From the kitchen, he could hear laughter. It was musical. His mother’s laughter. Then seconds later, in perfect harmony, Tiar’s. He stopped for a moment just a few feet short of the doorway to the kitchen and closed his eyes. He didn’t know exactly what to expect when he walked into the kitchen after being away for so long. For just this moment, the smells, the sounds, the feel of this place all told him he was home. It was the best feeling he had had in a long time.
Max screwed up his nerve and inched toward the kitchen. He watched the scene, unnoticed, for about a minute. He watched his mother’s face, framed by now graying red hair, as she recounted an anecdote about shopping for their Thanksgiving turkey. He saw the back of Tiar’s head, her familiar chestnut hair cascading over her blue cashmere sweater. The hairs on the back of his neck suddenly bristled. He stood motionless, like a cat in the tall grass of the Savannah, ready to strike. Then, he caught his mother’s eye. Her face lit up and she jumped up to embrace him.
“Max,” she said joyously. “You’re home!” Tiar did not get up, instead smiling at him over her shoulder. She didn’t know where they had left things, but she was very glad to see him again and her eyes communicated that sufficiently as Max looked at her over his mother’s shoulder.
“Can I get you some tea, dear?” Eleanor asked, almost as a reflex.
“I can get it, Ma,” he said.
“No, I insist, you sit down,” she said, pulling out a chair for him across from Tiar. “You’ve had such a long trip.”
Max sat across from Tiar as his mother busied herself with tea bags and mugs. They stared at each other like they had the day they first met, trying to figure each other out, and yet entirely enamored with each other’s presence. They smiled at one another like children sharing secrets of their own invention. But, Max thought to himself, this is not what Tiar had looked like as a child. He found himself wondering how he had been so blind before not to see how beautiful she really was. He wondered if he had ever told her, or ever would.
Once Jack came home from work, the family ate dinner. And so, the holiday progressed. Eleanor cooked feverishly to celebrate the traditional feast of her beloved adopted country. Jack thanked the Almighty Creator during grace for letting him have his two children around the table. They ate until their stomachs ached. They put up the Christmas tree. They decorated ginger bread houses. They were a portrait of the classic American family, the older son making the family proud by excelling in college, the young beautiful daughter ever helpful and gracious around the house, folding the dish towels, filling glasses, and doling cookies onto serving trays. But, these were not siblings, a fact of which Max and Tiar were acutely aware. They needed to talk, and they needed to do it away from their parents. Pleasant and relaxing as the holiday was, the suspense of resolving the ultimate unanswered question of their relationship began to weigh on both of them. Max wondered, sitting across from Tiar at the kitchen table or on an adjacent chair as she sat on the couch, what she thought about that kiss. Could you call it a kiss? He had told her he loved her… and she sort of answered… What did it mean about them as a them, a we, an us? He assumed for the past thirteen weeks that she felt the same way he did. She did, after all, ask him not to leave. They both knew he would, but she had wanted him to stay with her. That had to mean something, didn’t it?
With four adult bodies, the house remained cozy, not cramped. Still, there was little privacy. Max hoped that when his father went back to work Friday, Max and Tiar would have a chance to talk privately. But Jack, who had been asking for extra evening shifts for two months, had earned the entire holiday off. And so, in brief moments they were not under the watchful eye of either parent, they would try to initiate a seemingly impossible line of inquiry.
How’s college?
Good, really good. I want to tell you all about it.
I want to hear it, but first…
In walks Eleanor with a twenty-pound bag of potatoes.
So, I tried to call you, but your uncle keeps hanging up on me.
I know. I’m sorry about that. Your mom called your dorm a few times when I was over but you were never there.
I know. Basketball practice. But, can we set up a time to talk?
In walks Jack with a ladder and a set of Christmas lights.
How are your friends doing?
I need to tell you about something that happened while you were gone.
Tap on back door. Jack with an armful of firewood.
