“Tap what?” Shaking my head in irritation, I turn and stare into the devastated features of Holiday.
“Max?”
***
“Okay, boys and girls, everyone take a serving tray with the champagne and circulate through the guests. They are ready to make their toast. And remember, por favor, be careful with the stemware.”
With Carlos sending us through the double doors one at a time, I carefully balance a silver platter bearing six to eight flutes of champagne and make my way through the crowd. Since I was one of the last to leave the kitchen, I have to go almost to the center of the room before I find people who still need champagne for the toast. The massive space is filled with well-dressed guests, the women elegant in long evening gowns and the men impossibly handsome in black tuxedos. In the center of the ballroom, there is a small gap around three men in idle conversation. I recognize two of them from last night’s party. They leer as they recognize me. The third man has his back to me. I stop in my tracks. I don’t care if those men don’t have champagne. I’m not going any closer. Annetta sees my dilemma and circulates within reach of Mr. ‘Come-on-baby. You-know-you-want-it’ and his friend.
The host proposes a toast and I listen, but most of my concentration is on my tray to ensure the safety of the few glasses I hold. The name sounds...? No. I must have misheard.
“Small world. That’s the chick from last night. I’ll bet even you’d tap that, Army Ranger Maxwell Carlton Harper…the Third.” The two slime balls from last night raise their glasses and clink them together before tossing the contents down their throats.
“Tap what?” The elegant male with his back to me turns.
“Max?”
Time stops. I take in his beautifully tailored tux complete with orchid boutonnière, gold studs and cufflinks and the MHCmonogrammed on the French cuffs of his white shirt.
In mere seconds, my entire world unravels.
Max…my Max…is not the caretaker. He’s the owner’s son. Max has lied to me. Big Time. The silver tray falls from my nerveless hands and lands with a shattering of crystal. I turn and run.
“Holiday! S-stop! P-p-please!”
I make my way blindly through the crowd of people, down the empty hallway, through the kitchen, past Carlos and out the side door. Tears stream as I run past the cabana and the pool and down the paver path to the beach before the full realization hits me. I collapse onto the sand and tears flood my cheeks. My breath comes in sobs. The man I trusted with my heart lied to me. Was any of what we shared real? Had I simply been used? I can’t think. I’m too shattered. I must get out of here, and I turn to retrace my steps to The Wombat. The tall profile of Max stands in my way. I straighten, swipe at my tears and fight to quiet my sobs. I refuse to be anyone’s patsy—not even Max’s.
“You look really handsome, tonight, Max. You didn’t get those threads from Harvey’s Tux & Bridal Rental. What is that? Armani?” I shake my head. “Wow…what a surprise tonight, hey? I feel incredibly stupid. You’re not the caretaker, are you?”
“No. I’m s..s..sorry. You ass..assumed. I w..w..wanted to t..t..tell you.”
“Yeah? Sometime during the last two weeks, I think you could have found a time. So…what was I? A two-fer? Play a little “hide the bone” with the dog-walker?”
“N-n-no. N-n-ever. Hol…”
His face has shut down and his body has gone rigid. It’s as if it pains him to even look at me. I can’t control the tears anymore and they start to run in a steady stream down my cheeks. “You know… I thought we had something special going. At least…it was special to me. I'm in love with you, Max. But where do I go with that? I don't even know who you are. I can rock with a lotta stuff…but I can’t handle a liar, and you lied to me on a pretty basic level.” I swipe at my tears and try to tame the shudders that wrack my body.
“Hol…Holli…” Max growls and scrubs his face. He pats his jacket frantically and I realize he’s looking for his flip-pad and pencil. He doesn’t seem to have them on him. Maybe they ruined the fit of his jacket. “Hol…” His shoulders slump and he shakes his head.
“Yeah. It’s okay.” I shrug. “I get it. What’s to say, huh? I’m sorry if I embarrassed you in front of your friends, although I have to tell you, you need a better class of friends. How awkward for you that I created such a scene. I guess everyone has figured out by now you were banging the help. I think it’s best if I leave. Apologize to your mom about her glasses. I’m really sorry about that. I’ll find some way to pay her back. I’ll have to do it in installments, though. Will you tell my boss, Carlos, I had to go? He, ah, he worries about me.”
