She responded. Of course. I’m with Lydia and her wee one. Gavin and Matt are already looking.

  I locked my car and stood on the curb, wondering how I ended up here. At a girls apartment. With my heart on a shoestring suddenly on my sleeve. Almost, at least.

  I walked upstairs and knocked on her door. She opened, wiped her face on her sleeve, and fell into my arms. I scooted in the door, closed it, and held her for a few minutes. Her hair smelled like a garden. I put my chin on her head and inhaled. She curled her arms up between us, her palms on my chest, and spoke. “It’s my fault.”

  “How is this your fault?”

  She shook her head and pulled away. “Whenever my dad screamed at my mom he always brought up Max and how his life was so much better before he came along. I was always the one to go into Max’s room to make sure he didn’t hear. If he did hear I’d sit on his bed and rub his back. When I chose friends and guys over him, he was never the same and when I moved out I don’t even want to know what happened with my dad.” She caught her breath. “My mom said they were arguing. The typical. And the next morning Max was nowhere to be found. I should’ve been there. I should’ve stayed.”

  “Miranda, he’s not your child. You aren’t to blame. What if you were married and had your own kids? You can’t always protect Max.”

  She still had her cast on. Looking for Max would be interesting. Definitely no hikes in the woods with that thing.

  “I think I know where he might be. It’s a place no one will know. Just Max and me.”

  “Let’s go then.”

  Ch. 15 | Miranda

  We drove to the doctor’s office and Derek parked, looked around, then shrugged. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

  I nodded, smiled. “When my mom had to work my dad refused to bring Max to his speech pathology appointments. Said he couldn’t afford to take off work either. So I’d take him. He loved the steps here, so we’d go up and down, up and down, about seven thousand times, and then sit at the bottom and eat lunch. I always packed his favorite things. He loved it.”

  We walked inside, our elbows touching as our empty hands swung into each other. I wanted to hold his hand, but I was never the type to reach for a boy’s hand. Made me nervous. Plus I didn’t know how to be around Derek. If my heart was capable of love, it would love him so much. Butterflies danced in my stomach at the thought. I calmed them down and led Derek to the stairwell, preparing my hopeful heart for my little brother’s face. Only he wasn’t there.

  Derek spun in a circle. I went up the steps and back down, then saw the paper in the corner, dirt smudged into the crumpled lines. I picked it up, turned it over in my hands, and smoothed it out. Derek leaned over my shoulder, his chest against my back. Magazine letters, torn and taped, formed words on the paper. I read them, cried, and read them again. Derek squeezed my shoulder.

  “My brother wrote this,” I said. “And he’s never said a word in his life. Never written one either. Till now.”

  “What’s it mean?”

  I looked out the window above us. Sunlight warmed my wet face. I glanced back down to the paper and read aloud. “She has my favorite pen too. I am searching, not lost.” I pressed it flat against my heart and turned to Derek. “My brother can speak. It may just be on paper, but he has a voice.”

  “What’s it mean though? Where is he?”

  “I think he’s looking for me.”

  “Where do we go?”

  “Let’s try all the places I would take him.”

  Derek drove to the next place as I called Matt. “Hey, I found a letter from Max. I think he’s looking for me. Derek and I are going to the park right now. Can you guys check a few places if I send you a list?”

  “Yeah, but what do you mean by a letter?”

  “He tore out letters from magazines and wrote something out. I can’t believe it. I know it’s him because he mentioned his favorite pen. I took his pen by an accident when I moved. He must be looking for it.” I ran my hand over his colorful words. “I’m going to stop by and tell mom after the park, if he’s not there. Police still searching?”

  “Yeah. In rivers and lakes. Make sure you get in touch with mom. She hasn’t gotten out of bed since.”

  We hung up. Derek turned the car off in front of a small park. One slide, two swings. That’s it. Max and I spent many summer afternoons on those swings. His laugh filling the sky as we swung higher and higher. We’d walk from our house. It had been years since I sat on those swings. I still couldn’t forgive myself for spending so much time with boys and ignoring Max. Years and years. Wasted. Gone. Never to return.

  Maybe this was my chance to make it better. Maybe even Max knew that. We got back in the car but Derek didn’t turn it on. He stared out the front window, a blank expression hugging his face. Hands in my lap, I waited. I knew him well enough to know he needed a few minutes to think before speaking about something important. I wondered if he’d finally open up to me.

  “Can I ask you something?” he said, still looking ahead.

  “You don’t have to ask.”


  He cleared his throat and leaned back into his seat, spread his legs, then brought his knees together again. “Your God. Why does he create evil?”

