by Ann Aguirre
“I’d rather someone actually shot me.” But as Max’s dark gaze met mine in the mirror, a tiny smile curved his mouth. “Thanks. I want to look nice today. Prove everybody wrong.”
“Both the blazer and vest are on sale,” the salesman said. “The tie isn’t.”
“We’ll take all three. Can you cut the tags off before he comes up with a reason why not? He’ll wear the clothes out.”
Max grumbled as he followed me to the register. While the guy rang things up, I sent him off on a fool’s errand to look at handkerchiefs so I could ninja-pay. By the time he got back, I was already signing the receipt. His brows shot up.
“What the hell, Kaufman.”
“There’s no time to argue. The service starts in ten minutes.”
As expected, that motivated him; he rushed out of the shop and was starting the bike by the time I hopped on behind him. Wrapping my arms about his waist, I settled in, leaning my cheek against his back. Though I’d never admit it, this was the best part of the trip. I loved holding on to him, his stomach hot and taut beneath my curled fingers. Just out of the shower, Max smelled soapy clean, overlaid by the new smell of his jacket.
The funeral home was only five minutes away, and he parked close to the building. I suspected I hadn’t heard the last of this impulse-shopping spree, but Max had the sense to defer it. We slipped into the chapel as the minister walked slowly toward the podium at the front, pressing hands and smiling at familiar faces. I sat down in the back, expecting Max would join his family up front. Instead he nudged me to move over, granting him the chair on the aisle.
I wasn’t sure what I expected, but the ceremony was sedate. The minister gave a touching talk about meeting in the next life; there were three musical interludes and a very old man went to the microphone on a walker to talk about Max’s granddad. A few people sniffled but nobody cried. That seemed like the watermark of how nice you were in life. If people seemed okay with your passing, then you probably had some karmic restitution coming. Well, provided that the Hindus were right about reincarnation. Eli was a good guy. He might be somebody’s beloved new baby by now. How I wished I believed that. Certainty would be comforting.
While I was thinking about how awesome it would be to come back as a house cat, the service ended. Everyone filed up to say farewell, but I hung back. Max nodded, probably not understanding my hesitance, but he was good at picking up cues. Michael was one of the first through the line, and I smiled when he rolled toward me.
“Hey. Sorry about last night. I was really rude.”
“You and Max have some stuff to work out. I get it.”
“We do. But you and I don’t.” Okay, I definitely wasn’t imagining the flirty grin; I’d watched Max unleash it to devastating effect all through college. “You said you’re not his girlfriend, right?”
“We’re roommates, actually. You should come visit sometime.” After I said it, I realized we were on the second floor, and Michael seemed fiercely independent.
“Are you from Michigan originally?”
“Chicago. It was quite a culture shock. I didn’t even drive when I graduated.” The L took me everywhere I wanted to go since I had no reason to venture into the ’burbs.
“And that was when?”
“Are you seriously asking how old I am?” Reluctant amusement sparked a smile, one that Michael returned with interest.
“I’m curious. Sue me.”
“Twenty-one. If things go well, I’ll graduate this year.”
“Yet you don’t sound excited.”
“Eh, I’m a business major. It’s not the employer catnip that it used to be, so I’m not looking forward to working at Starbucks. And, wow, you’re good at this.”
“What?” He opened his eyes, innocent, but I wasn’t buying it.
“Charming information out of people.”
“You think I’m charming?”
Max joined us in time to hear the question. “Are you hitting on my brother again?”
Smart not to call him “little.” You’re learning.
“I’m just laying the groundwork, so he’ll remember me fondly when he’s legal and I’m the antisocial cat lady living in your basement.”
Michael answered before Max could. “I think you’re shooting too low. You could totally swing ground-floor accommodations if you lean in.”
Since I only knew about that book because of a sitcom and Google, I had to give him a fist bump for that one. “I’ll try not to let you down.”
“You want to ride with me to the cemetery? Dad’s going with Uncle Lou.” The offer included both of us, so I glanced at Max.
