by Karina Halle
“I guess I do fit,” he remarks, then stares at his knees pressed up against the glove compartment. “Barely.”
“Buckle up,” I tell him, just as Karen O’s cover of Led Zeppelin’s Immigrant Song comes blasting from the speakers. Then I burn it out of the parking spot, the car sliding on the icy road for a moment before it gets traction.
Max’s eyes go wide and I laugh, zipping across lanes as we zoom below the monorail tracks, heading further into downtown before we can exit to the I-5.
“Trying to undo the work you did, Blondie?” he asks. “AKA, kill me?”
“Sorry,” I tell him. “I know I speed. It’s hard not to in this thing.”
He stares out the window, wincing as I nearly take out a cyclist. “It’s not just the speed, it’s that you’re playing real life Mario Kart. I reckon you always chose Wario.”
“Actually, it was Princess Bitch. Sure, her top speed sucked, but she was pretty.”
Max laughs. “Princess Bitch? What did Peach ever do to you?”
I grin at him as we pull onto the highway. “Bitch is a compliment. I have to say, I’m surprised you’ve played Mario Kart and yet haven’t seen Mean Girls.”
“That’s because I’m an enigma,” he comments, then he turns up the volume as Karen O screams. “I haven’t heard this cover. Pretty cool. Not as good as the original of course. Though this one time I saw them, Bonham did an industrial sounding drum solo in the middle of the song.”
“Hold up. This one time you saw them? You saw Led Zeppelin? More than once?”
“Darlin’, have I never told you about the time I was a photojournalist in the seventies? I was on tour with fucking Zeppelin. If I ever get my stuff back, I have a million photos in my albums.”
My mouth drops in awe. Wow. I guess I never really gave Max and his past that much thought. Though now I’m snagged by the idea of him getting his stuff back.
“Wait, what stuff back? You have stuff somewhere? In Portland?”
His expression turns grim and he looks out the window. “New Orleans.”
He doesn’t say anything else, and I’m sure that means he doesn’t want to talk about it, but we have a four hour drive ahead of us and I aim to use that time to get every tidbit of information about him before we pull in front of my house and drop him off at the next door neighbors.
“Have you talked to Rose? You know, let her know you’re alive?” I ask.
He gives a slight shake of his head. “No.”
“No!? Max, you have to tell her. You were living with her in New Orleans, weren’t you?”
He rubs his lips together and gives me a furtive glance. “It’s not that simple. It wasn’t simple then and it sure as hell won’t be simple now.”
I consider that. “Okay, perhaps you showing up in her life three years later might need some explanation, but she’s going to be happy you’re alive.”
“Perry contacted Rose,” he says with a heavy sigh. “Rose never responded. So I decided to try. Her number changed, which is why Perry never heard back from her. So I went on Facebook. She never defriended me there…would have added insult to injury if she did.” The way he doesn’t finish his sentence makes me realize that this isn’t going to have a happy ending.
“Did you message her?” I ask hopefully.
“No.” He clears his throat, undoing his scarf. “Not yet. I’m not even sure I will. She’s engaged to some guy.”
“What?!” I almost drive the car into the other lane, correcting at the last minute.
“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this while you’re driving,” Max says wearily, his palm pressed against the ceiling to keep himself in place.
“What do you mean she’s engaged? It’s only been three years!”
I am aghast. Who does that? Who moves on that fast after they learn their loved one has died?
“We weren’t together,” he says, looking uncomfortable. “Not really. I don’t know if you remember, but she nearly died. Lost her memory. I stayed with her in Nola and took care of her. It was like starting over again…could have been romantic, but it didn’t go that way.”
“But Perry told me she eventually remembered everything.”
“Oh, she did. But that didn’t mean she changed her mind about me. We were close friends…fuck, I don’t know. It was complicated.”
“Were you in love with her?” I know I might be overstepping my bounds here, but I don’t really care.
“Yes,” he says without hesitation.
