I thought about following so I could warn Max, but decided against it. She was tough enough to stand up to Cooper Smally. And I was more than ready for a nap. I rode home, feeling lonely and angry and very tired.
I wish I could be normal, full of energy and able to run all day. I wish I didn't have to be sick so much. But wishing does nothing but make me miserable.
By the time I turned into our driveway, I'd gotten over my anger. Now I was just worried. Had Max really earned all that money? How? We were together almost every day. When would she have had time? And where was she going in such a hurry? Why couldn't she have taken me along?
And what about Cooper? Why was he following Max? Did she know he was behind her?
I parked my bike in the garage and went inside, trying to put the mysterious Max Hunter out of my head.
The house was empty as it usually was on sunny Saturday afternoons. I grabbed my pillow and multicolored quilt out of the basket near the sliding back door and went out on the deck. "Hey, Mom. I'm home."
Mom looked up at me and waved. She was sitting on a folding wooden chair on the lawn with her watercolors and easel. Her name is Amy, by the way. Amy Miller, interior decorator, artist, and full-time mom since they first found out about the leukemia. I feel bad that Mom had to put her career on hold so she could take care of me. Mom says she doesn't mind as long as she can paint once in a while. So, most weekends she sets up her easel while Sam, my little brother, and I go fishing with Dad. And on days when I have about as much energy as a cooked noodle, I lie on the swing and read or sleep.
That's where I headed now. I tossed down the pillow and curled up under the quilt so I could watch my family. Sam and Dad were out in the boat, fishing poles in hand. My dad's name is Daniel. He's an architect and designs houses here in Chenoa Lake and other places. He built our house. Maybe that's why it's so perfect. The house isn't a mansion like Ivy's house next door, but it's practical and not nearly as expensive as some of the places our neighbors own.
A peaceful feeling washed over me. I have a good life really— except for being sick. Like I said earlier, school isn't so great either. Up until this year, Mom homeschooled Sam and me. I liked that, but missed being around kids my own age. So now I'm a student at Lakeview. And that's good, I guess. I like my teachers and my classes. If I hadn't become a student there, I might not have met Max.
All in all, it's not such a bad thing. Most of the kids are nice enough, but none of them go out of their way to actually include me or Max in their already established cliques. Ivy used to come over and play sometimes before I got sick and lost all my hair. Cooper Smally is the only one who gets mean, and he hasn't tried anything since his run-in with Max on the baseball field.
Mom says Cooper is afraid of me—of the cancer. His mother had breast cancer and died last year. She lost all her hair too. Cooper acts like it's my fault. I feel bad being a constant reminder to him, but there isn't much I can do about it. Maybe someday I'll tell him so. I thought again about him looking at Max and me from across the street. The fact that he'd followed Max troubled me. I'd have to ask her about it tomorrow.
My mind drifted back to the other kids and school. You wouldn't think having hair could make such a huge difference in a person's life. For most people, hair grows back after chemo. It didn't for me. I tried wearing a wig for a while, but it was hot and itchy and it would slip off when I played. I also tried those pretty scarves, but they never stayed where they belonged. Now I wear caps and hats sometimes, but those make my head itch too.
Mom thinks I look cute bald and Sam likes rubbing my head. Dad says it gives me character. I smiled at the thought.
Not that it matters. This is the way I am now, and if the kids at school don't like it, tough. Max doesn't even seem to notice.
I inhaled a lungful of fresh mountain air, closed my eyes, and fell asleep.
After my nap I went into the bathroom to wash up. When I came out I heard voices in the kitchen.
"I'm glad Jessie invited you for dinner, Max," Mom was saying. "You're welcome in our home anytime. " I thought it was cool that Mom and Dad would be so accepting of Max even though she wasn't the type of friend they would have picked for me. Maybe they were just happy that I finally had a friend. On the other hand, if they knew about the drug deal and how we almost got shot, that could change.
"Thank you, Mrs. Miller. Um—is Jessie around?"