Ah, the mysterious uncle I didn’t meet last night.
“Yeah. If you’re sure it’s okay.” The hesitation in Max’s tone broke my heart because I knew exactly how long he rolled around last night, memories chewing him up from the inside.
“I’d rather not go alone.” Michael spun around and headed for the exit.
Up front, the casket was being removed out the side door, but we didn’t stick around to watch it happen. Michael opened the rear doors and unfolded the ramp, then wheeled up to the driver’s seat. Max and I hopped in, then pulled it up after us and closed up. I sat in back, leaving the front to the brothers. They talked quietly during the ride, and I tried not to eavesdrop.
Max, you should tell him.
The drive took almost forty minutes, and I texted with Nadia most of that time.
So Angus tells me you ran off with Max.
Yeah, we figured we’d get our first trial marriage out of the way early.
You realize I’m completely helpless without emoticons. You might be in Vegas right now!
I’ll explain later. Everything’s okay.
She texted me three more times but I ignored those. Max finally glanced over his shoulder. “Who’s beeping you so hard, Kaufman?”
“Some things are just too private to share,” I teased.
“Are you sexting?” He lunged for my phone.
To keep the joke going longer, I shoved it down the front of my dress and smirked at him, brows up. “How bad do you want to know?”
For two heartbeats, he considered going in. But then he mumbled something unintelligible and turned around.
Michael checked the rearview as I fished my cell out of my cleavage, then offered, “I could find out for you, bro.”
Before things could get weird, I said, “I’m not sexting, it’s Nadia. She just wanted to know what’s going on with us.”
“Ah. Tell her I said hey.”
“Who’s Nadia?” Michael asked.
I told him about her, along with Angus, a rambling monologue punctuated by occasional remarks from Max. By the time I finished, the convoy reached the cemetery, well outside the city limits. The trees were probably gorgeous in fall, but it was pretty in late summer, too, green and well-kept. But it was hard to follow Max up the path, harder to see Michael struggle and know it would only piss him off if I offered to help. From this distance, I could see the tent, the coffin on burial scaffolding, a hole in the ground, the folding chairs set up on outdoor carpeting. They’d moved all the flowers from the funeral home, arrayed them around the coffin, so the breeze hit me in the face with the scent of sweet decay.
We were among the last to arrive, and this time Michael hung back with us. The funerary rites were mercifully brief; since the weather was muggy, hot and overcast, I’d have hated standing there for an hour. The wind died down, hinting at the prospect of a storm after nightfall. Maybe it would clear the air. One way or another we could use it.
They lowered the coffin and Carol tossed a flower into the grave. As people started to leave, I shifted, wondering if I should suggest...something. But really, Max needed to take the reins and sort out his family business without my intervention. So I kept quiet.
“What’re you doing now?” he asked his brother.
“There’s a potluck at the house,” Michael said. “If you want to come.”
&n
bsp; His first reaction came in the form of leaping pleasure shining in his dark eyes, quickly dulled to uncertainty. “I don’t know if—”
“It’s not at Pop’s, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ve been living with Uncle Lou for the past four years.” Though his tone was offhand, I sensed there was a boatload of a story behind that decision.
“Four years...” Max wore a stunned expression, so much that I put my hand on his arm, steadying him. “All this time, I thought I couldn’t talk to you, see you. Not even to apologize.”
“What?” Michael stared at him, equally flummoxed.
Tell him, I ordered with my eyes. In their shoes, I would’ve had this talk last night, but no, they only blabbed about the bike, apparently. This offer felt akin to falling on a grenade—I disliked their dad that much—but they needed some privacy.
“I’ll get a ride with your uncle,” I said. “Catch you later, Max.”
Before he could argue, I hurried across the grass toward Mr. Cooper’s retreating back. The man beside him must be Uncle Lou; he was both shorter and wider. I caught up with them, out of breath, and nearly tripped over a headstone. Uncle Lou had a kind, jowly face with deep-set eyes with pouches under them. His nose was bulbous, but I could practically taste the kindness in him. He was also older than I’d expected, probably Max and Michael’s great-uncle. Which made the deceased granddad his brother.
