Chapter Seven
Max wasn’t back in town more than twenty-four hours before JJ insisted he come with her and Alex to attend the funeral of Mort Wingate, an older guy in town who’d been sick for a while.
“I know who Mort is...was...but it’s not like I was close to the guy,” Max argued with JJ outside the church entrance.
“That doesn’t matter,” JJ retorted. “You know his daughter, Melba, and her husband, Clark, and this is as much about them as it is about Mort.” JJ went all motherly on Max, an odd soft tone in her voice as she found something to brush off his shoulder. “This is how community works, Max. Everybody’s there for everybody else.”
His sister and her new husband had really made Gordon Falls home in a way that even he hadn’t, although he’d lived there longer. In fact, JJ had been house-sitting for him when she’d first met Alex, who’d been on a sabbatical of sorts in Gordon Falls. They’d met, they’d become friends, they’d grown close...and then they’d watched it all fall apart thanks to Max’s injury. Adventure Access was born from the ashes of Adventure Gear, Alex’s old company that had made the new, experimental climbing line from which Max had fallen. Anger, blame and guilt had separated Alex and JJ for a time in the aftermath, but they’d worked it all out.
As for himself, Max had long stopped caring whether the injury was the result of faulty equipment or his own recklessness. JJ would say that was God’s healing. To Max, it simply didn’t seem worth the energy to point fingers now that all that business had been settled. Especially since Alex and JJ looked so happy that Max could almost believe the stuff JJ spouted about how God had worked that whole mess for good.
That was easy to believe when the “for good” had really changed your life “for good.” Sure, his job at Adventure Access was far better than anything he’d done before the accident, but it didn’t quite even out in Max’s view, nor could he really believe that it would. It had all left him on not very friendly terms with God, which was why it made him so antsy to be wheeling into the Gordon Falls Community Church for this funeral.
“There’s a spot for chairs up front,” Alex said, knowing Max hadn’t set foot in the sanctuary despite living in Gordon Falls for nearly two years.
“Up front? Can’t the newbies sit in the back?”
“What, so you can cut out early?” JJ chided. “Come on—I promise it won’t hurt.”
The church was packed. Max couldn’t help but wonder—if he hadn’t survived his fall, would his funeral have been packed the pews like this? Max mostly avoided pondering the reason why he was still here. For a few seconds there with Simon, however, he’d felt a glimmer of what he supposed Alex would call “purpose.” He certainly was doing good at Adventure Access—people told him every day how he changed their perceptions of what was possible after an injury like his. That was satisfying to hear, but it wasn’t the kind of thing a guy could build a life on. What Luke Sullivan did accomplished the same thing, but Max had no desire to end up a bitter, manipulative skeptic like Sullivan, even if it did mean a packed social schedule.
“You’re here,” Heather Browning said with a disturbing air of surprise as she walked up the church aisle. She looked over at JJ. “Can I sit with you all?”
“Sure,” Max said before JJ had a chance to respond, rolling his chair back a bit to give her access to the pew next to him. Maybe church wasn’t so boring, after all. When she’d settled into her seat, he leaned over and whispered, “Melba is friends with you and JJ, isn’t she?”
Heather nodded. “She’s had a long go of taking care of Mort. Clark, too.” She motioned to where Melba; her husband, the fire chief, Clark Bradens; and some other people still stood in the back of the sanctuary. “It’s so sad.”
“Never seen a happy funeral.”
Heather looked up. “Oh, I have.”
“A happy funeral? Isn’t that sort of an oxymoron?”
The organ music softened, signaling the start of the service. “Not really. I’ll tell you after the service.”
For a church service, Max had to admit it wasn’t that bad. Heather had a sweet singing voice, so he didn’t mind that he didn’t know any of the songs, because it gave him a chance to listen to her. Pastor Allen wasn’t half-bad for a minister type—he actually seemed pretty down-to-earth. He talked about death as heading home to a place where all the mental and physical limitations Mort had endured late in life would be gone, where he’d be reunited with his late wife, where he’d finally see the God who loved him face-to-face. Allen made it sound as if he looked forward to his time to go, even though JJ talked all the time about his family and the strength of his friendships.