Max nods. He is so handsome it hurts my eyes. The ocean is beautiful tonight. The full moon lights the beach in a silver glow. It’s a night made for lovers. It’s funny the stuff you notice when you want to curl up and die. Max looks as miserable as I feel. Well, why not? He’s been mortified in front of all his friends. He’s losing his dog walker with benefits. There can’t be many of those around. He reaches for me, and I slip around him careful not to touch. I’d dissolve from the pain if I felt his warm skin on mine.
“Don’t…g-g-go, Hol, w-w-wait, puh…puh…” He looks at the sky and snarls.
I stop and turn to face Max. I wrap my arms around myself trying to hold the pieces of me together. It’s too late. I’m shattered. Even through all my sadness, I still love him. I don’t want to hurt him. “It’s okay, Max. Don’t strain your brain. I’d hate to be the cause of a seizure or something.” It occurs to me there’s someone else I won’t see anymore. “Do you still want me to exercise Snafu?”
He nods. “P-p-please.”
“Okay. I’ll be by in the morning. I’d appreciate it if you weren’t there.”
I turn and walk away. He doesn’t follow. I don’t know how I made it home.
***
Holiday’s soft voice can’t hide her devastation and those little choking sobs that she fights to control fucking tear me in two. I’ve been shit-kicked into my worst god-damn nightmare and I fucking did it to myself. Fury and frustration roil inside me. The words to tell her how I feel won’t come. I hear them eloquently spoken in my brain but I can’t get my mouth and tongue to form the shapes. This emotional cluster-fuck is the worst possible thing that could happen right now. I have to manage the stress or I’ll never be able to talk and I have to talk to her...make her understand. She is everything to me.
I reach for her but she slips around me and walks back toward the house. I’m losing her. “Don’t…g-g-go, Hol, w-w-wait, puh…puh…” I clench my fists, throw my head back and howl at the agony inside me.
She pauses. God, but she looks beautiful with the moon haloing her fly-away hair. She says something about not causing a seizure, and do I still want her to exercise Snafu? I jump on her offer. I’ll see her tomorrow. I can explain. I’ll stay up all night if I need to, figuring out what to say. I’ll write it all down.
“P-p-please.”
“Okay. I’ll be by in the morning. I’d appreciate it if you weren’t there.”
The pain is so intense I can’t move. Being blown up hurt less. She leaves and all I can do is stand staring out at the water, my mind blank. This can’t be happening. It can’t be.
Snafu finds me and then Dad. My father stands next to me and we both stare out at the ocean and the silver light of the full moon reflecting on the gentle surf.
“Was that your girl, Max? Holiday?”
I nod. “S-s-she’s g-g-gone…D-dad. I…c-couldn’t…s-s-stop h-her.” He enveloped me in a hug and I did something I hadn’t done since I was four. I cried on his shoulder.
Chapter Twelve
Three weeks later…
I push my flyaway hair out of my face, pop the tab on a Miller High Life beer and stare at the stack of required freshman books obscuring the top of my pedestal table in my “kitchen” at Studio 6. I raise the can in a personal toast and chug half. I made it through my first week of classes at Palm Beach Junior Colle
ge and I’m treating myself to an adult beverage to celebrate—a poor girl’s happy half-hour as it were. Several new friends invited me to join them at a local watering hole. I can’t summon the interest. Although I’ve seen no corroborating signs, I’m pretty sure I’m living through the zombie apocalypse. I know I’m a dead person walking. They say, ‘time heals all wounds’…or is it, ‘time wounds all heals’? Well, I guess not enough time has passed. The aching hole in my heart that my Max used to fill has definitely not healed.
