“Listen.” His father's voice cracked. “I may not ever meet Max, but could you do me a favor?” He paused, and Connor could feel the man's sadness through the phone line. “Before you send him home, could you take a picture of him for me?”
“Sure, Dad.” Connor bit the inside of his lip. “I'll take one for both of us.”
THIRTY
The goldfish feeling in Max's tummy was back.
It was Thursday, and Mr. Evans said after dinner they had to talk. But it wasn't the nice kind of talk they sometimes did about fishing or butterflies or throwing a ball. No, because this time, Mr. Evans only did a small sad smile when he said that.
Tomorrow was two weeks; he heard Mrs. Evans say so, and that meant that maybe the thing Mr. Evans wanted to talk about was him going back home. Max missed Buddy, and so going home was a good thing, except he didn't want to stay there. He wanted to get his bestest dog and get back on a plane to Florida so he could live with the Evans family forever.
Plus for two days Mrs. Evans had been nicer to him. She asked him what his favorite thing to eat was, and he told her blueberry pancakes and whipped cream, or buttered toast. Either one. And yesterday she made him blueberry pancakes for breakfast and today, buttered toast.
And when he couldn't untie the knot in his shoe after the kickball game with 'Lizabeth and Susan, she called him over and put him on her lap while she untangled it all the way. Afterward he told her thank you very much, ma'am, the way his mommy taught him.
And the greatest thing happened. Mrs. Evans smiled at him and said, “Max, you're a very nice boy.”
So maybe the Evans family had made a choice to keep him. Because everything was going so good. But when Mr. Evans said after dinner they had to have a talk, his voice didn't sound happy, like he could stay. It sounded sorry but he had to go.
Dinnertime was quiet, except for 'Lizabeth said, “Do you leave tomorrow, Max?” She sounded not happy about the idea.
Then Mrs. Evans gave her a strong look and said, “We'll talk about that later.”
That's when Max knew that whatever the talk was about, it wouldn't be good news.
When dinner was over, Mr. Evans took him upstairs to his room and sat next to him on the end of the bed. “Max, I have some news for you.”
The goldfish jumped around a little. “Yes?”
“You have to go home tomorrow, Max.” His eyes had shiny wet in them, and his voice sounded broken. “Mr. Ogle has found a very nice couple who want to adopt you. They want you to live with them forever.”
Angry and scared and wanting to run all mixed together in Max's heart. “But … I thought …”
“Yes.” Mr. Evans closed his mouth very tight and his lips made a straight line. “We wanted you to live here, too. But … but God told us it would be better for you to go back to the island.”
“Only to get Buddy.” Max's throat felt dry, the way it did after a long walk home from the bus stop. “Then I want to come back here.” He took Mr. Evans's hand. “I don't want to live with anyone else.”
Mr. Evans was quiet for a long time. “I'm sorry, Max. The decision's already been made.”
Questions were coming into his mind faster than Max could think. Who was the couple and how did they know about him? How come Mr. Evans let someone else adopt him? And how would he ever find his daddy somewhere out there if he was living with a new couple?
And the biggest question of all. “Mrs. Evans is still mad at me, right?”
“I told you, Max … it's because this is what God wants.” He dropped his head down some. When he looked up, the water in his eyes was almost spilling over. “But I want you to know that I'll always remember our time together, okay?”
Be strong and brave … be strong and brave … be strong and brave …
“Okay.” Max squeezed Mr. Evans's hand. “I'll remember, too.”
The talk was over because Mr. Evans said that was all. Then he held out his arms and Max jumped down onto his feet and quick ran up to him for a long hug. After a while, Max pulled back a little. “I have a question.”
“Okay.” Mr. Evans looked at him. Hurt was in his voice. Hurt and sorry and too bad it didn't work out.
Max could feel his heart beeping hard beneath his shirt. Because this was the question he had all the time he was at the Evans's house, only he didn't know how to ask. And now … now he was leaving tomorrow so if he didn't ask, he never would. “Did you love my mommy, Mr. Evans?”
