The Lies About Truth

  The book was a decoy. I loved watching him climb.

  This had become a little routine of ours. After my run, I showered and came over. Sonia and Mr. McCall didn’t mind as long as we kept the bedroom door open, and my parents didn’t care as long as Sonia and Mr. McCall were home. There were ways around such things, but for now, I happily followed the rules. Intimacy, the kind that involved fewer clothes, and more scars, still unnerved me.

  “You’re just so”—I set the book down and searched for a word—“graceful.”

  He executed a move that would have sent me to the crash mat, hung his head back, and looked at me upside down. “None of it feels graceful,” he complained with a grunt.

  Swinging his body back and forth, he leaped for a hold and missed. He fell and bounced on the mat. “See?”

  Despite the fall, he was a dancer on a vertical floor. Every move looked effortless. His core twisted this way and that as he found new foot- and handholds.

  Two falls later, he slapped the mat and massaged his swollen forearms. “Your turn,” he said.

  “Nope.”

  I had yet to try this intimidating thing he loved. There were enough things in life that made me feel weak; why add another? My nose went back in the book, and Max went back to the wall.

  I read fifteen more pages.

  I heard him coming before I felt him land next to me. Won over, I scooted closer and put my hand in his hair without moving my book from between us. If this was a real attempt to make a move, it wasn’t particularly sexy. “Thank you,” I said.

  “For tackling you? For disturbing your book? For being one of those annoying guys who wants more attention?” he teased.

  “Yes, yes, and it’s not annoying.”

  “Good, because I like this much better than email.”

  I kissed the top of his nose. “True. Can’t do that in an email.”

  He closed the gap between us. “Can’t do this, either.” His hand slid up the back of my shirt; his lips met mine.

  To keep things from going any further, I hopped up and approached the climbing wall.

  “Where do I start?” I asked.

  Max assembled a pillow pile and flopped back into some comfort. Good-naturedly, he changed gears. “Anywhere you want. Remember, bouldering is a game of inches.”

  “Is that a challenge, McCall?” I asked.

  “You kidding?” Max shifted around to watch what I figured would be a very short show. “You’ll top out.” He held one finger in the air to say, On the first time.

  That wasn’t going to happen, but I liked his confidence.

  I chalked my hands the way he always did, found two deep handholds near the bottom, and pulled up on the wall.

  “Nice,” he said.

  I wasn’t graceful like him, but I wasn’t awful. Each move was a victory. You never feel the weight of your own body until you have to hold it all with your fingertips. Fatigue slayed me two moves later; I froze, unable to coerce my right arm to let go and grab the next hold.

  “Get that red one,” Max said.

  “I can’t.”

  One iota of motion, and I’d fall. Instead of trying, I clung there, as if I were fifty feet in the air instead of five. The clinging surprised me. I had the energy to hold on, but not to advance.

  “One more push, and you can rest,” Max whispered.

  Four inches. My pinkie stretched toward the hold. “Come on, body. Come on,” I said.

  No matter how I insisted, my hands refused to listen. My fingers ached from their crimped grip; my legs quivered beneath me. In the end, I fell off and landed on the mat.

  “Really good,” Max said.

  “Yeah.” I gave him my best fake nod. “That part where I got stuck was transcendent.”

  “No worries. All my climbs ended that way in the beginning.”

  Massaging the pads on my raw palms, I asked, “What happened to change that?”

  “I fell, and it didn’t kill me. So I decided that if I was going to fall, I might as well fall moving up.”

  What he said seemed to have more to do with my recent decision to move forward with the list than the climb I’d just attempted. Truth gets tucked into the strangest places.

  “Wanna try again?” he asked.

  I did. I wanted to try until I could do every climb on this wall. But not right now. I had another plan.

  “Hey, how do you feel about a Waffle House run?” I asked, one eyebrow in a deviant arch.

  “Love it.” He started toward the door.

  I grabbed the back of his shirt. “Not that way.” I flicked my head toward the window. “It’s more fun if we’re sneaky.”

