by Mariah Dietz
It’s been three years since I’ve seen Max. The random framed pictures of him hanging on the walls the few times I’ve visited Sharon and my memories do not do him justice. The sight of him is distracting. Really distracting.
Catching Emily as she wanders over to us, I head inside to stop myself from staring at him any longer.
“Did I hear a motorcycle out there with y’all?” Mom asks, taking Emily and hugging her.
Emily nods and her whole body seems to bounce up and down before my mom turns to me for confirmation.
“Yeah, Max is home.”
“Oh good! Sharon was worried he wouldn’t be back in time. I’ll have to make sure your daddy took enough meat out to grill. I bet those boys can eat a ton. I guess he had to go into San Diego to file something for school. Did you see Jameson and Landon out there too?”
My mind reels, trying to take in everything she just said, focusing on the part of them eating a ton. Is she saying that they’re coming over? I shake my head slowly in response. “Who’s Landon? How’d you know I met Jameson?”
Her lips curl into a knowing smile, but before I can ask anything more, Mindi makes her way inside, loudly complaining about how hot she is and about Kendall being too close to her.
“Ace, I’m grilling. You want to give me a hand?” My dad’s soft voice is hardly coherent over Kendall bickering, providing my answer.
“Are Jenny and Lilly coming tonight?”
“No, it sounds like Jenny and Paul are going through quite the rough patch again,” he answers with a sigh. Opening the lid of the already hot grill, he begins to scrape it clean.
“Dave!” Dad and I both turn, hearing my mom. She’s smiling her too happy of a grin, a sure sign that she has something up her sleeve.
My tension rises as the reality of her smile emerges from the house. Sharon’s following my mom, and right behind her is Max. His bright blue eyes are like beacons. My fingers constrict on the cushion of my seat as I work to avoid him and focus on Zeus, who’s close on his heels.
Instantly feeling a rush of self consciousnesses, I peer down at the navy blue shorts I’d thrown on this morning after my shower. I’m glad it was hot today, requiring shorts opposed to my trademark Sunday sweatpants, but my heart drums when my eyes seem to take too long to fall to the tops of my favorite pair of black Converse shoes.
I stand to greet them, carefully wedging myself between my dad and the chair so he covers nearly half of me. My dad’s a big man, standing at six-two and weighing around two hundred and fifty pounds; my five feet six, narrow frame is pretty easy to conceal.
“Sharon, I’m so glad you and Max can join us! Ace and I are just getting the grill ready!” Their long friendship that’s progressed from professional to personal is apparent in her warm smile.
To this day it’s not an uncommon occurrence for a woman to approach my father and shamelessly flirt with him, much to my sisters’ and my mortification. I know that my father’s attractive—he’s half Puerto Rican and half French—and it’s obvious that he stays fit when looking at his caramel skin. Flecks of gray sprinkle his thick, nearly black hair, which only adds character to him, and he has the warmest dark brown eyes I’ve ever seen. People often say I have his eyes, but I know without resentment that his blow mine out of the water. On top of his good looks, my father is the smartest person I know. But there’s just something inexplicably weird about having someone hit on your parent, even when they adamantly decline any advances. We all tend to be a little sensitive to this subject, but Sharon makes it overtly clear—and always has—that her friendship is completely benign.
“I can’t believe you guys are out here cooking! You must be exhausted,” Sharon says, turning to Max. “David, Kendall, and Ace just got back from France.” I work to keep my eyes focused on Sharon, rather than looking at Max.
“It may be an early night for me,” Dad admits with a grin.
“Eric called,” Mom says, handing me my renegade cell phone. “He said he’s running late … again.” Her lips press into a thin line, and her artfully sculpted eyebrows rise showing her displeasure.
“How is Eric?” Sharon asks. Before I can respond, she turns toward Max again and explains, “Ace is dating a young man in advertising that she met at school. They’ve been dating for quite some time now.” Max raises a large hand and rakes it over his short cropped hair that’s nearly black, then pushes it forward again before dropping it loosely to his side. His eyes focus on me as though he’s awaiting a response, and it takes me a couple of awkward moments to recall one had been asked.