And so, by Saturday afternoon, Max and Tiar had yet to spend ten consecutive minutes alone. The men’s basketball season opened with a game against their arch rivals, Annandale High School. Tiar and Eleanor had agreed to fill in at the concession stand for two workers who had food poisoning. Max watched the game with Jack, the first sporting event they had watched together since Max was eight and Jack tried for the third and final time to explain to the boy the importance of the Super Bowl, which Max abandoned before half time. Now, they were two men, thrust together onto a tiny section of wooden bleachers to observe the same event. Max sat relaxed on the gleaming polished wood, curious how his old teammates would fair, interested to see who had been practicing over the summer to develop their three-point shot and who had allowed their running endurance to peter off in the off season. Jack balanced on the last three inches of the bench, his tense muscles ready to spring forth at any moment and jump into the game himself. He watched with complete attention, analyzing every play of the rapidly moving contest. He was more emotionally engaged then Max had seen him get about anything in their eighteen years together as father and son. Max was surprised by his father’s sudden interest in his alma mater’s varsity sports, enthusiasm he did not show when his own son was named most valuable player two years in a row. The game ended with St. Jude’s trailing by over twenty points. Father and son milled about near the now closed concession stand waiting for their female counterparts. Both men had the thought at separate times that this was when most male pairings would make small talk. But, this thought was not joined by the instinct how to proceed in that endeavor and so it remained merely a thought.
Once the foursome was once again complete, the family piled into the car and returned home where Eleanor had dinner waiting in the slow cooker. Bowls were handed out and napkins distributed. Conversation restarted over the clink of silverware coming out of drawers and hitting the wooden table. They took their seats and Jack once again thanked the Lord for their food and for the presence of their two children. As stew was being poured into bowls, conversation turned to the sporting event the two women had just missed, occupied as they were raising money for the band by selling hot dogs to hungry spectators. The slaughter was, by everyone but Max, heavily anticipated and expected to foreshadow the entire season. Max felt as though there was some critical piece of information that he was missing. Tiar stared down at her stew, focusing her attention on the orange-ness of the carrots, wondering how they could remain so bright and cheerful after hours of cooking in an otherwise brown stew. Then, Eleanor disclosed the dreaded topic.
“Well, you know, Max. Your friend Prentice isn’t playing this year,” she said, sympathetically. Max looked from one to the other of his parents, not bothering to point out that he was not really friends with anyone on the basketball team. If he had been, it would not have been with Prentice. Still, the senior’s skill on the court could not be questioned.
“Why not?” Max asked cautiously.
“He’s injured,” Eleanor said, almost apologetically. “Broken nose…and hand.”
Jack enthusiastically joined in the conversation, describing a particular night when he was on patrol around the city a few weeks earlier. Max waited in patient suspense for the bridge that would link this encounter to basketball. Jack seemed to be building to a dramatic climax.
“So, as we rolled into the parking lot, I heard what sounded like a little girl screaming coming from this old sedan parked a few rows down. I get out of my patrol car with my flash light. But befor
e I can get there, the Jackson boy stumbles out of the car crying—obviously a slide into second that didn’t land well,” Jack said with obvious pride, whether because of his story telling ability or because of the content of the story, Max could not be sure. It took a moment for Max to decipher the content—that his father was using euphemisms for trying to touch a girl. After translating this teenaged slang in his head, he finally asked incredulously.
“And so, you broke his nose?” Jack snorted a proud laugh.
“I would have liked to, but your sister beat me to it,” Max once again paused to try to decipher his father’s cryptic prose but then saw him wink to Tiar who was trying simultaneously to honor her loyalty to her adopted father by looking proud, and conveying horror and regret to Max. Max’s fingers gripped his fork so tightly that the handle dug painfully into his palm, as though he had moved all of his hurt and anger into his fingers in order to hide his indignation.
“You broke his nose,” Max said to Tiar.
“And three fingers,” Tiar added sheepishly.