  “There you are,” he said, and turned toward me.

  “What do you mean?”

  With the way Max smiled, we wouldn’t need the moon to light the way. “Your daredevil is back,” he said.

  “Woo, Waffle House. Dangerous.”

  “Hey, don’t make fun of my daredevil.” He pretended to reprimand me.

  I threw up my hands. “I wouldn’t dream of it when waffles and bacon are at stake.”

  Max dropped his FSU hat onto my head, stole a much longer kiss, and followed me out the window and into the night.

  It was only Waffle House, but he was right. Part of me—a part I loved—reemerged as we crawled out that window.

  Thank God for Waffle House and Max McCall.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Friday morning, the sun climbed high in the sky, and I didn’t dare argue with its pleasant attitude. Better sun than rain for Pirates and Paintball.

  I toweled off after a long shower, knowing I wouldn’t get another one until late Sunday night. As I packed, I imagined Trent tapping on my window with his pirate sword and asking if I thought this was the year he’d win. This would be the first Pirates and Paintball without him.

  I whispered at his memory. “Sorry, friend. This isn’t the year.”

  My phone buzzed.

  Max: I might need some help with my pirate costume.

  Me: Okay.

  Max: You ready?

  Me: I hope.

  Max: See you soon.

  I took some extra time to assemble my pirate costume and waited for five p.m., when all four families would descend on the McCalls’s house. Mom watched for the Adlers and Garrisons through the living room window and clicked off the living room light when they arrived.

  Five on the dot.

  “All right, Sadie baby. Get your game face on,” she told me.

  I traced the scar up from my mouth. “Do I look tough?”

  “You take everything too literally.”

  “You take everything too seriously,” I said, shouldering my bags.

  “You have what you need?”

  I nodded, but she went through the checklist anyway. “Paintball gun? Sleeping bag? Pillow? Toothbrush?”

  “Mom, I’m not a kid.”

  She continued. “Book? Pirate costume? Cards? Big?”

  I nodded yes to everything except Big and kept nodding as she listed the contents of my entire bag.

  “Hey, have you gotten any more of those envelopes in the mail?” she asked.

  I said no, but I found it curious that she said Big’s name and then jumped straight to the envelopes.

  “Hmm. What a mystery.”

  “I told you. It’s just a little joke someone’s playing on me. Tell Dad to come on.”

  “As long as you’re laughing. It certainly didn’t start out that way,” she reminded me. “Tony”—her voice echoed through our house—“come on. It’s time.”

  Now, if I’d called my dad like that, she would have corrected me for yelling. I mentioned that and she popped me with a towel.

  “About this weekend,” she began. She held out two fingers and made the I’m watching you sign.

  For sport, I made the motion back and held up my paintball gun. “I’m armed. Don’t mess with me.”

  “No paintball in the house.”

  Lik
e I’d shoot her right here in the living room.

  Dad arrived, shouldered my bags, and said, “Is that some spunk I just heard?”

  I pointed the gun at him.

  He popped the top of my hat. “I like it, kiddo. Keep it coming.”

  They exchanged one of those looks I wasn’t supposed to see.

  “Wreck didn’t make me blind, guys,” I reminded them as we walked out the door.

  They didn’t respond, which was probably good for me.

  Outside, at the dock, I witnessed the reunion of Gray Garrison and Max McCall. Made even more complicated by my appearance.

  Here goes. I walked over to Max.

  Max offered me his hand, offered me the choice to show my allegiance. I put my hand in his.

  Gray’s jaw worked double-time, and he took a deliberate step away from the group. He knew, but it was still hard to watch. As Gray stepped back, Max stepped forward, keeping a firm grip on me—it was as if they were dancing—and stuck out his hand. “Gray.” His voice gave an unfortunate squeak.

  Gray accepted the handshake. “Max.”

  They both leaned slightly forward in a quasi-hug.

  Max never had any trouble with Gray until Gray hurt me. Gray had been someone he looked up to and respected. Likewise, Gray had thought of Max as a little brother. But a little brother wasn’t supposed to move in on his ex.