For a long time, Mr. Evans looked away, out the window probably, but Max couldn't tell. Then he looked back and said, “Your mommy and I were friends for a short time, Max.”
“But did you love her?”
This time Max felt him put his hand against the side of his face. “Not as much as I love you.”
Max's heart did a somersault inside him, because of two things. First, yes, Mr. Evans had loved his mommy. Not the married kind of love, but at least he loved her. That meant he knew how sad it was that she was gone. And two, Mr. Evans loved him even more!
They hugged again, and then they went back downstairs with the rest of the family. The night was fun with Uno and real actual theater popcorn in the microwave, and a Peter Pan movie. Everything was just perfect, except one thing.
Tomorrow he was going home.
Michele was glad Max was leaving, but she still wasn't ready to sleep in the same bed as Connor.
That night she stayed in Susan's room, and it was after midnight when she heard someone crying. At first she thought it was Elizabeth, because the girl had suffered nightmares the past two nights. She slipped out of bed and padded the few steps to Elizabeth's room, but she was sound asleep. That could mean only one thing, of course.
The crying was coming from Max.
No matter what her feelings about her husband's affair, or the woman who had been Max's mother, her heart broke at the sound of the child's muffled cries. In fact, he had been much easier to be around the past few days. Ever since she'd known for sure that he was going home.
She'd realized something early Wednesday. Connor was right. Max was a very nice boy, well-mannered and kind to the girls, polite and thankful with an easy grin and an adorable face. With no reason to keep her guard up around the boy, Michele found herself actually liking him.
Her cold treatment toward him had been shameful and wrong, and she wished there was a way she could make it up to him. The situation was hardly his fault, not the affair or the interruption his arrival had made in their lives, or the fact that he had his mother's green eyes. He was simply a little boy who had lost his mom, a boy who'd had no say whatsoever in coming to Florida to visit their family.
Earlier that day she had wondered about the boy's grieving process, when he cried for the loss of his mother. Now she knew.
She crept down the hall toward the guest room and pushed the door open. “Max?”
His face was buried in his pillow, but he lifted it a few inches and looked at her. “Yes?”
“Max, honey, why are you crying?” She crossed the room and sat on the edge of his bed. “It's very late.”
He rolled over and tucked the covers up to his chin. His eyes were swollen, and in the moonlight she could see tearstains on his cheeks. “I can't sleep.”
In that instant, gone were her thoughts about whose son he was or what he represented. All that mattered was that the heart of the boy before her was breaking. Breaking badly. Without giving her actions a second thought, she reached out and ran her fingers along Max's arm. “Are you missing your mom?”
Max nodded and made another couple sobs. “Y–y–yes.” He pulled something out from beneath the covers and held it up. “This is my mommy. Sometimes … sometimes at night I hold her picture against my heart.”
Michele's breath caught in her throat.
She kept her eyes from the photograph. She couldn't have made it out in the shadowy light anyway, but just in case … This wasn't about Kiahna; it was about Max missing his mommy. Michele's jealousy and he
r feelings of inadequacy had no place in this conversation.
Max took several quick breaths, his small body still convulsing from the sadness. “She … she told me that she'd always be in my heart.” He pulled the picture back down under the covers and held it there with one hand. “Do you think that's true, Mrs. Evans? Do you think she's still in my heart?”
“Yes.” Michele ached for the boy, ached to pull the child into her arms and hug away the mountain of pain he was under. Instead she caught Max's free hand and held it, the same way she would've held Elizabeth or Susan's hands. “Yes, Max, I'm sure she's in your heart.”
Gradually, in lessening sobs and waves of sorrow, Max began to calm down. Michele watched him leave his mother's picture beneath the sheets and blankets. Then he pulled his arm out and dragged it across his face. He kept his other hand tucked safe and small inside hers.
After a minute he peered at her again. “Mrs. Evans?”