"She should be down any minute." Mom set out five plates on the dining room table.
I came in and leaned against the wall, my arms folded. I was still ticked about her disappearing act earlier and wasn't sure what to think about the dinner invitation—especially since I hadn't invited her.
"We'll have to have your parents over for dinner soon." Mom smiled at her. "I'd love to meet them."
"My parents are dead."
Just like that. No tears, no looking away like it was hard to talk about. Had I heard her right? I pushed away from the wall and climbed up on the stool next to her at the kitchen counter. "I didn't know that."
"Why do you think I live with my aunt and uncle?"
I shrugged. "I never really thought about it." It made sense though—especially since she always referred to them by their first names. "What happened to them? Your parents, I mean."
"They died in an airplane crash when I was five. My dad was a private pilot, and they were coming back from a business trip. " She reached over and took a carrot stick from the relish tray Mom had just taken out of the fridge. "They were flying up the coast and went down in the ocean near San Francisco."
"How awful." Mom placed a bowl of veggie dip in the center of the raw vegetables. "Have you been living with your aunt and uncle ever since?"
Max nodded. "Mostly."
I bit my lip and wondered if Mom had picked up on the sarcastic tone in Max's voice.
"What are their names?"
I could tell that Max was uncomfortable with the questions, but she answered anyway. "Bob and Serena Schultz."
"Serena . . ." Mom frowned. "Does she work at Jillian's Hair Palace?"
Max dropped her gaze to the counter. "Yeah. She likes to call herself a cosmetologist."
My mother definitely caught the sarcasm that time. She raised an eyebrow. "And your uncle?"
"He's a manager at the Hanson's grocery store in Lakeside."
It was time to rescue my friend. "Come on, Mom—enough with the 20 questions."
Mom laughed. "I'm sorry. I just like to know my children's friends."
I grabbed Max by the arm. "Let's go out on the deck until dinner's ready." I really wanted to get Max alone to ask some questions of my own, but that didn't happen. Dad and Sam were bringing the boat in.
"Hey, did you catch anything?" Max waved at the duo and jogged down the stairs, across the lawn, and onto the dock to help them tie up.
"We caught us some dinner." Sam held up a mess of trout. "You guys can help us clean 'em."
I wandered down the hill and watched Dad, Sam, and Max each take a fish, slice open the belly, scrape out the guts, and wash the fish before setting them in a plastic bucket.
Dad grinned over at Max as she grabbed another fish. "You handle those like a pro."
"My uncle used to work on a fishing boat. I went along sometimes." Max had a wistful expression, and this time there was no hint of sarcasm. "He let me catch fish as long as I cleaned them." I tucked the new information away with the other things I'd learned about Max.
An hour later the fish had been breaded and fried and they lay on a platter in the center of the dining room table. When Dad asked who wanted to say grace, Sam's hand shot up like it always did.
"All right, Sam. " Dad chuckled, knowing what would come next.
My little brother is adorable, but totally predictable. Giving us all a sly look, his arms shot into the air and he began singing to the original theme from Superman. "Thank You God, for giving us food . . .Thank You God for giving us food. For the food that we eat, for the friends t
hat we meet, thank You God for giving us food."
"That was totally cool, Sam." Max laughed so hard I thought she was going to slide to the floor. "I've never heard anybody pray like that before. My grandpa used to make us all bow our heads and be really quiet. Then he'd pray so long our food would get cold."
"Dad does that, too, sometimes," I teased. "But usually only at Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Easter."
Dad grinned. "My prayers aren't that long, and besides, it doesn't hurt to be formal once in a while."
Despite the good mood around the table and Sam regaling us with fish stories, Max seemed preoccupied and sad. We'd only been friends for about two months, but every day brought new concerns. Max was in trouble and I wanted to help her, only I had no idea how.
She decided to leave after we'd done the dishes.
"Are you mad at me or something?" I asked as I walked her out to the porch.
"No."
"Then what's the matter?"