  Greetings over, Gray and Max made themselves useful at the parents’ requests. Gina and I drifted together. I waited for her to launch into an apology, but she kept her shit together better than I expected. We talked mundane things—Netflix shows, my new haircut, how long the eighties clothes trend would last—while all the things went onto the boat. When Dad asked me to pass him my bag, Gina’s face became curious.

  “Did you bring Big?” she asked. “I’ve missed that little guy.”

  Interesting.

  Gray dropped the cooler he was lifting. “You brought the ugly blue beast?”

  Interesting.

  “He’s never missed Pirates and Paintball, but alas, this year, I left him at home,” I said to both of them, watching carefully for a reaction.

  “Too bad. If you ask me, that bird needs a good paint job,” Gray said. “I mean, Jesus, he’s ugly.”

  “No one asked you,” Gina said. “I, for one, am glad she left him at home, if you had plans to abuse him.”

  Interesting.

  “Max”—Gray hefted the cooler onto the boat—“little piece of advice. If Sadie ever asks you to win her a stuffed animal, take off running and don’t look back.”

  Gray wore a look of dissatisfaction as we boarded the boat, and I guessed why. For all his teasing about Big, the bird represented our history, and I wasn’t carrying him around anymore. That obviously meant something different to Gray than it meant to me.

  He went so far as to whisper to me, “You could have brought him.”

  “Nope, I couldn’t.”

  There was no group hug this year. No champagne. No feting of Pirates and Paintball weekend. Mr. McCall simply reversed the boat and said, “And we’re off.” The engine chugged heartily beneath us, and the bay winked at us like an old friend. The bay waters were darker than the Gulf, not deeper in their entirety, but deeper close to the shore. The bay sometimes made me claustrophobic. It masqueraded as ocean, but was like a cheap imitation of the real thing.

  The parents stayed in their place, up top, with one of the coolers. They’d promised to grill burgers and dogs in an hour. No surprise there. The menu was practically written in permanent ink in the galley. Tomorrow was waffles, sandwiches, and steak for dinner. They’d pretended they wouldn’t make the usual homemade peach ice cream because it was too much trouble, but they’d make it. Routine was something they craved. I guess we did too, because the four of us plopped down in the stern and took our seats.

  I checked my watch. We were five minutes away from Gray suggesting we play cards. Nertz, his favorite.

  Gina took us on a short detour first.

  “You still stuff Big with secrets?” she asked.

  “Not secrets,” I corrected her. “You guys always got hung up on that. I just put my thoughts in there.”

  Gray tugged his shirt to his lips and sucked on the top button. “Enough to drive you crazy, isn’t it?” he said, flicking Max’s chest. “There’s no telling what she’s said and thought about all of us.”

  “Hey, most of it’s good,” I argued.

  “Most?” Gray repeated. “Most will kill a man. The gap between all and most is a canyon of suck.”

  “In my defense, we haven’t had the best year.”

  Gina and Gray didn’t comment. Max stretched a yawn into an arm around my shoulders.

  “’Bout damn time we change that, if you ask me,” Gina said after a minute.

  Gray kicked his feet up on the seat and said, “Agreed. I say we play some cards.”

  Five minutes exactly.

  No one argued. We fished decks from our bags and shuffled cards like pros. Minus the wind factor, Nertz was simple enough. At its core, it was a game of group solitaire, except with a speed component. Each player had to empty his or her hand, playing on the aces in the middle. The thing about Nertz was we didn’t talk much, and if we did, it was rated R.

  Some kinds of games lent themselves to filthy mouths. Cards was one of them. I always cussed at cards. Always. And I didn’t feel guilty about it, because it was cards. That’s how the game worked. Except none of us was allowed to cuss in front of the parents, and they were definitely within earshot.

  Max had a clear advantage with those lousy vocal cords.

  “Shit, McCall, you should let it fly. They’ll never hear you,” Gray said.

  As soon as Gray said it, one of the parents yelled out, “Language.”

