Ten years gone and Max still missed her.
She recognized that her life was filled with loss—her mother, her great-grandmother, her friends—and while she liked to think that she had dealt with each one as it came, today a cloak of melancholy smothered her. Probably because she’d spent an hour talking to a grieving sister and trying not to remember her own grief when Lindy was murdered and Kevin accused of the crime. That year had torn apart every friendship she’d had growing up. One day, they were a close-knit group of privileged kids, all going to college, all ready to take on the world … the next they were divided, angry and grieving and casting blame. They’d been eighteen, hardly ready to take on the world like they thought, and completely unprepared to face the brutal death of one of their own—and the accusations that came after.
She looked down at her flat stomach and touched the tattoo she’d had since her seventeenth birthday.
Max’s birthday was on New Year’s Eve. Her mother had once told her she planned it that way so Max’s birthday would always be cause for worldwide celebration. Max would have preferred cake and ice cream.
But when she turned seventeen, the first birthday that she didn’t receive a card from her mother, Lindy had invited her to go with her family to New York. They had an apartment there because her father traveled often for business, and Max had joined them a couple of times, but never for New Year’s Eve. Lindy told her she had a surprise, and had her driver take them to a tattoo parlor.
Max had balked at first.
“I’m not getting a tattoo.”
Lindy laughed and led her inside. “Of course you are!”
“My grandmother will kill me.”
“When has that stopped you from annoying her in the past?”
True, but tattoos were permanent. “Lindy, your mom will kill you.”
“They don’t have to know. We’ll get them on our ass.”
“I’m not getting a tattoo on my ass.”
Lindy pouted, but it was exaggerated. Max and Lindy had talked about getting tattoos together for years. It was forbidden and exciting. They’d looked at pictures and picked out favorites. Max didn’t know if she’d go through with it, but it was fun to imagine what she’d get.
“I had one specially designed for you, for your birthday,” Lindy said.
Lindy was used to getting her way, no matter what it cost, so their age and lack of parental consent was glossed over. She asked the owner—whose muscular arms were canvases for his art—to show the girls his sketches.
Max had been expecting something wild and fun like Lindy. What she saw left her speechless.
Lindy sounded worried when she said, “You don’t like it?”
It was a small dandelion with wisps flying away and turning into birds. It was tasteful, both delicate and bold at the same time. There was a sense of movement as well, because the birds were in different stages of flight.
“I love it.” Sometimes, Max wondered if Lindy listened. Now she realized that Lindy knew her better than anyone. “Are you getting the same thing?”
Lindy laughed. “Oh, no. I’m getting something far more dangerous.”
The tattoo guy showed Max another sketch. It was of an angel, a beautiful angel, with both a halo and a devil’s tail.
Lindy said, “I was going to get an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other, but this seems more like me, don’t you think?”
“It’s definitely you.”
Max stood under the shower far longer than she needed, washing and rewashing her body until she could face the rest of the day without the cloud of bittersweet memories. Water rejuvenated her as well as cleansed her.
As soon as the water was off, she heard a knock at the door. She slid into the hotel’s white terry robe and tied the sash. She looked through the peephole.
William.
She wasn’t surprised that the family had chosen William to confront her; she was surprised that he acted so quickly.
She opened the door. “Five hours since my flight landed. This must be a new record.”
William walked in and closed the door behind him. “Why didn’t you call?” he said.
“Good to see you, too, cousin.” William hadn’t changed since high school, other than filling out in the shoulders and a few hairline wrinkles around the eyes. He was impeccably dressed in a custom-tailored navy chalk-stripe Huntsman suit: only the best for the son of Brooks Revere. Max wondered how many of the pricey British suits her cousin owned. She’d never seen him wear anything else, because his father never wore anything else. But William fit the suit, in style and substance. He was smart, a sharp corporate lawyer, and attractive.
But she’d never forget the teenager who so desperately wanted to have fun, even though he rarely found time for it. On those few occasions he relaxed, Max adored her cousin above all others.
She smiled. “Seriously, it is good to see you.”
She hugged William, and he said, “You’re wet!” But he accepted her embrace and kissed her on the cheek. “It’s really good to have you home, Maxine.”
“You caught me getting out of the shower.” She crossed the room and sat on one of the two oversized chairs in her suite. She motioned for William to sit on the love seat across from her. He sat and leaned forward, his arms on his knees.
“You didn’t just come here to say hello,” she said.
“Are you here for Kevin O’Neal’s funeral?”
She sighed. So much for catching up and enjoying William’s company. What did she expect? The memories of Lindy and her childhood had clouded her judgment. She should have known why her cousin had come. “Someone told you I had coffee with his sister.”
“It’s not like no one in town knows you.”