I couldn’t imagine the McCalls in separate houses or lives, but I still asked, “You’re not worried about them, are you?”
“No. I think they grieve differently. Dad needs to move. Mom needs to sit and cry.”
“What do you need?” I asked.
“To be able to remember him.”
“Me too. Sometimes I still talk to him,” I said, thinking if anyone understood, it would be Max.
“I do that.” Max hooked an arm around me. “Did I ever tell you that he used to wake me up in the middle of the night?”
“No.”
But he’d done that to me, too. Peck. Peck. Peck. On my window. Sadie May . . .
“We’d walk to Waffle House. He’d eat pancakes and play the jukebox. That’s how we learned all those old songs.”
“He never told me that.”
“It was our thing.”
“We always biked to the jetty on my birthday,” I told him.
“Yeah, I know.”
“You can remember him anytime you want with me,” I offered.
He kissed my forehead and thanked me.
Down at the dock, we hung our feet over the bay and listened to the inky water lap against the posts beneath us. There was salt in the wind and moonlight on the water. Usually, when I breathed in this view, I was not small. I was part of something that covered two-thirds of the world.
Not tonight. I was a dust mote on a universe-size stage.
I realized, sitting there next to Max, that I didn’t want to shrink the world so it would fit me better; I wanted to expand. That really, that’s what Fletcher and I had been working on all year. Even though I was so damn slow about it.
“Star Time?” Max asked.
“Please,” I answered.
Star Time was a Trent original. We’d all be hanging out, chatty as blue-haired ladies in a beauty shop, and he’d yell, “Star Time!”
That meant we should give ourselves to nature and shut up. Trent went balls-to-the-wall all day, but he was a big believer in listening to the world’s little moments at night. Wherever we were on his parents’ boat, we’d lie back, quiet as little shadows, and look for poetry in the night sky.
I thought I’d already found some. Now, if I could only find the strength to hold on to it.
In unison, Max and I reclined on the wooden planks. They were splintery and full of uneven places and raised screws, but so cozy and familiar, I could have taken another nap. I laced my hands over my belly button, and Max did the same.
“I like that one.” Max pointed at the space above the Big Dipper.
“Cassiopeia?”
“Sure,” he said.
He didn’t care which constellation I picked. Picking out stars was like picking out snowflakes. It was difficult to tell if we’d chosen the same ones, but they were all good choices.
“Cassiopeia was a queen,” I said.
He took his eyes off the sky. “Like you.”
“Um, not exactly, Romeo, since she went around boasting about her unrivaled beauty.”
He laughed. “That does sound like you, but . . .” He turned back to the sky. “You should boast about your beauty.”
“Max.” I didn’t mean to sound so condescending, but it came out that way before I could correct my tone.
“I’m not joking,” he said.
“I don’t even know how you can look at me when I look like this, much less bring beauty into it.”
His mouth opened in an O, surprised. “Look like what? Sadie, you look just like you always have to me.”
“Except with these.” I pointed to Idaho and Nameless.
“That’s not what I see.”
“It feels like that’s what everyone’s looking at.”
He huffed. “God, I’d like to kick Gray Garrison in the nads.” He sat up and forced me to do the same. His hands cupped my face and he locked eyes with me. “Look at me.”
We were inches apart. There was nowhere else to look.
“Your face is beautiful, but I’m not some shallow asshole who falls in love with a face. You hear me?”
That rasp in his voice was perfect.
I braved an answer. “Yes.”
“Sadie, you could go through a million windows and nothing would change.”
He leaned forward.
Our noses touched.
I thought about his lips.
I imagined he’d close his eyes soon, but he didn’t.
His head tilted—a clear invitation—lingering just far enough away that I still had a choice. Then, he moved his hand to my hip and part of me that had been asleep for a long time woke up. I made my choice.
A kiss can be a kiss or it can be an event.
I have cared about Max McCall all my life. Never like this, but since we were three and nine and twelve and fifteen and this past year and everywhere in between. Friends had become friends who became more than friends.
“I couldn’t see you when we were kids,” I said when there was finally room to speak.
He tucked a tangle of blond hair behind my ear. “We were kids.” Max sat up, pulling me with him.
“Yeah, but you were also Trent’s little brother.”
“I still am, Sadie.” Hesitation appeared, and I leaned back as he said, “I look like him.”
“You also look like you,” I told him.
He kissed me again.
When we were done and watching the stars again, Max scratched out a few words. “The stars are noisy tonight.”
They were. A long time went by in comfortable silence. I counted a hundred stars more than once, and looked for patterns in the darkness rather than in the light.
Peace hid from me this year, and I’d searched for it at Metal Pete’s, in therapy sessions, in long runs on the beach, and hours of Star Time. I hadn’t found it hiding among that dark, black sea of sparkles or anywhere else. But tonight, in the gentleness of my friend stretched out next to me, breathing in and out so rhythmically that he sounded like breaking waves, it felt within reach again.
After a lifetime of life-by-group, followed by a time of isolation, it was nice to have someone to be quiet with.