After the events of the Sunday night that turned me into a zombie, I stayed awake—thinking and sobbing and thinking and sobbing. When morning came, I called Carlos, apologized for leaving like I did and asked him to loan me the rest of what I needed to make tuition. We agreed I could work it off. I’ll be working catering jobs for Carlos every weekend until I’m eighty-four. I figure working for Carlos is better than going back to the Harper estate. I couldn’t face the possibility I’d run into Max. It would like stabbing myself in the gut with memories. Max blew up my phone with texts, missed calls and even a couple of voice mails. I deleted them unread, unheard and blocked him. I don’t have the money to pay for that kind of overage and I was tired of crying.
A soft knock on the door brings me out of my reverie and I pull back the curtains to see who it is. For the first two weeks after the party, I had expected to see Max standing outside my door. It didn’t happen, so my expectation died. Now I’m simply curious. A distinguished-looking silver-haired gentleman in a navy Brooks Brothers blazer and khaki slacks smiles at me through the window. It’s Max’s dad. I recognize him from the party. I run my palms down my cut-offs to remove the beer-can sweat, take a deep breath and open the door. He stands on in front of me with a gentle smile on his face, his hands hanging relaxed.
“Miss Jones?”
I clear my throat and stand straighter. “Yes, sir.” He smiles wider and holds out his hand.
“I’m Max’s father. My wife calls me Harp. I wish you would too.”
I take his hand and shake it. “Um…I’m Holiday Jones, but I guess you already know that. Ah, just Holiday is fine.”
“Thank you, Holiday. May I come in?” He grins and I see Max’s smile. A lump forms in my throat and I blink rapidly to dispel my stupid, stupid tears. I suppose that blows my zombie theory. I don’t think zombies cry. I step back and hold the door open.
“Sure, be my guest. Ah, take the armchair. I’ll get another one.”
Harp unbuttons his blazer, adjusts the creases on his khaki’s and relaxes into the ratty chair as if he sat every day in three-legged armchairs with stuffing escaping. He chuckles at the hula girl lamp and even flicks the fringe on the shade.
“Can I offer you something to drink? Ah, a Miller High Life or … water?”
“The beer sounds great, thank you.”
I snag another can from the refrigerator and pop the top. I slip a hot pink Hungry Harry’s koozie on the bottom of the can and that’s about as fancy as I can get. I hand Max’s dad his beer and pull up a chair to face him.
Harp takes a long draw, swallows, and then he examines the can. “Miller High Life. This takes me back to my days driving a log truck for Max’s grandfather, but I’m not here to talk about me.” He sets his beer carefully on the side table and leans over bracing his forearms on his knees. “I’m here to talk on behalf of Max, because he can’t. With your permission, I’d like to tell you a little bit about my son.” He watches me in patient silence, a pleasant smile on his lips.
I roll bits of soggy napkin stuck to my sweating beer can into tiny pills and toss them in the direction of the trashcan. I don’t know what Harp can say that will mend my destroyed trust, but the part of me still in love with Max wants to find out. The two sides wage a prolonged battle in my mind. Dozens of tiny balls of white surround the trash can when I finally whisper, “Okay.”
“Our family has an obscene amount of money.” Harp smiles at me, his eyes alight with humor at my shocked expression. “It’s true. But the money doesn’t define who I am, or my wife, and has never defined who Max is.” Harp shrugs. “Max forged his own path. He went into the Army straight out of high school. He said he wanted to do something useful based on nothing but his own talents and merit. He said how much money you had didn’t matter in the Army. You rose or fell according to merit. Of course, Max being Max, he pushed it a notch further and went to Ranger school.” Max’s dad reaches for his beer and takes another swallow. He stares at the floor for several moments. I think he’s collecting his thoughts. From the look on his face, the thoughts are sad.
“Which brings me to Afghanistan. On Max’s third tour, his transport vehicle encountered an IED and Max suffered a closed head trauma and extensive damage to his left leg. The doctors managed to save Max’s leg, but he was in a coma for two weeks. When he came out of it, he couldn’t speak. That young man battled back for almost two years—battled to walk and speak normally—but until recently, his mother and I resigned ourselves to conversations with Max that consisted of three-word sentences. When Max gets upset, he can’t speak at all. He says there’s a disconnect in his brain. Worst of all, I think, was his depression. His mother and I…feared…for him.” Mr. Harper’s gaze holds mine, and the pain in his eyes speaks more eloquently than words. “Do you have any idea how I felt after speaking with a happy Max who conversed in regular sentences? Caroline and I packed up the car and the next day drove here from Portsmouth, New Hampshire.”