When Clark stood up and read a letter Melba had written, there was barely a dry eye in the room. When a group of older woman from the church walked up and draped Mort’s casket with a stunning moss-green blanket of sorts, even Max got a lump in his throat thinking of the prayer shawl the same ladies had given him. His was black with flames on it—just like his car—and while he’d never admit it to anyone, it was one of his prized possessions. Power of prayer or no, the thing always seemed to make him feel better whenever he pulled it over his lap or shoulders. The gift had been the first evidence of the Gordon Falls community he’d seen. And now Mort had been given his last. He hadn’t thought that kind of stuff ever really happened anymore.
“That was beautiful, wasn’t it?” Heather asked when she closed the hymnal after the final song. She wore a pretty sky-colored dress that fluttered in the breeze coming through the open church windows. The sun coming through the stained glass cast her hair in a myriad of colors. She—and Alex and JJ for that matter—looked so at home in the church where he still felt like an intruder. Or worse yet, an impostor. He couldn’t seem to drum up whatever it was that Alex and JJ and now even Heather obviously got from the place.
“Yeah,” he agreed, meaning it. “It was really nice. I hadn’t realized all the history Mort had with the town.” Max had been in a hurry to leave the Ohio suburb of his youth, and while folks had been nothing but friendly when he’d opened the boat and cabin rental business here, he hadn’t felt the deep connection other people seemed to make. Not yet at least, but he could feel the edges of it starting to catch.
“Want to get some coffee and say hello? Simon and his dad are over there with Melba and Clark.” Heather pointed to the large meeting room, where people were gathering and chatting.
“Max!” Simon shouted and waved. The boy’s enthusiasm caught in the back of Max’s throat. “I saw you earlier. Hey, guess what?”
Max wheeled up to him, offering him a fist bump and a smile that didn’t need any forcing at all. “What?”
“I’m joining the Ping-Pong Club. Ms. Browning talked to the teacher and everything.”
Heather’s smile was wide and downright adorable. “It was Simon’s idea. Mr. Jackson said yes in a heartbeat.”
Simon angled up beside Max. “Bailey Morton is in the Ping-Pong Club.” He said the girl’s name with the flat-out hormonal fascination only high school boys could achieve.
“Cute, huh?”
Simon sighed. “Way out of my league.”
“Cut that out!” Max pulled back in mock shock, then leaned in to whisper, “Don’t sell yourself short. Chicks dig the wheels.”
The resulting look on Simon’s face was priceless—until the scowl on Mr. Williams’s face shut down the conspiracy. “An academic club is a good idea for Simon, don’t you think?” It was clear Mr. Williams had something closer to Math Club or Chess Club in mind.
“The way he smoked us last time, I think Simon has awesome prospects in the Ping-Pong Club.” Max pointed at Simon. “I gave you my cell number last time, so you keep me posted on your progress.” Just because he couldn’t help himself, he winked and added, “On all fronts. Text me. Anytime.”
Simon grinned. “You got it.”
Heather, who had acquired two cups of coffee, nodded toward some chairs lined up along the wall. He liked that she intuitively looked for ways to get them at eye level with each other without him having to ask her to do so. Not everyone caught on to how hard it was to keep craning his neck up all the time.
“Do you even realize what you’ve done for that boy?” she asked, handing the cup to him as she sat down. She actually teared up a bit as she stared back at Simon, and the look in her eyes lodged sharp and sweet in Max’s chest.
He didn’t really know how to respond. “He’s a good kid. Just...unsure, I suppose.”
“He thinks the world of you. You know that.”
He cleared his throat, her glistening eyes again catching him up short. “Oh, people used to think a lot of things about me and what I did, but that kind of admiration hasn’t ever really entered the picture.”