I stole a look, and because he was so focused on the sky, I stole a few more.
Max. Long, tan, a tiny bit of skin showing at his hips from the way he’d stretched back out. He wore a glazed look of wonder that was childlike and sweet and handsome, and he went a long time without blinking. Just like he’d done in Trent’s bed. I liked that about him. The intensity he gave to life.
How did you end up being the guy lying next to me?
We’d been silent for so long, I couldn’t tell the difference between a question I asked in my head and one I asked aloud. I was mortified when he responded.
“Gray doesn’t speak star.”
I begged the darkness to have mercy and beam me up; my face felt hot as a fever.
Max made nothing of my comment or his; he didn’t even roll his eyes to the side to check on me. I let his ease become mine. I’d been doing that a lot lately.
“What are the stars telling you?” I asked.
Max pushed up on his elbows and pretended to strain his ear toward the sky. “They say . . . They say . . . you’re allowed to forgive yourself.”
I rolled sideways . . . and he did the same.
“For what?” I asked.
“Living.”
“I’m not very good at that,” I admitted.
“Well, you just kissed someone without flinching. Maybe you’re getting better.”
“Maybe it’s just you.”
He didn’t argue.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Some Emails to Max in El Salvador
From:
[email protected] To:
[email protected] Date: October 27
Subject: Game
Max,
Would you like to play a game? Gray and I used to obsess over one called Tell Me Something You’ve Never Told Me. The rules are as simpl
e as they sound. I’ll go first.
I’ve been skinny-dipping.
If you’d like to play, all you have to do is tell me something you’ve never told me.
Sadie
From:
[email protected] To:
[email protected] Date: October 29
Subject: pirate confessions
Just last week, Fletcher said two of the most powerful words in the universe are “Me too.” I believe him. Ha. Ha. At least where skinny-dipping is concerned. I didn’t know you had a thing with Candace.
Next Tell Me Something You’ve Never Told Me:
The very first year of Pirates and Paintball, I’m the one who shot Trent. Do you remember that he was convinced it was Callahan?
Your turn!
Sadie
From:
[email protected] To:
[email protected] Date: November 4
Subject: Callahan
Max,
Yeah, Trent and Callahan were pretty tight. Have you heard from him at all? We’ve texted a few times. Not that long ago he asked if I wanted to ride motorcycles, but I told him I wasn’t up for it yet.
Which leads me to Something I’ve Never Told You:
Trent and I used to borrow Callahan’s motorcycle and go riding in the country.
Next?
Sadie
From:
[email protected] To:
[email protected] Date: November 5
Subject: Hilarious
Max,
That’s hilarious. Do you miss her?
Also, I’m pretty sure Callahan isn’t hitting on me. I’m not his type. I’m not really anyone’s type anymore. He knew Trent and I used to borrow the motorcycle and wanted to offer something I loved. Callahan’s a great guy. I really should text him.
Something I’ve Never Told You:
I tried to drive to the Fountain of Youth this week. And by tried, I mean I got in my parents’ car and put it in reverse. I rolled three feet.
Tell Me Something.
Sadie
From:
[email protected] To:
[email protected] Date: November 12
Subject: best laid plans
Max,
I don’t know why the fountain is so important. Maybe because Trent and I wanted to go exploring when we were kids. Maybe because it was the last thing we made plans to do. Maybe because it represents a type of healing, and I could use some of that. I have to find a way to go.
What you said about me being someone’s type was generous.
With that in mind, here’s a serious Tell Me Something:
I’m afraid I’ll never feel desirable again. Afraid I’ll never kiss someone without them flinching. And then I’ll flinch and back away. Action. Reaction. I can predict it perfectly. My life seems like a constant backpedal.
Your turn. (It doesn’t have to be serious.)
Sadie
From:
[email protected] To:
[email protected] Date: November 13
Subject: Lies
Max,
That can’t be your Tell Me Something.
Tell Me Somethings have to be true.
Plus, you sound like my mom. That inner-beauty thing is the first cousin of “You’re pretty on the inside.” I’m not saying that’s what you meant, I’m only saying no girl wants to be in the pretty on the inside camp.
My new Tell Me Something:
I need to tell Gina and Gray something, but I don’t know how. They’ve made some wrong assumptions, and I feel trapped between defending myself and telling the truth. Do you think there’s such a thing as a good lie?
Yours?
Sadie
From:
[email protected] To:
[email protected] Date: November 20
Subject: RE: US?
Max,
Whoa, your Tell Me Something caught me off guard. Do you mean us as a couple?
If so, Max, you’re so sweet to try making me feel desirable, but you don’t have to do that. (Guess you do believe in good lies. ☺) You live there, and I live here. Us is a horrible idea. Your emails are more than enough. More than I ever expected.
However, my Tell Me Something is:
If you weren’t there, and I weren’t here . . . If I weren’t me . . . but you were still you, I would be interested in letting you like-like me.
Next?
Sadie
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The first half of the week dripped by like an old faucet. Gina reached out by email. Gray texted. Both wanted us all to attend Pirates and Paintball.