Max sighed, glanced my way, and then looked down at her scuffed-up tennis shoes.
"Tell me. Maybe I can help."
Max didn't say anything for a minute. She pulled her ratty old jacket close around her. Then in the saddest tone I'd ever heard, she said, "You can't help, Jess. No one can." She climbed on her bike and rode away.
CHAPTER FIVE
The next morning I called Max to invite her to Sunday school. I usually asked the day before, but had forgotten about it last night. She never came, but I figured I'd keep asking. Her phone rang six times before someone answered.
"Hello." The voice was gruff and angry, and I figured I'd awakened her uncle, and then I felt bad.
"Um—is Max there?"
"There's no one by that name living here. You got the wrong number." He must have slammed the receiver down cause it sounded like a gunshot. Well, almost. I checked the number Max had given me, and then looked in the phone book under Bob Schultz. It was the right number. How could I have had the wrong name?
I didn't say anything to Mom and Dad—just told them Max must have gone somewhere. We went to church in Lakeside, close to where Max lived. If she really lived there.
Our church had been built in 1923—at least that's what is written above the door. It has a carved tin ceiling and stained glass windows, a tall steeple, and a bell. The bell was ringing when we pulled into the parking lot. I looked around hoping maybe Max had decided to come. She hadn't.
Going inside always made me feel like we were on the set of Little House on the Prairie. Although the church had been remodeled, everything was like it had been when it was built. It was on the Historical Registry and one of the places tourists liked to go.
All through the service, I thought about Max, wondering what I should do or if I should do anything. She'd all but told me to butt out. Normally I would have, but Max is my friend and I was more convinced than ever that she needed help. She'd looked so sad the night before, and that wasn't like her. Max was funny and brave and crazy.
I took a nap after church so I wouldn't get too tired later. Sam and Dad went fishing, and Mom set up her watercolors and easel on the bank of the lake. She painted landscapes mostly, kind of like the French impressionist, Claude Monet—soft and delicate and easy to look at. In art class I had picked him to write a report on because his work reminded me of Mom's. She was saving up for an art show next month during the big art and music festival the town holds every year. I hope she sells a lot. We need the money for all my medical bills. That's something else I feel bad about. Sometimes I think it would be better for them if I just died.
I don't say things like that anymore. I did once last year and Mom cried. She and Dad both told me the money didn't matter. They wanted to do everything humanly possible to keep me healthy. They even told me I was their gift from God. I smiled at that. I don't see myself as much of a gift. One thing I know for sure, they love me.
I wondered again about Max. It would be horrible to lose your parents. Did Bob and Serena love her?
I woke up at two and told Mom I was going to ride my bike over to Max's. Usually on Sunday she calls or comes over. Mom waved at me and yelled, "Be careful and call if you need us to pick you up."
"I will."
I rode through town, looking for any sign of Max. I'd gotten her uncle's address out of the phone book and looked it up on the map. After riding for fifteen minutes, I pulled into the driveway of a single-story house in Lakeside. The development had gone in about five years ago, but was already starting to look dumpy.
"Please be here, Max," I mumbled as I got off my bike and started up the walk. I was almost to the door when I stopped. My stomach hurt with all the knots forming inside. I felt like I was about to get up in front of the entire school to give a speech. The man on the phone this morning had sounded angry. I didn't want to face him again. He'd already told me Max didn't live here, but she did.
Unless she'd been lying to me. Maybe Max was really homeless and had made up the stuff about her uncle and aunt.
I took a deep breath and stepped up to the door, raising my hand to ring the doorbell. Loud, angry voices came from inside, so I lowered my arm and listened.
"Alice Hunter," a woman screamed. "You give me that money right now or I'll have your uncle beat the . . ."
"You gave it to me," someone else yelled back. Alice? It couldn't be. The voice definitely belonged to Max.
"You little liar. Why would I give you a hundred dollars? You stole it."
"I don't steal!"
I heard a thunk. "What's the use?" Max screamed back at her. "Here's your stupid money. It isn't worth getting beat up over."