“It’s a gift, Max. A trust, really.” She cast her eyes back at Simon. “Just promise me you’ll take care with it, okay?” Heather took her passion for her work to a personal level Max hadn’t ever seen. It was as if these kids were her own kids; she cared that much.
“Yeah, sure. I get that.” He took a sip of coffee, needing to break the intensity of the moment. “I’m choking in this tie. Let’s go get some air.”
* * *
Heather stepped onto the path that led from Gordon Falls Community Church down toward the town’s picturesque riverbank. She’d always found nature’s beauty to be the best balm for the soul after something as heavy as a funeral, and it was clear to see Max wasn’t at ease inside the church.
“So,” Max said as he negotiated a corner with an effortless grace, “you said you were going to tell me about a happy funeral.”
“I did, didn’t I?”
“I’ll give you this much—Mort’s did feel happier than I expected. But I’m still skeptical.”
“It was my grandmother’s funeral service,” Heather answered. She cast her memory back to the brisk October morning when Mom had laid her extraordinary mother to rest. “She had the best funeral I’ve ever attended. It was like a big, thankful celebration. She even made us have cake. She said she wanted it to be like an enormous party for her graduation into heaven. She was an amazing woman, my Grannie Annie.”
Max eyebrow shot up at the name. “Grannie Annie? Really?”
Grannie Annie would have had a field day with the jaded look in Max’s eyes. “Oh, she was a great lady. I hope I’m just like her at that age—she lived until she was eighty-seven and sharp as a tack all the way until the end. Mom used to say Grannie Annie squeezed every drop out of life every day.” Heather hugged her chest, Grannie Annie’s musical voice and lively eyes coming to mind. “If it weren’t for her help after my accident, I don’t know how I’d ever have made it through.”
Max put out a hand to stop her walking. “How were you burned? Where?” He motioned to the stone wall that ran along the sidewalk. “I mean, if you’re okay with telling me.”
She wasn’t. She wasn’t ever really comfortable with telling anyone about that year—it let people in too close once they knew. Still, Max had told her about his own injury; it didn’t seem fair to hold out just because it was hard. She swallowed.
“It looks like you’ve made a fine recovery, but I have no business prying if you don’t want to talk about it. I of all people get how that feels.”
“No, it just...it’s hard to talk about. Exactly because I look fine. I mean I feel fine, but...well, recovery doesn’t really seem to be the right word.” The words weren’t coming, so she decided it was easier to show him. She walked over to the low wall he’d pointed out, satisfied it wasn’t in wide view, and sat down. Max wheeled over next to her. With a deep breath, Heather lifted the long hem of her skirt to just above her left knee, where the scars started.
She was glad he didn’t say anything. He didn’t do that awful sucking in of breath, that unedited reaction she imagined most people would have to the nasty visual of her scarred leg. She let the hem fall back, suddenly aware of all the feeling that had left that part of her body. The swath of numb, tough scar tissue and skin graft the doctors had called such a victory. Most days she was grateful—she knew lots of other burn patients who had it far worse and she still had a fair amount of mobility in that hip. Other days she felt damaged and discarded no matter how much her faith told her otherwise.
“What did that to you?” he said softly.
“Oil.”
“That sounds awful. I’m sorry.”
Did he realize he’d just said the very thing he disliked other people saying about his accident? He sounded sincere, and she was glad he didn’t try to crack a joke. There weren’t jokes to make about this, ever.
“I worked at a fried-chicken place in high school. One night a drunk driver—a senior from my own school, in fact—plowed through the front windows. Lots of people were hurt, and while no one lost their lives, I was standing in front of the deep fryers when they...” She never could quite come up with the right verb for what had happened. But the sound? The glass crunching and people screaming and the horrible hissing before she blacked out? She could describe that down to the last terrible detail.
“I woke up in a burn unit with all kinds of patches and pads and drugs dripping into IVs. I missed most of my junior year between all the surgeries and infections, but I walked down the aisle to get my diploma.”