I ignored the communications, which only made them send more.
They weren’t the only ones who brought it up. Thursday morning, Max was on the back deck waiting for me. He walked me to the mailbox.
“Pretty sure the mail runs later in the day,” he said. “Like after the sun comes up.”
What did that mean? I didn’t take the bait, if that’s what it was.
“I forgot to check it yesterday.”
“Expecting love letters?” he asked playfully.
If this was an open door, I played it halfway in, halfway out. “Are you writing me one?”
“Maybe.”
Then he elbowed me and winked. I tasted the orange juice I’d just downed in the kitchen, and swallowed hard.
“We’re past our letter-writing days,” I said suggestively.
“I’ll keep that in mind for the future. So, besides the mailbox, where is it you run off to in the mornings?” Max asked.
I shied away from telling him about Metal Pete’s. It was something I hadn’t exactly disclosed in my emails, and I worried he wouldn’t understand my obsession.
“Uh . . .”
His eyes rolled up and away. His jaw set and he asked, “Do you go sit with Gray?”
“No!” I said quickly. “I’ll show you, but no commentary. Okay?”
“I’d rather know than wonder.”
I retrieved two helmets from the garage, and we climbed on the Spree.
“Did you choose this instead of a car because of riding motorcycles with Trent?” he asked as we pulled into Jenni’s parking lot at the Donut Barista.
“No. Maybe. I never thought of that.”
“Any luck driving?” he asked.
“Nope.”
“You’ll get it,” he said as we walked up to the barista shack.
“Ooh, I’ve been waiting for an introduction,” Jenni said, leaning out the window.
“Jenni, this is Max.”
“As in Maximilian,” she cooed, making Max blush.
“As in Maxwell, ma’am,” he said.
“Well, what does Maxwell love to drink?”
He let me choose for him. I ordered the usual plus a Pacho Nuevo black coffee blend and two crullers.
“Well done,” he said as Jenni left to prepare our food. “So . . . you talk about me to your barista?” His cheeks were as pink as the sunset.
“Yes. And I call you Maximilian.”
We left Jenni’s loaded down with sugar and caffeine. I wagered we’d need both for Max’s first Salvage Yard experience. Lord, I hated to break his smile.
When we rolled into Metal Pete’s, Max had questions he didn’t ask. I watched the way his eyes narrowed and he surveyed the rows of cars. Headlight trotted out to greet me, and I introduced them.
There is something about dogs. They understand. Better than most humans. Headlight nuzzled Max with the best of her affection. Pre-love for the trip to the Yaris.
We walked to the office. Metal Pete wasn’t there, so I left a note on the door and explained to Max that this old yard was my sanctuary.
“You come here every day?” Max asked, sipping the coffee.
“Most of them.”
“What do you do?”
“Well, I talk to Metal Pete, look for cars, and . . . I sit by the Yaris.”
&nb
sp; “Trent’s Yaris.” His voice rose in surprise.
“Yeah.”
“Jesus.”
“I know it’s weird.”
“It’s . . . unexpected,” he said carefully.
“I look for courage here.”
Max’s eyes roamed over the lot around us. He took in the decaying metal field and said, “And you find it?”
“I find something.”
I thought he was disgusted with the idea, but he took a doughnut from the bag, held it firmly between his teeth, and said, “Show me,” as he chomped down.
Headlight walked between us as we made our way to the row where the Yaris lived.
“This place is like a cemetery.”
“No. In a cemetery everything is final. This place is like a huge spare-parts store.” I pointed to a totaled Camaro. “See. Those side mirrors, the tires, the steering wheel, maybe the bucket seats, plus who-knows-what under the hood: all of it’s salvageable.”
“Is there stuff missing from the Yaris?” Max asked.
“You’ll see.”
When we got to Trent’s car, Max walked around it several times. I didn’t disturb him. He needed this moment the same as I’d needed mine. Headlight trailed behind him, always within petting distance. Max opened the door to what was once his seat. It creaked angrily, but he and Headlight crawled inside and sat on the floor, since the backseat was gone. It must have been ninety degrees in there, but he showed no signs of moving.
I slipped down the row so he could cry in peace. While I waited, I rewrote the list in the dust on the hood of an old Buick.
1. Wear a tank top in public
2. Walk the line at graduation
3. Forgive Gina and Gray. And tell them the truth.
4. Stop following. Start leading.
5. Drive a car again
6. Visit the Fountain of Youth
As I stared at those six lines, I realized something I hadn’t noticed on the beach. Seven was now six. I had kissed someone without flinching. The list, the impossible list, wasn’t impossible.
Someone else might laugh at my revelation. Let them laugh. Taking a real step forward in life was frickin’ hard.
For the first time in a year, I was proud of myself.
I stretched my arms wide into the crystal-blue sky that even this far from the ocean smelled like salt, and thanked God for vitamin D and possibilities. Then, I ripped off my long-sleeve shirt and danced around like an idiot while the courage lasted.