They’re celebrating the life of Shannon Hales-Streeter… celebrating me.
They’re all smiling.
Dancing.
Sharing funny, beautiful memories.
It’s beautiful—so beautiful I feel Max rub my back in my sleep. I whimper as I sleep, which has been happening a lot since my diagnosis. I feel it, but I can’t seem to wake up.
But when I finally do it is because the warm stretch of horizon sun is kissing my skin. Max is no longer here.
Good. He’s given me a wide window of opportunity to cry in silence as I recall each memory of us. Everything I’ve ever been through.
The tragedies.
The mistakes.
Every single thing.
And then I wonder the same thing all over again… why me?
Chapter Twenty-Two
The next morning I go to a clinic where Dr. Barad’s friend, Dr. Whitley Monroe, a handsome African-American man that reminds me of my father, gives me a quick lung and body check.
When I’m done, he sends me off, telling me to walk light and take it easy.
“Have fun, but don’t do anything too extreme,” Dr. Monroe insists, waving a teasing finger.
“I won’t,” I say, smiling as I sling my bag over my shoulder and meet Max by the door. “Thanks for doing this. Have a great one, Dr. Monroe.”
“You as well, Mrs. Streeter.”
After I’m finally free, Max and I are on our way to the Louvre to stare Mona Lisa right in the eyes.
Looking at it up close like this, almost being able to touch it, sort of weirds me out.
“Look how she smirks,” I murmur, keeping my voice down as people pass by us. “She looks like she’s up to no good… or like she knows we are up to no good… Oh my God,” I say dramatically, “this painting is probably psychic!”
Max laughs way too hard, catching the eye of a few annoyed people who turn their noses up at us when we look at them. “What makes you think we’re up to no good?”
“Maybe she knows that I didn’t tell John the whole truth about who I’m with.”
“Well, if she does know, she can’t snitch. Seems like she can keep a secret. The question is can you?”
I roll my eyes. “I’m pretty good at keeping my own secrets.”
We continue exploring the museum, taking in each delicate painting and sculpture. When we’re done, catching lunch in the café, Max leads the way to the exit, looking up at the grey clouds as we step outside.
“Looks like rain is coming.”
“Boo!” I poke my bottom lip out, watching the clouds bundle in grey masses. “I hear it’s often rainy here, though. Check your phone and see what the percentage is.”
He pulls out his cellphone, checking a weather app. “Thirty percent. I think we’re good. A little rain won’t hurt anybody if it decides to come down. What do you wanna do next?”
“Oh! I read something in a brochure this morning about the Marché Aux Puces De Saint-Ouen… I think I said that right.” His eyes light up, amused and almost positive that I said that completely wrong. I wave a hand. “Anyway, it’s a flea market.” I pull out the brochure in my back pocket and open it, pointing at its location. “Right here. Only a short bus ride away.”
Max lifts his hands. “Wherever you’d like to go.”
We turn for the bus stop and I sit on the bench, pulling my bag around and digging in it for my pills. I take out a blue and white one, needing another boost of energy.
Max hands me his bottle of lukewarm water and I chug down the pill.
Swiping my mouth, I say, “Thanks,” and then hand it back. The bus arrives several minutes later, just as we’ve started a chat about what we should do afterwards.
When we make it to the flea market, Max asks, “What exactly do you expect to find here?” He looks around, spotting older women and men with personal baskets.
“I hear they have a lot of antiques. I want to get something for Sonny and John. I need proof that I actually had fun.” I step into one of the stores that have bins full of trinkets, paintings on the walls, and books on a large shelf to my right.
Max reaches up and takes down a vintage-looking tennis racket, swinging it like a maniac.
“Fais attention!” The man behind the counter gives Max a cold, hard look, ordering him to be careful.
“Sorry!” Max hangs the rack back up, looking at me and making a face.
I notice something bright and glossy in one of the baskets in front of me and dig into it, picking up a glass angel. There’s a pink tint to it that makes it stand out.
I wonder why something so remarkable and easy to break is in a basket full of metal and steel objects. Maybe it was misplaced. I run my fingers across it, rubbing off the collected dust and smoothing out the scrapes.
“I’m gonna go check out the store over there,” Max tells me, pointing across to some sort of parlor. “They have a ton of paintings and they might even have an easel I could use.”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
I watch him leave before turning and looking at the man, asking “Um… Combien pour cette?” How much for this?
“I will give it to you for four euros.” His accent is heavy as he holds up four long fingers.
“Oh! I didn’t realize you spoke English.” I walk up to the counter and wrinkles form around the older man’s eyes as he smiles.
“Well for people like your friend I have to be cautious.” He winks.
“I get it. He can be a moron. But you’re serious? Four euros for this?”
He nods as I hand it to him. “Beautiful isn’t it?” He lifts it up, and then reaches in his back pocket for a handkerchief.
After wiping it off, he places it on top of a giftwrap sheet and wraps it for me, tucking it neatly in a brown paper bag.
“It’s gorgeous,” I respond. “I was wondering why it was stuck in a bin with the heavy stuff?”