“Yes, he’s quite ambitious,” my dad offers, apparently sensing my inability to speak.
“I do try!” I look up and smile as Eric appears on the patio dressed in a pair of plaid shorts and polo.
“I’m Eric, Eric Boyd,” he says, extending his hand to Max, before I have the opportunity to introduce the two.
“Max.” he offers, accepting Eric’s hand in what could quite possibly be the most awkward handshake ever as Eric vigorously shakes their joined hands with forced enthusiasm.
“Your mom mentioned you fish.”
Max keeps his eyes trained on Eric and nods. “Yeah, do you?”
“No, I don’t really have time for much these days.”
Eric turns to me and his grin grows into a full smile before he wraps an arm around my shoulders and squeezes me to his chest. “I’m going to have to confiscate all these old T-shirts when you move into your apartment in the fall. I can’t believe you still have them!”
“I can’t believe she wears them!” Kendall chides. Kendall’s always up on every fashion sense, from hair to clothes to the latest nail trends.
I look down at my old track shirt, worn and washed to the point that it’s soft and comfortable and shrug with indifference.
“Hey, Ace, can I borrow you a sec?” Kyle calls from the open patio door.
It’s not that I feel awkward per se, I just haven’t felt at ease since Max Miller joined us on the patio, so without a second thought I follow Kyle in through the house without looking back.
“Want to try your skills at another window? The neighbor locked himself out.”
“Last time you guys did this, you nearly got your face bitten off by a Doberman.” Savannah eyes me wearily, standing in front of the door as a barricade.
“Which neighbor?” We turn to see Max approaching us, tucking his cell phone in the pocket of his jeans.
I should be paying attention to Kyle’s answer, but I’m too distracted wondering who Max was talking to, wondering if it was a girl, and if the same parade will return now that he’s back.
“You should be safe, then. He doesn’t have any dogs.” He winks at Savannah, causing an irrational pang of jealousy in my chest. “Come on, we’ll see if I can fit.” Savannah slowly moves, allowing us permission to exit, looking slightly dazed by Max’s charm.
“You won’t be able to fit, dude. It’s a bathroom window,” Kyle explains.
Max doesn’t seem to find it necessary to respond as we cross the street to the Janes’s and loop around to the backyard.
“Alright, Jack, I think I found our ticket in,” Kyle announces.
“Hey, Mr. Janes.” I smile in greeting.
“You went and got the prettiest one. What, are you trying to make me feel even worse?” Jack replies gruffly. I doubt he can actually tell us apart; he has a tough time recalling how many of us there are.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Janes, with four older sisters I was often used to test theories, and small spaces,” I tease.
“How come I haven’t seen many of you around lately?”
“They flock to the malls, like moths to the light,” Kyle jokes as his eyes travel to the side of the house landing on our point of entry—a small bathroom window that’s slid open. The bottom of it sits at least eleven feet from the ground.
“Mr. Janes, where’s your lovely wife?” Max’s eyes are fixed on the same window.
“Oh, she�
�s inside, asleep in front of the TV with her hearing aid turned off,” He grunts, shaking his head.
“Kyle! I think something’s wrong with Emily!” Mindi’s scream has us losing focus on the window, and turning to look at Kyle.
“She’s pregnant, and it hasn’t been a good day. I’m sure everything’s fine, but I should probably go check. Do you guys think you can handle this?” Kyle looks from me to Max apologetically before Mindi starts screaming his name again.
“We’ve got it covered,” Max assures him.
Kyle gives a weak smile and dashes out of sight.
“That isn’t from the pregnancy; she’s always been like that,” Jack mutters.
I smile and look over to see Max jump and grab the windowsill, watching as the muscles in his biceps and forearms become more prominent as he pulls himself toward the window with little exertion. I take the opportunity to study his left arm and the many tattoos that create a sleeve down to his elbow—a new addition to his appearance since leaving for Alaska. Max twists and tries to maneuver himself forward, but it’s quickly apparent that there’s no chance his shoulders are going to fit through the gap. He lowers himself back to the ground with a soft thud and looks over to me.