“That’s my girl,” Jack added, putting a large chunk of meat into his mouth to give the comment its due weight. Max just stared at Tiar in complete disbelief. Of all the possible endings of their encounter in his room, this was not one he saw as a possibility. Tiar knew her eyes could not properly expressed what they needed to in order to avert disaster, but she tried earnestly every combination of eye brow movements she could think of as there was a knock at the door.
“Oh, shoot,” she said suddenly. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Franklin. I promised Jen I would go with her to her party. I know I said I would help clean up but…”
“Go, dear,” Eleanor said definitively. “You spent your whole afternoon with me working. Go.” Tiar smiled and gave her kiss on the cheek. Then she got up and put on the jacket that she had earlier slung over her chair.
“I’ll help Mom and Dad clean up and meet you there,” Max said casually, as though this had been their arrangement all along.
“Yeah, great,” Tiar said, hiding her surprise. “I’ll see you there.”
An hour later, Sarah watched from the kitchen window as Max Franklin paced on the edge of the lake house drive way. It was an odd cycle that reminded her of a crazed tropical bird’s mating dance. He would pace in triangles, quickly, urgently, muttering to himself with small arm movements that became increasingly more emphatic. This crescendo continued until it looked as though he would have been yelling had he known there was an audience. Then he would just stop. Everything would stop, sometimes mid arm motion or step. This would last for several seconds until one hand would break free. In the weak rays of light from the street lamp, it looked as though he then would scratch his head for a few seconds. Then the entire cycle would begin again. At first, Sarah wondered if this was some sort of seizure and if she should call an ambulance. But, as she watched the freeze and thaw proceed again and again, she began to suspect this had something to do with a certain basketball team mate and a certain date that Max had found out about in a way that was less than ideal. Once again thrust unwillingly into the position of the mediator of Tiar’s love life, Sarah thought quickly and tensed in expectation as Max headed around the side of the house and up the steps to the kitchen door. He was moving fast and with a sense of purpose. Sarah jumped off her perch on the island and blocked his path, giving him and unexpected hug.
“Max, welcome home,” she said, squeezing him tightly. His rigid body gave no hint of relaxing and he seemed to be vibrating with an ultrasonic energy. She let go of him but continuing to block his path. “How’s college?”
“Great, Sarah. Great,” he said, trying to hide his impatience while finding a route around her. “It’s a lot of fun. Hey, have you seen Tiar?”
“You know Tiar,” Sarah said, shrugging. “She could be anywhere. Hey, did you hear about what she did to Prentice? That was one of Jen’s stupidest ideas ever.” Max suddenly stopped looking for a clear path and put his weight back into his heels.
“Jen?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Sarah said, hoping her brain could keep up with her mouth. “Jen wanted Tiar to go to Homecoming but she wanted Ti to have her own ride there so she wouldn’t be a third wheel. Or is it a fifth wheel? I can never remember,” Sarah saw the impatience once again flaring behind Max’s eyes, but he listened intently while she scrambled to put the story together. “Anyway, so she convinced Tiar to go with Prentice just to get a lift. But you know Prentice. Of course, he didn’t get the memo and thought Tiar actually likes him and tried to paw all over her.” Sarah looked intently back at Max trying to judge if her story had had its intended effect. His shoulders began to sink ever so slightly.
“It wasn’t a date?” he asked cautiously.
“It wasn’t supposed to be,” Sarah said, then adding more confidently. “That girl is harder to get then the Hope Diamond. She doesn’t go out with anyone, except her girlfriends of course. I keep telling her she needs to loosen up but she has some crazy romantic notion of saving herself for her one true love. You know what I mean?” They stared at one another, both wanting just as ardently for Max to believe what Sarah was saying.
“We even… never mind,” Sarah started.
“Even what?” Max asked in obvious suspense. Sarah restarted her story, half whispering.
“We even kid around that she must be secretly dating some guy who’s off at college,” she finished, hoping her story was not now pushing the limits of plausibility.