“That’s fucking rough, dude.”
He lets out a soft chuckle. “Yeah. It fucking is.”
“And you’re still in love with her…”
He tilts his head and seems to think it over. “I don’t know. I think so. I don’t think I’ll know until I see her again. Everything is just so…strange. To come back and have the world move on in your absence. To feel like centuries have passed in one way, and in the other you expect everything to remain the same.”
“Is that what it felt like in…there?” I don’t want to say the word Hell for some reason, like I’d be tempting it or something. “Like centuries?”
Max gives me a stiff smile. “I’m trying not to think about it.”
Okay, fair enough. And I take that as a warning to drop it, which is fine with me. I think I’ve been nosy enough. Besides, I had a taste of the place when I got my mom out, and even before that in my dreams. I know that I wasn’t in like the actual pit of fire, just an upper level (so many levels to the underworld, but just one stupid level in this one), but it was bad enough.
It’s a long-ass drive to Portland, but we talk about stupid shit for a while and then Max manages to fall asleep, head against the window, which leaves me locked in my own thoughts.
In some ways, his story with Rose reminds me of me and Jay. I mean, for all the obvious reasons. Jay was to me what Max was to her. He trained her to fight demons, to use her talents and kick-ass abilities (which I’m hearing are similar to my own kick-ass abilities) to do her job. Then they fell in love.
Except Max loved Rose so much, that he decided he didn’t want to be a Jacob anymore. He didn’t want to have to move on when she was ready to be on her own, and have to help someone else, as he had done countless times before. He gave up immortality and supernaturality and all that big stuff, to be with her because she was worth it to him. And even after they broke up, when she fell on hard times, he still went to her side to help her, even if he got nothing in return.
I could have had that with Jay. I wanted that with Jay. Jacob told him he had to move on and he did, just like that. He didn’t say, “You know what? I’m in love with Ada. I choose her over this weird-ass job,” or “Immortality is overrated,” or even try some kind of pushback. He just accepted it. I know it hurt him, I know it was hard on him, but he still did it. My love wasn’t enough for him. Or maybe it’s that his love wasn’t enough for me.
There are different levels to Hell, maybe there are different levels to love, too.
It’s getting dark by the time I pull down our suburban street. Everyone still has their Christmas lights up, giving it a cheery feeling, but New Year’s Eve is tomorrow and, after that, the magic of the holiday season is over. It sucks being single during this time, but I’m hoping the new year can at least bring some sort of fresh start.
“Here we are,” I tell him, parking in front of my house. We pulled into a McDonald’s halfway during the drive and got some gas, but after we ate our Big Macs and nuggets, he went right back to sleep again.
Max straightens up and stares out the window, almost in a daze.
“Max?” I ask. When he doesn’t respond I tap him on the shoulder.
He eventually looks at me, blinking. “Where am I?”
Oh my god. Don’t tell me he’s got amnesia or some shit.
“Ada?” he goes on, staring right through me.
“Yes,” I say uneasily. “It’s Ada. And you’re in Portland. I brought you here like you asked.”
<
br /> He looks around, pressing his large hands into the dash. “And this is real?”
“It’s real. What’s wrong with you? Are you not…awake?”
He swallows, nodding. He licks his lips. “Yeah. I’m awake.” He pinches his eyes shut for a moment. “Sometimes when I wake up…it doesn’t seem real. It doesn’t seem like I’m really here. Like I’m a ghost.”
My eyes go wide. “Oh my god,” I say softly. “What if you are a ghost!?”
He frowns, looking at me. “I was just saying I feel like a…” He trails off, thinking. “The woman at the clothing store seemed to be able to see me.”
“But did she? Because we all thought nothing was wrong with Bruce Willis the first time we watched The Sixth Sense.”
I get out of the car, the air bitterly cold for Portland, and walk around to his side. I open the door and hold my hands out for him. “Come on. I have to get to the bottom of this or this is going to bug me.”