“Can I beg a lift? Max and Michael need some time.”
“Of course, sweetheart.” Normally it pissed me off when men immediately defaulted to endearments; with Uncle Lou I didn’t mind. I’d probably even eat a butterscotch if he fished one out of his pocket.
“You go to school with Maxie, do you?”
If anybody heard that nickname when he was a kid, ten to one they called him Maxipad.
I was basically ignoring Mr. Cooper at this point, and he seemed to be returning the favor, walking a bit ahead. So I yielded to the urge to brag about Max. “Yeah. He’s doing really well in engineering, works part-time at a garage on weekends. It’s amazing what he’s achieved completely on his own.”
Mr. Cooper’s shoulders squared. Yeah, I hope you’re listening, asshole. Suck on that.
“I’m so proud of him. Carol tells us what he emails to her, but he has the idea nobody in the family wants to hear from him because of what happened to Mickey. And the nonsense Charlie spouted right after the accident, of course.” Uncle Lou sighed. “But I’m sure you know how stubborn Maxie can be. He gets an idea lodged in his head and nothing short of an earthquake can shake it out.”
“He still blames himself,” I ventured quietly.
“None of us do. I slammed into a parked car once because I dropped a sandwich. Now, that’s stupid. I can only imagine how I’d feel if somebody got hurt.”
Mr. Cooper picked up the pace, probably trying to get out of earshot. I watched him go, wondering how he lived with himself. He’d kicked one son out and then couldn’t look after Michael after he got out of the hospital, just went on drinking like it was his reason for living. The whole situation made me angrier than I could recall being in my whole life.
Uncle Lou studied my face with the air of an adorable, aging basset hound. “It’s a mess, no two ways around it. But I hope we can clear up the misunderstanding while Maxie’s here.”
“I hope so, too.” We were nearly to the car when I gave up and asked the nosiest question of my life. “What, exactly, did Max’s dad say that night at the hospital? I know Max left home right after, but—”
“Honey, I think you already know this, but...that story should come from Max. And it’d do him good to get it off his chest. When he’s ready, he’ll tell you himself.”
Maybe, I thought.
And the prospect blazed through me in a shower of joy.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Uncle Lou drove a white vintage Cadillac. By its size, it probably dated from the ’70s and got terrible gas mileage, but it was smooth riding in the back. Max’s dad didn’t say a word to either one of us on the way to the house, which made me wonder if he’d honestly hated me on sight, or if it was the old conflict with Max coloring his impression. People didn’t always like me, obviously, but they seldom reacted with such immediate and virulent antipathy.
It took forty-five minutes to get to Uncle Lou’s house, which was in Coventry, not Providence. When he turned into the driveway I realized we were there, though the line of cars should’ve clued me in. A white bungalow with detached garage proved to be our final destination; there was even a picket fence and a big deck out front with a ramp leading up. Neighbors and well-wishers were waiting when we got out of the car and strangers hugged me without asking how I knew the deceased. A kind-faced woman pressed a plate of food into my hands, and I took it reflexively, bewildered.
I had some kind of fritters, a Jell-O-and-whipped-cream salad, cold cuts, a helping of casserole that I couldn’t identify. This was the random assortment of food people showed up with after a family death, hoping to make life easier for the survivors. Shrugging, I ate the fried thing and settled in a glider chair on the deck. I’d never been to a funeral after-party before, which was what this felt like. When Eli died, I barely held it together through the services and then I went to bed and slept for two days. I missed nearly three weeks of school my senior year.
Half an hour later, Carol sat down beside me. “Did you lose track of Max?”
“He’s with Michael, hopefully resolving their issues.”
“Men,” she said.
“Eh.” I wasn’t fond of generalizations. “I know plenty of women who have a hard time articulating their feelings, too.”