“Yes, Max.”
“You didn't know my mommy, did you?”
Michele refused to give in to the jealousy that rose up in her heart. He's a little boy … he doesn't have any idea … “No, Max. I didn't know her.” She squeezed the boy's hand. “But I'm sure she was very nice.”
“She was.” He made a few sniffing sounds. “I wanted her to get a husband so we could have a daddy, but she never did. She said I was the only man she needed.”
Michele had to keep from letting her mouth hang open. What did he mean she never did? Certainly a woman like Kiahna would've had different men every few months. Casual sex and instability in the home. At least that was the picture she'd had since she learned about her husband's affair.
Twice she ran the boy's words through her head, and the picture still wouldn't come into focus. Max was waiting for an answer, and she kept her voice even. “I'm sure she was telling the truth, that you were all she needed.”
“But I still wanted a daddy.” Max put his free hand beneath his head so he could see her better. “My mommy loves Jesus very much, did you know that, Mrs. Evans?”
“Really?” Michele's head was spinning. Again, the picture Max was giving her was nothing like the one in her head. Kiahna didn't have men in her life? She loved Jesus? Suddenly something Connor had said came back to her. Kiahna was a nice girl … a nice girl …
She hadn't believed a word of it. What sort of flight attendant would bring a married pilot home to her apartment? The answer had always seemed obvious—until now. She studied the small boy and bit the inside of her cheek. How important it must be for Max to have times like these, when he could talk about his mother as though she were still alive.
“You believe in Jesus, right?” He gave her a sad smile.
“Yes, Max. I believe very much.” But even as she said the words, they sounded tinny, phony. Coated in plastic. She'd been downright mean to a seven-year-old boy who was just weeks from losing his mother … she'd spewed bitter words at her husband, never giving him a chance to explain himself or even apologize … and when she had a chance to work things out, she'd run to her sister's house.
But she believed in Jesus.
A Scripture came to mind, one that had always haunted her whenever she read the book of James: “You believe that there is one God. Good! Even the demons believe that—and shudder.” The point of the Scripture was obvious. Faith without works was a dead faith. Since the news of Connor's infidelity, what had she done to show her love for anyone but herself?
“My mommy gave me a Bible last year.” He sat up some and took a white book from his nightstand. “See … I read it every day.”
The picture continued to grow and fill in. Kiahna had been a believer. Which meant, if nothing else, Michele would be with her in heaven one day. Also, she stayed away from men and taught Max to read the Bible. Suddenly Michele wanted more information about the woman. “Tell me more, Max.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” She leaned in and with her free hand, she brushed his bangs off his forehead. “Talking about people we love helps keep them alive a little longer.”
This time Max's smile was genuine. “I think that, too.” Then he took another few breaths, the remains of his sobbing episode, and he told Michele everything he could think of about his mother.
Michele had expected him to say that she was beautiful and thin and well-dressed, that she had a pretty face and that he'd never seen a nicer-looking mommy anywhere. Instead he talked about the fact that she had a special song for him, and about their butterfly days, and how they liked to play at the beach sometimes.
Not once did he mention anything about his mother's looks.
Had Kiahna fretted about her weight, a few pounds one way or another? If she had, did she know now that Max hadn't cared one way or the other?
Suddenly Michele's obsession with her looks, her weight, and the foods she was and wasn't eating, seemed like a silly waste of time. A smoke screen. The truth presented itself, and for the first time she didn't turn away. The real problem back when Connor had his affair was that she'd been absorbed in depression, oblivious to Connor's trouble at work and with his father, unable to encourage him or love him or do anything but pull him down.
Yes, she'd had her reasons. But the way she'd cut herself off from Connor had been wrong. She finally saw the truth for what it was. Her food binges had always been nothing more than a way to hide from her emotional struggles.
The knowledge of Connor's affair had been no different.
Connor never would've left her because of her weight. Love wasn't based on how a person looked. It was how the person talked and played and spent time that mattered. How they lived and loved; that's what people remembered.