  Gray bridged his cards. They slapped onto the deck in that musical way cards do. “See,” he said.

  I seriously doubted we’d get in real trouble, but keeping it quiet was half the fun.

  “I think they’d let us get away with anything tonight,” Gina said.

  “I even show up at something right now, I get a pass,” I said.

  “Lucky,” Gray said.

  “Right,” Gina chimed in.

  Gray’s mom could be harsh, but we were all scared of Sonia. Sonia could light a fire under any of us with wet matches.

  “Since we survived the Cannon Balls incident, I think we can probably get by with a little language,” Max said.

  “Ohhhhh, the Cannon Balls incident. I’d almost forgotten about that,” Gray said with an infectious laugh.

  “Not me,” Gina said.

  “Me either,” Max said.

  Rock-paper-scissors, who’s been sending me envelopes?

  Unfortunately Gina called, “Go,” and the Nertz game began before I could scavenge for any more information.

  For the next hour, I didn’t do anything except cuss and move cards from one pile to another. Unsuccessfully, of course. The cards, not the cussing. I was adept at that, a real natural.

  Gray won—as he had most games of every year—which made him totally insufferable. He was a beast when it came to competitive things. With Max in the picture, insufferable meant unbearable. I used to think he was cute when he became so determined, working the top button of his shirt and demanding cards as if we were playing Go Fish.

  As Gray sat across the boat deck from me, tossing cards on piles and claiming them, I remembered other Pirates and Paintball weekends and how, during all of those, we were together. Even with that thick neck, he was a sweet riot, and awfully cute with that crooked ear.

  Not as cute as Max, but I saw Gray’s good side again.

  The elusive number three on the list—Forgive Gina and Gray. And tell them the truth—could happen this weekend.

  Would happen, I determined. Well, at least the second part. Forgiveness itself was like training for an Ironman: so many moving parts.

  I still had a stack of cards when Gray screamed, “Nertz
!” ending the game.

  Gina dropped the f-bomb.

  “Language!” three of the parents yelled.

  “Sorry,” she peeped like a bird.

  Max nudged me. “You still with us?”

  “I’m hungry,” I said.

  “Food break?” Max suggested to the group.

  Everyone agreed. We left our cards on the deck and stormed the galley. Lucky for us, Mom was the keeper of all things carb. She piled Cheetos, chips, potato salad, and burgers onto fancy Chinet and sent everyone outside but me.

  When they were safely on the other side of the door, she asked the question I expected. “You doing okay?”

  “I am.”

  She pushed a little further. “Cross your heart?”

  I swiped an X over my chest.

  It wasn’t a lie; I felt pretty good. But it made me wonder about the truths I’d kept to myself. If my life had been in the blender at the very moment Mom asked me, I would have given her the same answer. Was that wrong?

  I imagined a world where my mother believed I was undeniably happy. She’d had that for sixteen, almost seventeen years. That was a long time.

  “You seem better,” she said.

  “Getting there.”

  “Are you comfortable with Gray? Gina? Is it weird that you and Max . . . I mean, with Gray here?”

  “Yes. No. It’s weird,” I answered, and repeated what I’d started with: “I’m okay.”

  Mom and I hadn’t talked about Max and me seeing each other since that day in the bathroom when she’d fixed my hair, but she was smart enough to know I wasn’t going over to his house for mac and cheese.

  I knew her opinion, though. Because I lived in a constant war with sleep, I’d overheard my parents’ late-night discussions of Max and Sadie’s love life. They were cautious, but pleased. Dad worried our ties with the accident could be dangerous or unhealthy. Mom said there was a reason for all of it.

  I’d stopped listening after that.

  “Where did your brain just go?” Mom asked, frowning. “You zoned out.”

  I took a sip of Mountain Dew, the syrup thick and sugary, and gave her another honest answer. “You don’t want to know.”

  “Oh, go eat.” She popped me on the butt. “Play cards.”

  I loved my mom so much in that moment that I almost dropped my plate and threw my arms around her. We were the kind of family who said I love you, so I said it then. Just so she’d know.