Half a second later, the door flew open and Max nearly collided with me on her way out.
I jumped back, my mouth open, words stuck somewhere between shock and horror. Through the still-open door I could see a woman wearing a silky turquoise robe, her hair wilder than anything Max had come up with. She was standing in the middle of the messiest room I'd ever seen, a cigarette dangling from her lips.
Max grabbed the knob and pulled the door shut. "What are you doing here?"
Her anger swept over me like a thunderstorm.
"I . . .I came . . .I wanted . . . " Somehow the words wouldn't come. All I could think of was the scene I'd just heard and the flaming red spot on Max's cheek. "Oh, Max. " Tears filled my eyes. I couldn't help it. "What happened to you?"
"Forget it. Just forget it. I mean it, Jess. If you tell anyone . . ." Max brushed past me and headed for her bike. She hopped on and pedaled like crazy. This time I went after her.
She was much faster than I, and I probably would have lost her if I hadn't caught sight of her every now and then along the curved road that followed the lake. She turned onto the road leading to the state park, and I spent the next half hour riding around the park looking for her. I finally spotted her bike off the trail leading to the falls, the very waterfall she and I had gone over on the rafting trip. I had this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that she might hurt herself.
"Don't do anything stupid, Max," I muttered under my breath. I parked my bike next to hers and headed for the waterfall. I found her sitting on a rock, staring down at the water. Without saying anything I climbed up beside her.
After a while she looked over at me. "I wish you hadn't seen that, Jess. Now I'm going to have to kill you."
CHAPTER SIX
I blinked several times. Had I heard her right? She was going to kill me?
"Gotcha." She chuckled.
"Max Hunter. That's a terrible thing to say." I laughed despite my determination not to.
"Well, you shouldn't have come to my house."
"I was worried about you. I called this morning, and the guy who answered said you weren't there." I frowned. "Actually he said Max didn't live there. But your name isn't really Max, is it?"
"Max was my nickname when Mom and Dad were alive. My middle name is Maxine." She stretched out and rolled over onto her stomach, head facing the falls. "After they d
ied, I made everyone call me by my real name, Alice."
"But you told everyone at school your name was Max."
She closed her eyes and rested her head on her arms." I know. I'm not sure why I did that. Maybe because I wanted to be Max again. Max was happy and . . ." She turned away from me. "It's stupid. Forget I said anything."
"I can't forget that, and I can't forget what Serena did to you. She hit you, Max. She left a bruise. And it's not the first time. That's child abuse. You need to tell someone."
"No!" She stood up so fast I thought she was going to fall off the cliff. "And you'd better not say anything either. Besides, I'm not a child."
"But you can't let them hurt you like that." I got up and put my hands on my hips. I'd never confronted Max before. When she reached for me, I thought for sure she was going to push me over the edge.
"Look, Jess." Max placed her hands on my bony shoulders like I was a little kid and she, the adult. "I know you want to help, but it's not as bad as it looks. Serena just woke up and she—well, she's not in the best mood in the morning. I shouldn't have argued with her."
"She shouldn't have slapped you."
Max climbed off the rock and started down the trail. "She didn't mean to hurt me."
"But in a foster home you wouldn't . . ."
"What, get slapped around? Boy, are you wrong about that. When my mom and dad died, I got sent to a foster home. My foster parents locked me in the closet and left me there for hours. Bob and Serena found out and took me in. They didn't know how to raise a kid, and they hadn't been married very long. They're doing the best they can."
"But you said you were only five. How can you remember?"
"Uncle Bob has told me lots of times."
As a threat, I thought. "Most foster parents aren't like that," I said instead.
"How would you know?"
"I'm sorry you had a bad experience with foster care. But your aunt and uncle are abusing you too. Why are you making excuses for them?"
"I'm just telling you how it is, okay?"
I didn't say anything. When Max decided to do something, nothing short of a natural disaster could change her mind.
Max & Me Mysteries Set Page 3