  “He doesn’t.”

  “But”—he waved his hands in front of us—“all of this. Your autistic brother. Your rotten dad. Kidnappings. Gun fights. Who creates it all?”

  I pulled my non-broken leg up and slid my foot under my other leg, leaned back as well, and noticed my reflection in the side mirror. “We create evil. I think God just allows it.”

  “What kind of God allows all of this?” He sighed. “Is this really someone you want to love?”

  “People should choose good on their own, not because they’re programmed to. And if they choose evil, so be it. God isn’t Hitler. He doesn’t force people to act a certain way. They can choose and I think it’s good to let them. Don’t you think the good we do is even more meaningful because we could’ve just as easily chosen to do something bad?”

  “You don’t think he made your brother autistic?”

  “Honestly, I have my thoughts about the cause of Autism and no, it’s not God. Once again, it’s people. What we’ve done and continue to do to the world around us and in effect, ourselves.”

  He put the keys in the ignition, but didn’t twist. “But why would he allow it if he loves people? Why even create them? Why not end it all and be done?”

  “I don’t have answers, Derek. All I know is he allows it and I have a feeling it’s to make us better people. Think of your favorite stories or movies. There’s always evil. There’s always something for the good guy to overcome. Otherwise he’s not a hero, right? If all we do is spend our lives being served pancakes and pleasure, what kind of hero will we be? I think it’s a gift. We get to fight for stuff we love. Instead of getting it all on a silver platter.”

  “That still doesn’t make sense to me.” He finally turned the car on. “And if that’s true, how come you spend so much of your life choosing fun and games over the things that matter? Why choose pointless relationships over the real deal? What are you afraid of?”

  His words sliced into my chest and punctured my heart. I almost bent over in real pain, but I couldn’t. Frozen, I watched the park disappear as Derek drove to my parents house. He knew me. And he wasn’t afraid to challenge me. Not many people cared enough to argue with me. To question my choices. Still, I battled between feeling loved and hurt. Misunderstood.

  Don’t go there, I told myself. Not to the land of the misunderstood.

  I perched my elbow on the door frame and let the wind tug my hair. “Thank you,” I said. Eyes closed, hair covering my eyes, I imagined what life would be like if I didn’t fear commitment and rejection. How much could I love if I allowed myself? Would I be a hero or a coward?

  Derek tapped his steering wheel and parked the car. “Tell me, what if you are the one who creates the evil? The one who does horrible things the complete opposite of love? Then what?”

  “Are you implying that I do that?”

  “No. Not at all. Just wondering what happens to the villains.”

  “I guess it depends on whether they can say sorry or not. And really mean it.”

  “What if they do, but it haunts them every day after?”

  I reached for his hand. It shook so bad I thought it might fall off his wrist. He looked down. Serious. Almost stoic. But I knew underneath of his mask he felt something. He probably felt more than me.

  “Let’s go in,” he said, avoiding exactly what he knew I’d ask next. That’s okay though. I let him. Sometimes it’s better to wait. To hold your breath a few seconds longer. It’s scary to die, but sometimes it can be even scarier to live.

  He walked behind me. Up the tiny sidewalk lined by flowers and bushes. I knocked on the door. Waited. Clenched my teeth and tightened my jaw.

  Dad answered. Opened the door and walked back to the TV. Not as bad as I imagined. Derek followed me to Max’s room. “Wait here,” I said, then walked to Mom’s room.

  The door creaked as I opened it. She sat on the edge of her bed. Arms crossed over her chest. Hair dangling in front of her face. I moved closer. “Mom.” She shook her head. I sat beside her. “Mom, I think I may know where he is.”

  “It’s my fault. All of this.” Pain seeped from her words and landed softly on my heart. I could relate. “I wanted another baby. Your father didn’t know I stopped taking the pill. He doesn’t know to this day. Thinks I got pregnant while taking it.” Her arms tightened around her body. “I didn’t know. If I had known everything Max would go through I would have stayed on the pill.”

  “Max is here now. You can’t stuff him back in the womb. Why would you want to anyway?” I put my arm around her and rested my head against her shoulder. “Why don’t you come with us? Help us find him.”

  “Your father won’t let me.”

  I huffed and stood. “I’ve had it. This is not right.”

  She didn’t look up as I stormed out of the room and downstairs. Derek stepped to the top of the stairs as I reached the bottom. I stood between my father and the television, arms at my sides, hands tightened into fists, and calmly, carefully chose my words. “I believe there is good in most people, but not you. I hate you. I hate what you’ve become. What you’ve done to this family. To mom. To me. To Matt and Mike and Max. You’re selfish, mean, and the worst excuse of a man I’ve ever seen.”