“Sorry, it looks like he was right. You sure you want to try this? I can go see if I can maneuver the locks or check other windows.” He looks down at me with reluctance apparent in his gaze.
“Kyle tried all that before going to get you kids.” Jack scratches his thinning gray hair as he looks over the back of his house. “I can just wait on the porch, eventually Ethel will wake up.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Janes. It’s no problem.” I assure him and turn my attention to Max. “I’m going to need your help though. I don’t think I’ll be able to pull off that Spiderman move.”
Max smirks and my breath catches seeing his eyes grow bright with humor. I consciously force myself to exhale, and then inhale again as I divert my attention back to the window that as I stand closer, appears higher.
“Alright, prepare to feel like Spiderman,” Max says, creating a stirrup with his hands. Using my right foot I pull myself up and shimmy my way through the narrow window, anchoring myself by gripping the side of the house and the window.
I’m directly over the bathtub, which is exactly what I’d been hoping wouldn’t be the case, because getting down will prove to be more of a challenge. I glance around the bird-themed room, trying to ascertain exactly how to ease my way in without face-planting in the bathtub and notice a small alcove where the soap and shampoo are nested. The cool tile tickles my fingertips as I reach toward the inlet. My muscles tense with the sudden panic that ensues as my grip on the windowsill slips. My stomach scrapes painfully against the windowsill as my hand rakes across the small space I’d been trying to reach in an attempt to brace myself, sending everything to the floor of the tub with an alarming crash. My scream echoes back at me as I feel Max’s hands grip my ankles stopping my descent.
I sigh in relief as the soap bottles continue to roll, clanging around the empty tub with the same loud volume that my heart beats.
A breeze rolls across my bare legs, and my skin, more sensitive to the cool air with the blood pulsating through my limbs from the adrenaline makes me abruptly aware of my short shorts, and uncomfortable positioning that has my butt and hips propped in the air.
“Are you okay? I’m pulling you out, this was a bad idea!” Max calls.
“I’m okay. Just a bruised ego.” My voice sounds strained and too loud from the pressure of the windowsill and the tile wall cutting into my stomach. “I just need to resituate.”
I carefully work to readjust myself, making sure to grip the house and windowsill so tightly my fingers ache as I slowly move and readjust until I have both feet dangling in the window. I reason that the easiest way in will be to jump the few feet inside and hope that I don’t slip.
My nerves from the near face-plant have me stalling a few breaths. The bathroom door flies open as I watch the shampoo bottle finally roll to a stop and see a flurry of purple and teal that causes my heart rate to speed up again. Thankfully my fingers are locked around the windowsill and frame from the first mishap, otherwise I would likely be on my backside in the tub right now. My focus clears to see all five foot nothing of Ethel Janes staring down at me from the end of a shotgun barrel aimed directly at my chest.
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you’d better get out of my house before I shoot you!”
My eyes sweep over hair that’s tightly pulled up in curlers and her purple and teal housecoat, zeroing in on knotted and arthritis-bent fingers looking unsteady as they shakily rest on the trigger.
“Ace!” Max yells, grabbing at my backside from the ground.
“Ethel, put that goddamned gun down before you shoot yourself!” Jack yells.
I’m immobile from fear as I watch the wheels turn in her head.
“Ethel, it’s just Ace. She’s tryin’ to help. I locked myself out again!” Jack continues.
Ethel’s eyebrows knit in confusion, like she isn’t positive that it’s really her husband yelling at her. I fight to create a coherent explanation over the fear screaming in my head.
“H-hi … hi, Mrs. Janes. I haven’t seen you in a while, but it’s me … Ace. I live a few doors down. David and Muriel Bosse’s daughter.” I work to keep my voice soft as I search her face for any sign of recognition.
“Dammit, Ethel, let the poor girl in and come unlock the door!”