I can’t help myself. I put my hand on his in comfort. “I never realized Max was that bad. He stutters a little when he’s stressed. He limps after a long day and I’ve seen one of his seizures … but that seemed to smooth out.”
Harp picks up my hand in his. “That was because of you, Holiday.” He holds onto my hand when I try to pull back. “No, please. Listen.” When he sees me relax, he releases my hand and I let it rest on the end table. “Caroline told Max how happy he looked and asked what had changed for him.” Harp squeezes my hand gently. “Max told us about this beautiful girl he’d fallen in love with and her name was Holiday Jones.”
I drop my head. I can’t hold eye contact with Max’s dad, and the stupid tears start up again.
“Max told us he was trapped in a lie. You thought he was the caretaker. Every day that passed, he vowed he would tell you the truth, but he couldn’t. You grew more and more precious to him and he was too afraid of losing you.”
I straighten on the edge of my chair. My arms wrap my waist tightly, and I stare at my lap through a watery haze. A river of tears flood my cheeks and my nose begins to run. I’m not a dainty crier. Harp’s hand appears holding a pristine white handkerchief. I didn’t know men carried those anymore. I take it, blow my nose and wipe my eyes. “And he did lose me,” I whisper.
“I hope not,” Harp said. “My son loves you. He says he is more himself with you than anyone else in the world. He says you make his soul easy.” Harp’s gaze lingered on mine. “Because of Afghanistan, Max will always struggle to be normal. But, I don’t think that matters to you.”
I shake my head. Max’s injuries don’t matter. He’s a beautiful man—inside and out. I’m full on crying now…the silent kind that ties your stomach in knots and makes your body jerk. Max’s dad moves over and wraps his arms around me.
“I’m sorry Holiday. I didn’t mean to make you cry. It’s just…he loves you so much. He wants to marry you.”
I shake my head and stammer, “I don’t think I’d make Max a good wife.”
“Do you love him?”
I nod and Harp’s arms tighten around me for a minute. Harp gives good “dad” hugs. “I don’t have a crystal ball to see the future, but from what Max has told me and from what I can gather myself, I think you’d make him a wonderful wife.”
“I don’t come from money.” I blow my nose again and swipe at my tears. Harp pushes me away a little so he can see my face.
“Max told us. Remember I said I drove a log truck?”
I nod
with a sniff.
“I met Caroline, my wife and Max’s mom, at a Waffle Hut. She worked the counter.”
“Oh.”
Harp chuckles “Just imagine what you could do with our money. You wouldn’t have to give Bennie-Under-the-Bridge and Crazy Kate expired raviolis.” He reaches into his blazer and holds out a white legal envelope. “Max wrote this to you. Will you please read it?”
I blow my nose and wipe my tears one final time. I’m going to have to do some serious laundering on Mr. Harper’s handkerchief before I give it back. My hand trembles as I tear open the white envelope and remove a torn-out page from Max’s flip pad. I take a jerky breath and read.
Holiday,
I think I fell in love with you the first time I saw you playing on the beach with Snafu. You lit me up inside right from the start. Day after day, I fell deeper and deeper and then I was trapped in a lie.
I made a terrible mistake. I should have told you who I was in the beginning. I always meant to. I didn’t because I was afraid I’d lose you, but I lost you anyway. The look on your face that Sunday night haunts me. I hate myself for hurting you like that. I’m sorry.
I’m not doing very well without you, babe. Even I can see I look like hell and Snafu… he won’t even chase his tennis balls. He misses you as much as I do.
Nothing makes sense without you. You are the light to my soul. You are my joy. Please forgive me. I love you, Holiday. I need you back. Please come back.
Max
I think for a man who has trouble speaking, Max expresses himself very well. I look up through my tears at his father. “Does Max know you’re here?”
“Yes. He knows I’m here.”
Undertow: A compilation of short beach stories Page 33