Max looks at my hands and then up at my face, frowning. “It’s going to bug you if I’m a ghost?”
“Yes. I don’t want to be that person walking around and talking to themselves.”
He puts his hands in mine, though he gets up on his own. I then take my duffel bag out of the trunk and hand it to him. “Here, you can carry this. Come on.”
I start off walking to my house, even though he’s looking at the Knightly’s. Whatever, he can see Jacob in a moment.
Then he follows me up the path. I open the front door, met with the warmth of home and the smell of my dad’s cooking. My stomach growls. I told him I’d be home for dinner, but I didn’t mention I’d be bringing company.
“You hungry?” I ask Max over my shoulder.
“I could eat,” he says carefully. “Though maybe I should check in with Jacob.”
“Jacob controls what you eat?” I ask as we step into the foyer and I close the door.
“Jacob doesn’t control shit when it comes to me,” Max says. “Just thought I would let him know I’m here before he figures it out for himself.”
“That’s a relief,” I mutter. Jacob controlled Jay as much as he could.
“Ada, you’re home,” my dad calls out from the kitchen. He comes around the corner and stops dead in his tracks when he sees Max.
“Hey dad, you remember Max, don’t you?”
My father’s face looks white.
Like he’s seen a ghost.
And fuuuuuuuck. I had totally forgotten about all this.
“Nice to see you again,” Max says. He’s not moving, hands in his pockets. “I believe the last time we saw each other was in New York.”
My dad’s mouth drops open. Then he snaps it shut and looks at me. “Is this a joke? Am I going crazy?”
“What?” I gesture to the ginger. “That’s Maximus. You can see him, right?”
“I see him, but I shouldn’t be seeing him.” He looks at Max in horror. “I was at your funeral. You shouldn’t be here. You’re dead.”
I exchange a weighty look with Max. Right. Who is going to explain this to my dad? Me? Whom he won’t believe. Or Max, who he might also not believe.
Max nods, perhaps hearing me, and smiles apologetically at my father. “Do you want me to explain what happened, or should you hear it from your daughter?”
“Actually, before we get into that, Dad, can Max stay for dinner? I know you’ve made enough.”
Dad just stares at Max. “I don’t understand. Are you a ghost?”
“See, that doesn’t help,” I tell him. I lock eyes with Max and gesture to the kitchen. “Come on. Eat.”
“I don’t want to impose,” Max says, not moving, trying not to look at my father who is still staring at him in confusion.
“You’re not imposing,” I tell him. “Dad, tell him he’s not imposing. Tell him he’s welcome. Be a good host.”
My dad reluctantly nods his head. “Yes. Okay. Sorry.”
“No problem,” Max says, taking off his coat and hanging it on the coat hook.
I take my dad by the elbow and lead him into the kitchen. “It’s fine. Everything is fine.”
“I don’t understand,” he whispers to me. “I thought he was dead. You all told me he had died.”
I give him an affectionate pat. My poor dad. He’s been going through some things lately; if I had given this any thought at all, I would have realized this wasn’t a good idea. That said, he’d eventually notice Max next door and still come to the same conclusions, whatever they are.
“We’ll explain. Let’s eat first. Here, sit. I’ll serve.”
My dad sits down at the table, while Max takes an uneasy seat across from him. I quickly get the lasagna out of the oven and start dishing it up.
“I was sorry to hear about your wife,” Max says to him, his voice low. “She was a lovely lady.”
“Have you seen her?” my father asks. His voice is so urgent that I turn around to look. He’s leaning forward, hands splayed on the table. “Have you talked to her?”
“Dad,” I say sharply, carrying the plates over and setting them down in front of them.
My dad looks at me, eyes wide. “I need to know, Ada.”
“No,” Max says softly, his gaze apologetic. “I’m sorry. I haven’t seen your wife. Not since New York.”
“But you were dead.”
Max eyes me over my father’s head. “Perhaps this is best discussed over some wine.”