“Really?” Max asked simply. Sarah nodded, their eyes locked on each other. Sarah absently pointed with her hand over her shoulder without turning her head.
“I think I saw her on the back porch a little while ago,” she added. Max was motionless for a second considering what to do. He looked at Sarah with complete sincerity.
“Thank you.” He walked off slowly, deep in thought as Sarah let out a relieved sigh. It’s in his hands now. Meanwhile, Max wove his way through the party, the familiar crowd dotted with strange faces, the well-known voices chattering and laughing with new harmonies. It seemed to take impossibly long to get across the house to the back porch, past occupied couches, oblivious dancers, and swaying minglers who had had too much to drink. When he finally got to the back door, he was afraid Sarah was wrong about Tiar’s location. He was afraid Sarah was wrong about Tiar. But, he wanted to believe her. He took a deep breath and opened the door, closing it behind him as he looked left and then right. Tiar was near the corner of the porch in a wicker arm chair out of the view of the windows. She stood up briskly when she saw Max.
“Max, I’m sorry I didn’t…” she started urgently. He put his hands up to calm her.
“It’s okay,” he said reassuringly, a measured contrast from how he felt just ten minutes earlier. “It’s not a problem.”
“But, I can explain,” Tiar continued. “It wasn’t what you think, and I was going to tell you, but then Jack…”
“Sh sh sh sh sh sh sh,” Max said, approaching her. He put his hands gently on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. His stare quieted Tiar. For a moment, there was no sound save the crash of the lake on its shore. “There’s something I didn’t make clear before I left,” Max continued quietly. Then he pulled Tiar close to him and kissed her. He felt her nervousness in every taught nerve and sinew in her body. It all unraveled in his arms and she surrendered to his warmth. Their lips parted, their heads still close enough to touch.
“You are mine, Tiar Alfred,” he said unequivocally. “I love you. And you are mine.” Max felt more then saw Tiar nod, a serious expression still on her face. Then her eyes closed and she smiled and kissed him again.
11
“Ugh! I hate this!” Brandy groaned. “Why couldn’t these prophets have easy names like Bill and Jamie.” Max laughed. He was constantly amused by Brandy’s comments.
“You know you’re going to ace this final,” he assured her. “You’ve been studying for two days straight.”
“That’s easy for yo
u to say,” she said, rolling her eyes at him. “We’re not all super geniuses.”
“I’m not a super genius,” Max insisted. “I just study… a lot.”
“And what would you get in the class if you didn’t take the final at all?” she asked him. It had been Brandy’s habit since she transferred to St. Andrews three semesters ago to calculate what she needed on each final in order to get a passing grade in the class. This way, she reasoned, she would know what percentage of her time on reading days to devote to each class. She would need 120% on the final to get an A in their prophets’ class. She needed 86% for a B, still in the realm of possibility, but not likely. Just for her own amusement, she calculated Max’s current average. He could get a B without taking the final at all. This didn’t stop him from coming to the library for eight hours the past two days to help her study.
“It’s not a contest, Brandy,” he said, smiling at her. “Just remember the pneumonic I made up for you and you’ll be fine.” Brandy picked up the note cards that Max had made for himself but given to her when he realized how much more she needed them. His hand writing was miserable. It would have been easier, she thought, to decipher the bible from its original ancient texts and study those than to translate his scrawl.
Brandy put down the cards and fingered her mother’s Daughters of the American Revolution pendant which she wore exclusively for good luck on very important tests. She hadn’t taken it off for the past week. She looked up at Max who was rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. They had been studying for eight straight hours and his eyes were beginning to burn.
“You sly dog, you,” she said to him after a moment. Max put his hands down and looked at her quizzically. Max had been acting far too happy since they came back from Thanksgiving break. He was too goofy, even for him. She suspected something was up, and now she knew what it was.
“What?” he asked innocently. She took his right hand in hers and looked at the sharp tan line around his middle finger.
The Paper Shepherd Page 11