I chose to say, “You can just be you.”
His voice was on the brink and he went back to minimal answers.
“I know.”
“How was Callahan?” I asked.
“Happy I knew.” Max’s eyes misted over. “He loved my brother.”
“We all did,” I said.
Max pointed to the blanket fort I’d made in the corner of the room, put a finger to his lips, and said, “Let’s not talk about Trent right now.”
I followed him to the floor and through the entrance.
“You want me to read to you?” I asked.
“Nope.”
“You want me to tell you something?”
“Nope,” he said. “I want you to tell me everything . . . tomorrow.”
I imagined him grinning. I imagined me grinning. I didn’t have to imagine us happy, because we already were.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
In the early dawn, Max and I whispered back and forth about nothing. Talking about nothing was sometimes better than talking about anything.
“You never told me what your surprise was,” I said, poking him awake.
He yawned and asked, “What surprise?”
Even though he knew exactly which surprise. I dug my chin into his chest for teasing me.
“Okay, okay,” he said, stroking my back. “I was going to ask if you wanted to go to the Fountain of Youth Park on the anniversary. Thought it might help to get out of town, and I know it’s on your list.”
Suddenly, it clicked.
“You’ve been working on my list? Haven’t you?”
His hands paused midtouch. “I read your emails over and over. Memorized the things you wanted. Like the tank top and the park. You want to go; just like I know you’ve been working on driving with Metal Pete.”
“How?”
“I asked him.”
“You asked Metal Pete?” My voice climbed a ladder.
“Shh, we’re going to get caught,” he warned. “Yeah. Of course I did. I’d do anything to help.”
I tested Fletcher’s idea on him.
“What do you think about the four of us going?” I asked.
Silence.
More silence.
“Max?”
“If that’s what you want, let’s do it,” he said.
“You hesitated.”
“Five or so hours in the car with Gray—” he said.
“Ten or so hours,” I corrected, since we had to also drive home. “And I’m not sure I can do it either. I’m not even sure he’ll agree.”
“Well, I’ll bring the paintball gun just in case,” he said. “I’ve heard that works pretty well.”
Neither of us laughed. “That was a mistake. I shouldn’t have shot him.”
“He told you to.”
“That doesn’t make it right. But maybe this will.”
“For your sake, I hope he says yes.”
Later on in the day, long after Max slipped out my window, Gina and Gray agreed to meet Max and me at the Salvage Yard on the morning of the anniversary. Two days from now.
That meant I had work to do.
I showed up at Metal Pete’s with two bags of doughnuts and two choices of coffee, still wearing Max’s T-shirt to channel my brave. Surely caffeine and sugar would woo Metal Pete into submission, and the T-shirt would prove I was serious about change.
I walked toward the office feeling hopeful.
Metal Pete eyed me suspiciously when I set the morning feast on his desk. “You’re . . . up to something,” he said. “Spill the beans.”
“That car you promised me,” I began.
Metal Pete began most expressions with a scrunched nose and raised eyebrows. This one ended up in a smile. “Uh-huh?” he said.
I gave him a prize-winning grin. “Could I maybe borrow that on Thursday?”
“You mean you want to drive it off the lot?”
I nodded.
“Like . . . you’re going to take the car through the gate, hit the gas, and put it on an actual road and . . . ?”
His skepticism wasn’t a refusal. It was a challenge.
“Somehow. Some way,” I said, even though I wasn’t quite sure of that part myself.
“And where might you be taking this borrowed car of mine?”
“St. Augustine.”