“Your grandmother took care of you?”
“Not the way you’d think. My mom saw to most of my care. My dad, well, he didn’t handle the whole thing well. He wanted to see somebody pay for ruining his precious little girl, and he sort of let that crusade swallow him whole. Grannie Annie found ways to keep me happy, to keep me from making my whole life about my left leg.”
Max was quiet for a long time before he said, “I was your dad, at first. I let my accident swallow me for a while. I wanted someone to pay.” He wasn’t siding with her dad; he was confessing his own downward spiral. “You might have read about it in the papers. I wasn’t exactly keeping a low profile.”
She nodded, the lump in her throat too big to let words past. She knew he’d been bitter. JJ had told her some of it, and Max had managed to get himself into the papers and the media for a variety of less-than-healthy behaviors in the early months after his accident. It was what had kept her from calling Max to help with Simon in the first place. She realized, looking at him now, that she’d projected a lot of her dad onto Max because of how they’d both reacted to a tragedy. The men in her life until now had left her with scars and numbness in places Max couldn’t see. She’d vowed to only let people into her life who fought against bitterness, not those who succumbed to it. She wasn’t completely sure yet which of those Max Jones was.
“Where are your mom and dad now?”
She picked a small stone up from the path beside her feet and fiddled with it. “They split up my sophomore year in college. Dad couldn’t put the battle-ax down and Mom couldn’t heal both him and me at the same time. I spent the summer of my freshman year home from college at Grannie Annie’s because they were fighting so much by then.”
“What happened to the guy who hit the store?”
Oh, that was the million-dollar question, the thing that had turned Dad into the person he became—and in some ways had turned her into the person she became. “Not enough, really. He had rich, powerful parents who hired supersmart lawyers. They managed to pull in a question of mechanical failure despite the guy’s blood-alcohol level. Eventually, he pleaded into a deal that got him out in no time. I think that’s what got to Dad most of all.” Heather dared a look up into Max’s face. All the smart aleck was gone. Just the intensity of his eyes was left, warm where they had been defensive. She touched her left leg. “I got the life sentence a
nd he got off easy. Hard to swallow, if you know what I mean.”
“I’m sorry.” It was almost a whisper, and Max looked down at his hands for a moment. “I’m sorry, and that isn’t useless, is it?”
Something unfurled in Heather’s defenses. A tiny piece of her—one that had started blooming larger at the Ping-Pong match—dared to believe that maybe Max wasn’t here by mistake. Maybe Max was exactly who Simon needed.
And maybe more than just Simon.
Chapter Eight
“You were really good in there.” Alex grinned as he and Max got into the elevator after an important work presentation Wednesday morning.
“Thanks.” Max pushed the button for the ground floor. “They weren’t too hard a crowd to win over.”
“Maybe so, and you know persuasion is a specialty of mine, but I don’t think we’d have gotten that much buy-in to the concept if you weren’t in the room. I’m still just the guy with the good idea, but you’re the guy who proves it works.” Alex leaned back against the elevator wall. “I’m glad you’re on board. Just saying.” After a second he added, “Do you miss the boat biz?”
Max’s boat and cottage rental business in Gordon Falls had barely been getting by when he was injured. Now JJ mostly ran it—and ran it well—when she wasn’t at the volunteer fire department. “I can still dip my toes back in the water when I need to. And I’ve got the Sea Legs, which is more fun than my desk any day. Besides, the business is doing better under your wife’s management than it ever did under mine. She’s an outstanding employee.”
Alex raised an eyebrow. “I thought JJ was a full partner now.”
She was. “I just get a kick out of calling her an employee. She’s not anymore, but, you know, I just can’t seem to remember that.” Max tapped his head. “Blocked neural pathways or something.”
“Uh-huh.” Alex checked his watch. “I’ve got another meeting at two, but you want to grab some lunch? There was a café in the lobby and presentations always make me hungry.”
Love Inspired August 2014 – Bundle 1 of 2 Page 28