  He stood. A crystal clear violence glazed over his eyes. The anger of a weak man masked with strength. I raised my chin and stared into his eyes. The vein in his forehead throbbed in the shape of a V. Derek, quiet as a winter night, stepped into the room. I saw his shadow move behind my dad, who now gripped my neck with thick, calloused fingers.

  “I brought you into this world,” he said. “I have no problems taking you out.”

  “I’m not afraid of dying.” I pushed the words around his hand on my throat. “I’m afraid of not living. And no, it’s not just your sperm I thank for that. I thank God.”

  He squeezed my neck, cutting off oxygen and forcing me to gag. I didn’t care. Stared him down as my face filled with warm blood. He lifted me and pressed me against the wall by my neck. “If you were a boy I’d kill you.”

  Derek grabbed his arm and yanked his hand from my neck. “I’m a boy. How about you kill me?”

  Dad spit in Derek’s face and rolled his hand into a fist. “Who the hell are you and who do you think you are?”

  “Kill me.” Derek stepped closer so there was only an inch between his chest and my dad’s. “If it makes you feel good, go ahead and kill me.”

  Dad shoved Derek’s chest with both palms, yanked me by the arm, and forced us to the door. “Come in the house again and I swear I will rip the flesh right off your faces.”

  I pulled myself from his grip and ran up the stairs. “Mom, you’re coming. Let’s go.”

  To my surprise, she listened. When we reached the front door Dad was nowhere in sight. Derek left too. Mom walked beside me, head low, shoulders hunched. I sat her down in the passengers seat and took my place in the back. Derek started the car and turned to me, smiled. Blood dripped from his left eye down to his jaw.

  “Are you okay?” I said, reaching for his face.

  “Are you?” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “What made him like that?”

  My mom shifted in her seat, raised her head. “Maxwell. He was always distant and quiet, but not like this. Not until Max.”

  “Has he hit you?” Derek said, pulling into the suburban street.

  “Never,” she said.

  “Max?”

  “No. Matthew stayed out later than curfew one night and Lenny waited for him with a brick. Knocked the poor boy out. Other than that, no physical threats.”

  “Except what he just did to Miranda.”

  Mom turned and looked at me, then back to Derek. “And your eye?”

  Derek nodded. “It’s not a big deal. Just a little concerned for Max. Is it really safe for you all to liv
e there with him?”

  “I can’t leave Lenny,” Mom said. “I could never.”

  And I could never understand why the heck not.

  Ch. 16 | Derek

  Miranda’s mother never buckled her seatbelt. Something about it bothered me. I always made passengers buckle up, but I couldn’t ask her. Not now. Not with her son missing and her husband straight out of Jackass Central. Excuse me. But who in their right mind holds his daughter by the neck and blames an autistic child for ruining his life? I’m not one to talk. I had my fair share of horrible deeds, but what the hell?

  My head throbbed, but I didn’t let the ladies know. Last thing I wanted was someone fussing over me. Miranda seemed hopeful. Believed we’d find Max and bring him home safe. Or as safe as that home could be. Me? Not as optimistic, but is that a surprise? An autistic teenager roaming Philadelphia didn’t sound promising, no matter how big the reward.

  Miranda directed me to the next place, my mind hanging on to the sweetness of her voice. Something about all this made me feel closer to her. I wanted to explain everything. Be free of David Bennett and possibly win her heart. But how? When? No time ever seemed right.

  I parked and opened my car door. Mrs. Ryan stayed in the car with no apparent intentions of moving. Miranda stepped out and linked her arm with mine, then wiped the blood from my face. Her eyes killed me. In a good way. Sent me to a place I longed to visit. A place I had yet to understand. All I knew is that place was the closest thing to paradise I’d ever seen. And I wanted it. Bad.

  We walked down a path alongside a creek and about ten minutes later stood on a covered bridge. Old. The kind of thing that rattles when cars pass through. A perfect location for photography.

  “What’s that?” Miranda said. I saw nothing except a squirrel, trees, and a muddied creek. She jogged to a tree and knelt down. “It’s gotta be Max. This is one of the magazines I gave him.” She flipped through the glossy pages. “And it has missing letters.”

  We scanned the area for a note. A sign. A teenage boy. Nothing. My pessimism kicked up a few notches. Her optimism almost burst her heart like a balloon in the hands of a toddler.