“Ahh, you should not let this beauty fool you. This is very strong glass. Drop it and I assure you it will not break.”
I frown. “How is that possible?”
“I know the person that created it. And you want to know a funny thing?”
“What’s that?”
“He told me that he would put it in that basket, with those heavy objects, and he told me that if someone found it, it was meant for them to find. That the person that finds it is courageous, humble, and strong.” He studies the tubing connected to my nose, a wave of sympathy in his eyes. “He said that whoever finds this will understand why this glass won’t break. Because the person that sees it believes in its durability and its beauty, and for that, the person that buys it is just as durable and just as beautiful.”
I blink, speechless. My eyes widen as he hands me the bag. Snapping my mouth shut, I dig in my backpack for the money but he shakes his head, waving a hand. “It is yours to keep. Have it.”
My heart swells. “Are you sure? I would like your friend to be paid for his work.”
His face saddens. “My friend is no longer a part of this world.” He smiles gently. “He rests in peace now. He will be happy to know that someone has finally found that angel, however. He will be even more pleased to know that the person that found it clearly has the heart of one.”
“Wow.” I swallow hard, my eyes burning. Stepping away slowly, I stare down at my bag before looking up at the man once more, thanking him graciously before turning and walking out of the store.
I step aside, drawing in much needed breath. And then I smile. This angel was going to be a gift for Sonny, but I’ve just changed my mind. I have to get her something else.
With all those kind words that man said, this will be for me. Something to keep me going. Something to keep my head held high. Something that resembles myself.
I may seem weak and fragile, but I am still strong. I have the strength to get through anything. Not even heavy weights can bring me down… or this silly jetpack of mine.
I dig into the bag, unwrapping the angel and l
ooking at each and every detail. The left wing is a little chipped, the bottom scraped, but other than that it’s perfect.
Flawed and full of imperfections, just like me. Appearing fragile enough to give out at any moment, but not knowing when… like me.
Max walks out of the store with a bag in his hand as well, looking at me with his head tilted. “You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I hold up the angel to show him. “I bought this for myself.”
He presses his lips, nodding as he gives it a quick once-over. “Cool looking thing.”
“It’s an angel, weirdo.”
He lifts his bag. “I found an easel. Got something else for myself too.”
“What is it?”
He digs in the bag, pulling out a vintage gold locket. Opening it, he says, “Got it for ten euros. I’m going to put a picture of my mother and father on one side.” He hesitates a little, holding back on the emotion that fills his voice, but keeping a steady smile on his face. “And on the other, a picture of myself.”
“Aww, Max. That’s perfect.”
“It’s fucking corny, is what it is.”
I slap his shoulder and he breaks out in a hearty laugh, reeling me in with his arm around my shoulders as I wrap my angel back up. We continue strolling around the market, and comfort swims in my veins.
We spend at least an hour here, searching for the perfect gifts for Sonny and John.
John is easy. I buy him a case of cutting knives and wooden spoons, vintage-like. Mainly for show. They will look great in our kitchen.
Sonny? Now she is a little tougher, but when I finally come across the right gift, I gasp, pulling it out slowly.
“Oh my gosh.” I hold up the Roman-numerals clock, grinning way too hard. “For the girl that refuses to ever be late for anything!”
“Right. The girl that is always on fucking time.” Max groans. “Man, I hated when she used to come at the exact time she’d say when your car broke down. I never had extra time to do shit.”
Giggling, I collect the black and beige clock, checking out at the counter.
“All right. All good to go?” I ask.
“Yes, please. I’m hungry.”
“When are you not hungry?” I laughed.
“Probably never.” His cheek quirks up.
We catch the bus back, laughing and bragging about our finds. Max goes on and on about how his is more important than mine. I tell him that if he were there to hear just what the man had to say, he’d realize just how important mine actually is—that it was meant for me to find this glassy pink angel.
What that man said… those words are still stuck in my head.
I will never be able to forget them.
They’ve given me some sort of peace… like maybe I was meant to be here all along. Don’t get me wrong, I still feel guilty as hell about not telling John everything, but I can’t lie and say that the man’s words didn’t feel like a sign telling me that I was meant to be here.
My smile never fades, even as I look at Max, watching as he points across the street at a building, saying he’s heard of the place and how we should try it.
I nod, shrugging. “Sure.”
It’s been so long since I’ve seen him so calm and collected. Years, honestly.
Max, he’s stronger now and he has every reason to be. The past… it hurt him—haunted him in a terrifying way. I tried keeping up, dealing with his demons and working through them with him, but he only pushed me away.
Not too long after, he sort of left.
He abandoned me for a short period of time, but it felt like a lifetime, leaving my heart crumbled in pieces.
As I’ve stated before, his story isn’t mine to tell. But it cuts deep, and I’m not sure how in the hell we’ve avoided talking about it for so many years.
* * *
Past
3 ½ Years Ago – Max & I
Max and I had planned a trip to Hilton Head Island for the Fourth of July weekend. I could picture it before it even happened.
It was going to be so romantic. Large waves and the bright bold sun for us to bask in. It was going to be so peaceful. So wonderful.