Good call. I get the glasses and the bottle of wine and sit down. My father attempts to pour, but his hands are shaking so Maximus smoothly takes over. I give him an appreciative look. He was always great with my parents, especially compared to someone like Dex, at least back in the day.
“I’d suggest a toast,” I say, raising my glass. “But I’m not sure what’s appropriate.” Congrats to being alive? I guess that’s pretty standard.
“How about to this wonderful meal your father has created?” Max suggests, raising his glass.
My father barely manages to raise his, the wine sloshing slightly from his trembling grip.
Then we dig in. My father at least has enough patience to let Max eat about half his plate before he starts asking questions.
“I just don’t understand,” my father says, shaking his head. “Was everyone wrong? Was everyone lying? I remember being so confused that there was no body, but that there was a funeral anyway. I don’t know.” He takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Everything about those days is a blur. Perhaps it’s best if I don’t remember.”
“Well, I can tell you the truth and I’ll tell it to you straight,” Max says before having a sip of wine. “And that’s the fact that I did die. I died saving your daughter and son-in-law’s life. I would have done the same for your wife if I was around, but unfortunately, at that point, I wasn’t.”
My dad slowly looks up at him. “Then how are you here? And how come she’s not?”
“Dad,” I say carefully. “Remember the conversation we had with Dex and Perry on Christmas Eve? Right here?”
“I’ve tried to forget,” he mumbles under his breath. A lot of ugly truths came out over that dinner, including the truth about my abilities.
“I’m sure,” I tell him softly. “But that’s still all true. You don’t have to believe it, but it’s true. Basically, I was able to reach into the Veil, to the world between worlds, and I was able to pull Maximus out.”
“And you can’t do the same for your mother?” he asks quietly.
I never told him that I had to get Mom out of Hell, that she was taken there by the same demon that took Max. I don’t want to get into that now. It would break him.
I shake my head and put my hand over his. God, it’s still shaking. “Dad…Mom is dead. I really wish she wasn’t, but she is. We can’t reach her. She’s at peace.”
“But she isn’t,” my father says sharply, eyes piercing into me. “I told you she isn’t. I told you I’ve been seeing her.”
“You’ve bee
n seeing her?” Max asks.
My father nods but doesn’t go into detail. The fact that when he sees my mother, she keeps repeating the same thing over and over again. Don’t let her, don’t let her. So far none of us, Perry included, have any idea who she’s talking about and what it means.
“Have you seen her?” Max looks to me.
I shake my head.
“So, if I’m seeing Ingrid, and she’s a ghost, how do I know you’re not a ghost?” my father asks him. Back to the ghost thing.
Max shrugs. “I guess you don’t. I hope I’m not, though. I feel real. And I’ve been interacting with people, contrary to what Ada might think.”
“In The Sixth Sense, it looked like Bruce Willis was interacting with people, but he wasn’t,” I point out.
“Ada, that was a movie,” my father chides me, losing his patience.
“An awesome movie,” I add.
“Anyway,” Max goes on, spearing the last piece of lasagna with his fork, “I’ll figure it all out soon enough. Just got to get back on my feet, so to speak.”
My father eyes me. “Please don’t tell me he’s living here.”
“I’ll be next door,” Max says quickly. “For a little while, anyway. At the Knightly’s. They’re old friends of mine.”
“Of course they are,” my dad says with a loaded sigh.
“And with that, I should probably go,” Max says, getting to his feet, towering over the table. “Let Dawn and Sage know I’m alive and well. Or, if not alive, at least well. Thank you for a lovely dinner, Mr. Palomino.”
He picks up his empty plate and glass of wine, finishing the pinot as he takes the dishes over to the sink.
I get up and go over to him. “You’re going so soon?”
“Don’t want to overstay my welcome, little lady.”
“Can you not call me that?”
He grins. “Sure. Blondie it is.” He gives my father a nod and then heads off to the foyer. I follow, right at his heels.
“I told you how I feel about Blondie.”