“I’ll uh, I can go back out this way.” I motion to the empty space behind me.
Sneering, she maintains her aim. “You do that.”
I quickly scramble out the window, keeping my eyes focused on her, noticing that as I move her level of unease seems to increase. My upper body and one leg are out and my mind’s so focused on trying to keep my fingers, which are shaking and slick with sweat, gripping securely so I can pull my next leg free, I barely notice Max’s hand clasping around my freed leg. Leaning back so I can pull my second leg free, a deafening blast erupts from behind me and I lose balance. I half lunge, half fall from the window.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I prepare to feel the slam of the earth and instead feel two hard arms below my knees and back that feel more like two-by-fours than flesh.
He drops me to the ground and lays himself over me, resting most of his weight on his hands and feet, while his eyes dance rapidly over my face.
“Ethel? What in God’s name are you doing?” Jack yells angrily.
“Are you alright?’ Max’s eyes scan over my face in fear. I nod several times, and Max nods in turn like he’s trying to convince himself.
“She’ll be fine. Ethel couldn’t hit a fish in a barrel. But look at the hole she made in my house!” Jack groans as he elaborately waves a hand at the large hole blown through the siding.
Another deafening blast erupts above us, and I barely catch sight of Jack cowering in surprise before Max’s body shifts over mine again, blocking my vision with his shoulder.
He slowly lifts himself again and rolls so he’s crouched on his hands and feet, staring up to see the new hole a few feet from the first.
“Holy hell, Ethel, what are you doing?”
A loud clamber has me wondering if Ethel’s just managed to give herself a heart attack, or worse, shot herself. Seconds later, her face appears in the window, obviously stepping on something to look out. She appears unharmed, eyebrows furrowing as her eyes lock on Jack.
“Jack? How’d you get out there?”
“I’ve been out here. Weren’t you listenin’? I locked myself out, had to get the neighbor kids to help me. What are you doin’ with my gun, Ethel?”
“Taking five years off my life,” I whisper, dropping a hand to my forehead and closing my eyes as I release a loud sigh.
A soft chuckle makes the hair on my arms dance with his close proximity. My eyes open to his piercing cobalt blues inches from my own, close enough I can see the flecks of lighter
and darker blue around the edges creating a mesmerizing maze of blue that I’ve never seen before.
“You’re sure you’re alright? That first shot only missed you by a little over a foot. What in the hell are they doing with a shotgun?” Max’s demeanor seems to shift as he climbs to his feet. His body is rigid as his focus turns from the house to me before he shakes his head and rakes his eyes over my body several times ensuring that I’m indeed fine.
“You cut your leg.” He squats beside my feet.
“It’s not a big deal. I can hardly feel it.” Sitting up, I look at the small gash across my shin. “Once it’s cleaned it’ll be nothing.”
“ACE! ACE!” I quickly stand, hearing Kyle’s voice. “What in the hell’s going on? Are you guys okay?” His chest rises and falls with labored breaths as he stops in front of us with Caulder right behind him.
The police officer is apparent in Caulder as he steps forward with his hand clutched to the gun holster he always wears on his right hip.
“We’re okay. It was just a misunderstanding.”
Kyle doesn’t even look at me as I try assuring him. They’re looking past me, widening with horror at the sight of the Janes’s house.
His mouth opens, but words don’t come and I take the opportunity to attempt to smooth things over. “Let’s go. I’m starving,” I lie, placing a hand on Kyle’s shoulder and the other on Caulder’s. I gently push them forward, hoping to diffuse the situation before Caulder starts issuing citations and giving gun safety advice.
“I’m real sorry about that, kids. She’s been hearing all these stories on the news about people breaking into homes, and all the terrible ruckus they’re causing. It’s got her a little on edge.” Mr. Janes shakes his head and shoots us an apologetic grimace.
“You guys should consider mace, or another form of protection ... maybe calling the police,” Caulder suggests, turning around and looking between the gun holes in the wall, and to me. “You could have easily killed someone today.”