It was the first time Max wasn’t going to spend the Fourth with his parents. This, to me, proved we’d made progress in our relationship. He wanted to be with me only. I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. It’d been eleven months for us now.
His mother, a beautiful woman with high cheekbones (that Max clearly got from her) and rich brown eyes, hugged him tight before we left, squeezing him in her arms.
She was a petite woman. Compared to Max she looked like a child hugging a tree. It was so cute I laughed.
“Hey now,” she said, looking at me with a playful smile, “don’t you laugh. Come here! You get one too.” My lips broke into a soft smile as I walked towards her, meeting her for a tight embrace.
She made a noise as if she didn’t ever want to let me go. It was weird feeling this kind of affection from a woman that could have been my mother.
She invited me over for dinner often. We even went shopping together, just the two of us. No Max. Not even Mr. Grant.
Just two ladies, splurging and laughing and sharing pretzels from Auntie Anne’s.
Finally releasing me, she stepped back and Max gave her a swift kiss on the cheek before climbing into the driver’s seat of his car.
I slid in the passenger’s seat, clipping my seat belt as he brought the engine to life.
“Be safe!” The Grants called after us.
Max waved a hand, hollering, “I love you,” out of the window before skidding off. “My parents will never let me grow up.” He shook his head and laughed, but it wasn’t with disapproval.
He was content with knowing that. At least he had parents that loved him.
“They’re good people. I’m sure it’ll be different for them this year since you aren’t there. They’ll miss you.”
“They should be happy.” He scoffed. “Crazy thing is they didn’t even have to make a stop here in Charlotte. They could’ve kept driving. Crazy,” he said again, turning the volume of the radio up.
With the traffic, the ride turned out to be a four-hour drive. I dozed off a couple times, waking occasionally to a nudge on the arm from Max who would ask me if I was hungry or had to pee.
I stayed awake during the final hour, singing some tunes by Maroon 5 and The Foo Foo Fighters with him.
But it seemed when we arrived at the hotel, all of the happiness and eagerness slid downhill.
Max popped the trunk, pulling out my suitcase and then his, slinging a backpack over his shoulder.
“I don’t think you’re ready for this weekend, babe,” he called as I shut the passenger door.
“What?” I gave him a you’ve-got-me-twisted kind of look. “I’ve been anticipating this trip for weeks. I finally get to relax. Shit like this is rare for me.”
His brows lifted as he rounded the car. “I see that.”
He started for the hotel door and I walked with him. His phone rang in his pocket and he paused before grabbing the door handle.
I opened it instead, holding it wide open as he fished out his cellphone and answered.
His smile, the beautiful white one that I’d been a witness to during most of the ride and even before we left, evaporated right into thin air.
My face changed, too, watching as the light in his eyes immediately turned dark.
“Max?” I called, releasing the door and walking towards him. “What’s wrong?” The phone was glued to his ear, a voice steadily speaking.
I couldn’t make out what they were saying. I was left in the dark, confused and a little afraid of the horror that was etched on his face.
“Damn it, Max. What the hell is going on? What’s wrong?”
The person on the phone stopped talking and Max finally spoke, but it wasn’t directed at me. “I’ll… be there,” was all he said, and then he hung up, dropping his hand.
He released the suitc
ase and it hit the ground.
Then, without any kind of warning, he spun around and dashed for his car, unlocking the doors and sliding in.
“Max!” I chased after him, swinging the passenger door open as he waited for me, grip tight on the wheel. “What the hell is going on? Where are you going?” My voice was panicked.
He didn’t look at me, he just stared ahead, eyes cold, face blank. I’d never seen him like this. Speechless. Unmoving. He was beginning to scare me.
I slid in, pressing my hand on top of his arm. “Max, please,” I begged in a whisper. “Tell me what’s going on. Tell me what happened. You’re scaring me.”
Finally, he looked my way. His face was lined with thick tears and when he looked at me, they fell, skidding like raindrops down a cold windowpane.
His voice cracked when he finally said, “My parents…”
He didn’t continue. “What about them?” I inquired.
“They… a car crash. There was a crash.” He swallowed hard, fighting the tears but he was losing the battle. They were streaming, unstoppable. Pain seized him, and his forehead fell forward, landing on the top of the steering wheel. “They’re gone, Shannon.”
I kept my hand on his arm, but I was at a loss for words.
Gone? As in… dead? But… what? How!?
Max broke down, sobbing and shuddering so hard I thought he might break. His hand squeezed mine during the process, as if I could fill the hole that’d been set in his heart, but I couldn’t.
I couldn’t replace that bond.
I would never be able to.
I waited a while for Max to calm down, then I offered to drive us back to Charlotte.
The ride was already depressing, but the rain made it worse, bringing back the tears that Max couldn’t avoid.
He wallowed in his seat, gaze pointed out of the window, trying to avoid mine.
We finally made it to our hometown, where Eugene was waiting at the uptown police station, eyes full of sorrow.
Max busted into the station, scoping the entire office, expecting some kind of answer—expecting his parents to just show up—but it was hopeless.
Infinity: Based on a True Story Page 20