Too late I remembered that was how women bonded, by being condescending about men. But I’d never participated in that tradition. People of both genders had equal opportunity to be idiots as well as emotionally evolved. I ignored the awkward pause in conversation, eating a bite of fruit salad. Carol stirred, as if she might get up, but then Mr. Cooper stumbled out of the house. From the smell, I could tell he’d fallen off the wagon.
“Where the fuck is that bastard?” He could only be talking about Max, who wasn’t there yet, thank God. “It’s not enough he crippled my Mickey, now he’s—”
His brother, Jim, clapped a hand over his mouth, dragging him back inside. The rest of the guests swapped nervous glances, as if they were thinking about bailing, but ten minutes passed, then Jim came out of the house alone. Relief pressed a sigh out of me, and tension drained from my spine.
“Sorry, folks. It’s been a rough day for Charlie.”
Everyone nodded, pretending to accept the excuse, but whispers about Mr. Cooper didn’t abate. Poor Max. His dad really is an asshole. But the rest of the family seemed okay.
Before much longer, Michael parked his Scion in front of the house, as the driveway was full. Max pulled up a minute behind; that was kind of a relief. There was no question that I was an interloper here, and the longer I sat, the weirder I felt. Plus, it was fucking hot. Sweat trickled down the small of my back when I stood up to meet him.
“You okay?” he asked, jogging up the ramp toward me.
“Yeah. You?” I noticed he’d discarded his blazer and vest, probably stowed in the bike’s top box, and his tie hung loose, tempting me to tug on it. If we were dating, I’d use it to haul him in for a kiss.
“It’s funny. For years I figured he hated me, blamed me for everything and that he wouldn’t believe me if I explained why I couldn’t be around. But in the end...he wasn’t even too surprised.”
“I’m guessing he knows your dad.”
Max glanced around. “Where is he?”
“Drinking again. Your Uncle Jim put him to bed earlier. I think.” Before I could reconsider the meddling impulse, I shared what Uncle Lou had said.
He stumbled back, his hand on the railing. “Are you serious?”
I nodded. “With one exception, your family misses you, dude.”
On closer inspection, I saw that he w
as actually trembling. I put down my plate as Max took my hand and led me around back. It was much cooler, more wooded, less landscaping, but there was an old swing suspended on a weathered frame. He led over me to it and sort of collapsed. Max leaned forward, his face in his hands. I rubbed his sweaty back, not really understanding this reaction.
When he spoke, his words were muffled. “This is nothing like I pictured. I thought I’d have to fight everyone—that it would be all anger and blame. I was...I was braced for that, you know? I’m used to fighting. But Uncle Jim and Aunt Carol, Uncle Lou... They’re so nice. And sad, too. Hurt, even. Because of me. Because I let my crazy-ass dad speak for everyone. Because I listened to him and cut ties without a second thought.”
“You were pretty young,” I said. “I think it’s enough you had the courage to come back. And I admire the hell out of you for making it right with Michael. You’ve been on your own since you were sixteen. I mean, damn. Instead of dropping out, you graduated. Somehow. I’ve always wondered how, man.”
Max straightened, but not enough to make me think he wanted me to stop, so I circled my palm up and down his back. His lashes fluttered, suggesting he liked it. “Technically, I did drop out. I raced off on the bike, ended up in a shitty no-questions-asked motel in Scranton. I worked fast food, barely squeaking by.”
“Your family didn’t call?” Okay, maybe they were all assholes.
“I couldn’t afford a cell phone.”
“Email?”
“I didn’t check much since I had to go to the library to use the computer, and when I did, I deleted them unread.”
“But...why?” He could’ve resolved this much sooner.
“I was afraid they were trying to tell me Mickey didn’t make it. Chickenshit, I know, but...it was like, if I didn’t read it, then it couldn’t be true. I know now, once he started getting better they got busy managing his recovery and figuring out where he’d live...because he finally told everyone else how bad it was with Pop.”
“You never said anything?”