Max was saying something, and Michele focused on him once more.
“Know something else, Mrs. Evans?” Max's words were slower than before. He yawned and found her eyes again. “That wasn't all the reason I was crying.”
“It wasn't?” Michele still had hold of his hand. “What else was it?”
“Because …” This time Max looked straight into her soul. “Because I don't want to say good-bye tomorrow.”
Michele reached for Max then, lifting him off the pillow and taking him in her arms. “Oh, Max … it'll be okay.”
His small body started shaking again. “I wanted … I wanted Mr. Evans to be my pretend daddy.”
“Your pretend daddy?” Michele's heart was racing now, the knowledge of what the child was going through almost more than she could bear.
“My mommy told me in a letter that I have a daddy somewhere out there. Only … only I think it might be too hard to find him because of so many dads in the world. So I asked Jesus if … if Mr. Evans could be my pretend daddy.”
Michele couldn't contain her tears another minute. They flooded her eyes and she blinked them back so Max wouldn't see them. It took every bit of her resolve to remind herself that sending Max home was the best thing not just for their family but for Max. His school was there, and his friends. And a couple who wanted to love and care for Max forever.
“Max, it'll all work out one day. I promise you that. Jesus has plans for you that are all good.”
“But I want to get Buddy and come back h–h–here.” He buried his head in her shoulder and wept so hard he could barely breathe. They stayed that way until he grew calm once more. Then he pulled back some. “I wish you would've come camping with us, Mrs. Evans.”
They were the most pointed words he could've said to her. Almost as if he knew that, had she come on the trip, she would've fallen in love with him, too.
With her fingertips, she wiped away his tears and said the only thing she could think to say. “I'm sorry I didn't go, Max. I'm so sorry.”
“I forgive you.” He caught her gaze once more. “And know what?”
“What?” Michele could barely speak, still strangled by the truth of how wrong she'd been that week. Wrong in every possible way.
“Love happens when people forgive.” He gave her one more sad,
knowing smile. “So that means I love you.”
“I love you, too, Max.” The moment she said the words, she realized they were true. What was there not to love about this child? He was so much like Connor, and so much his own person at the same time. As she held him and stroked his back, convincing him that life would turn out okay, that Jesus had a plan for his life, she thought about it again. In a just-beginning kind of way, she did love the boy.
If only she'd figured that out sooner.
Because the plan was already in motion, and deep in her soul she knew it was the right one. It had to be. Because by tomorrow at this same time, Max Riley Siefert would be back in Honolulu.
Gone from their lives forever.
THIRTY-ONE
Ramey sat on the sofa and stared at Max and Buddy, standing together a few feet from her. Max had been home three days, and now it was Monday. The Mollers would be there in fifteen minutes for their first meeting with Max and Buddy.
“Well, Ramey, do I look good?”
Buddy lifted his chin and made a soft whining sound.
“Not you, Buddy.” Max bent down and patted the dog's head. “I need Ramey to tell me.”
“Yes, Max. You look very handsome.”
“What about Buddy?” Max had tied a blue scarf around the dog's neck.
“Buddy looks handsome, too.”
The dog barked once, and Max dropped to one knee. “No barking, Buddy. The Mollers might not like dogs.” He placed his hands on either side of Buddy's face. “Be quiet, okay?”
Ramey hated that they had to do this, hated the idea of parading Max and Buddy before some strange couple, almost as if they were a set of used appliances. She was still praying for a forgiveness miracle for the boy, but it was looking less likely with every day.
No one from the Evans family had called since Max returned home.
She'd talked to Mr. Ogle and agreed to keep Max and Buddy at her apartment until the Mollers's paperwork was completed, if they did, indeed, decide to adopt Max. If not, Max would go to live with the Ogles. But that would mean changing schools, and being fifteen miles from his old neighborhood. Better to make that type of change only once, she and Mr. Ogle had agreed.