I wanted to soak up the moment Frank strolled in and saw his son. As generic as their acknowledgement of each other was, it still was so much more than I’d ever had.
I never heard my dad speak. Hell, I never even laid eyes on him. According to my late grandma, my mom had a one night stand with the spawn of Satan. Hello, then what does that make me—half German, half hellion? When I was little I would run into the bathroom every morning and check my forehead in the mirror, worried about waking up with horns bursting from either side of my forehead. Years later, I discovered ‘spawn of Satan’ was only a figure of speech for a real asshole.
Frank turned the corner with Camille trailing behind. His eyes lit up and Camille jetted past him to get to Max first. She hugged him like she hadn’t seen him in years. Standing on her tiptoes, she rocked him back and forth.
“I’ve really missed you, and I’m so glad you brought Wilson,” she said as she let go of him, wiped her eyes, and then flung her arms around me.
“Oh! Good to see you too, Camille,” I managed to utter as she squeezed me tighter.
“Happy Birthday.” She lowered her voice to a rumble in my ear before she continued, “Did Calvin come with you guys?”
I looked at Max to save me from the corner Camille was pushing me into. Why is she asking me? It’s not like I’ve known her more than one day of my life. But Max couldn’t save me; he’d gotten trapped into a conversation with his father.
“No, maybe you should talk to Max,” I whispered back. Camille stiffened then let go of me.
“I’m sorry, you’re right. I’m just glad you guys are here; now I won’t be the only one who has to deal with all the Calvin drama from my father.”
“Oh, there you are, Wilson. What’da think about flyin’ in Ol’ Tweety? Nancy told Max you’d probably hate it, just like her. Can’t get that woman to fly anywhere with me,” he boasted.
“Oh, Frank!” Nancy tossed her hands in the air. “Now, Wilson, don’t you listen to him. He knows my rule—he can take me anywhere in the world just as long as we are in an automobile or a commercial airliner. That’s not too much to ask, is it?” Nancy went over to Frank and slid her arms around him before he bent down and gave her a kiss hello.
My heart swelled with so much envy. I had to face the fact that my life would never be a Hallmark moment. All I ever wanted was a set of parents who loved each other more than any of their vices. I never thought it was too much to ask for a mom who loved me and a dad who would be proud to call me his little girl.
“Wilson, were you comfortable in my car? Now don’t be shy, go on and tell me, which transportation did you like better—Max’s helicopter or my limo? Frank pointed at Max, “Don’t say anything, no coercion allowed.” Max stiffened; his lips pressed firmly together.
Well let’s see—I was terrified in the helicopter and we made out in the back of your limo; it’s really a no brainer. I looked over at Max, gave him a little smirky smile, and answered Frank, “I loved the limo ride. Thank you so much for such a great birthday surprise. It was amazing.” I couldn’t contain the smile beaming inside.
“See, your momma was right, women like the elegance of a limo above the exhilaration of a helicopter,” Frank said to Max.
“Got it,” Max mumbled.
“Well, maybe you’ll start listening to some of the advice your ol’ man and mother give you; unlike that brother of yours.”
“Alright, Dad, I heard you.” I could feel Max was starting to get tense. “Where’s Dan?” he changed the subject.
“Denver. His parents didn’t think Christmas Eve was enough time, so he’s going to stay a couple more days with them,” Camille volunteered.
“You didn’t stay with Dan and his parents?” Max prodded.
“I wanted to see you guys. And besides, two days was plenty with Dan’s family.” Camille popped Max in the chest.
“Now Dan—he’s a work horse,” Frank spat before he resumed talking about Calvin. “If I could just get your brother to learn that, in order to keep a job, you must first actually show up.”
“Frank, let’s not get started again. The kids just got here, and they’re probably hungry.”
Funny, I hadn’t thought about food until Nancy mentioned it. I was just too excited about being there. Our vacation had finally started. Max reached for my hand, and I could feel he was still mired in the words Frank drizzled across him about his brother.
“Fine, why don’t you ladies go in the kitchen? Max and I will stock the fireplaces,” replied Frank.
I could see Max’s jaw clench and his eyes narrow as he lowered his head. I smiled at him before he kissed me and watched me walk with Camille and Nancy into the kitchen. My heart bolted into my stomach when I looked back and he was still standing there, alone. Nancy looped her arm through mine and pulled me.
“Oh, Wilson, I hope you don’t mind Camille and I taking you from Maxi.” Nancy tightened her hold on my arm.
I shook my head no; everything moved so quickly, and honestly, I was so enthralled with her and how she included me in her world—I was hooked. Nancy was so amazing, I just wanted a piece of that. There was something about her that filled the gaping holes my bio-mom had left in my soul.
“You know, Wilson, my brother keeps his life very private from the family. He isn’t the type to bring just anyone around,” Camille mused. My mouth dried up, crisp as a sun-drenched desert, and suddenly I couldn’t swallow.
“Really?” I choked.
Nancy shot a glance my way as she busied herself with pulling sandwich fixings out of the huge, stainless steel refrigerator.
“Yeah, as a matter of fact, we simply stopped asking about it. His father and I figured he would eventually bring home someone special, when he was ready.”
I pushed my fingers to the edge of the black granite countertop and slid them across the bull-nosed finish—anything to keep my hands busy—and my eyes diverted from the both of them. I could tell they were protective of Max, and I didn’t blame them. Joanie would do the same for me.
“Well, umm—” I didn’t know what to say to that. Is she telling me she thinks I’m the one for Max?
“When Maxi told me he was bringing you to dinner that night…” Nancy stopped. I noticed she swallowed hard; I couldn’t tell if it was from disappointment or something else. My heart bounced, and without fail, I felt my body begin to ripple and struggle to keep from crying.
Oh my God, he totally keeps details of me away from his family. I wouldn’t blame them if they had gigantic red flags. Here I am—a girl with no family and some pretty crazy baggage—with a guy who has everything any girl would want.
“Mom, are you getting choked up again?” Camille teased. Her brown wavy hair, tamed as much as a head of curls could be, bounced against the sides of her face.
“Oh, now stop it, Camille.” She came over to me and grabbed my hands. My heart wrenched, hoping to feel anything but fear at her words.
“Don’t scare the poor girl,” Camille announced as she took Nancy’s place making the sandwiches.
I froze. What was going to come out of Nancy’s mouth? Was every hope and desire I pinned on her going to be obliterated in a moment’s time? Max was her son—a boy she raised to be a perfect man, in my eyes. Maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t the type of woman she expected him to bring home.
“Ever since you and Max have been together…” Nancy choked on the last words and I couldn’t catch what she said. She pulled me against her chest. She held me tight, as if she was saying goodbye forever. Suddenly I felt her take a deep breath, and as she let the air out of her lungs, she finished the end of her statement. “You make him so happy. Thank you for bringing my Maxi back.”
I stiffened and cold chills ran through my bones. What does she mean by that? Because I never got the impression he was ever gone. What am I supposed to say? Max doesn’t say much about his family, and considering my family is such a raw subject for me, our conversations don’t revolve around that.
/> I opened my mouth to respond but thought better of it and answered her by nodding my head up and down. Suddenly I was in unchartered waters with the veiled information Nancy was willing to drop in my lap. It wasn’t until Camille piped up, spewing something Max had never shared with me in the month we’d been dating, that made my heart thrash.
“Mallory really messed him up,” Camille let the words slip from her mouth, obviously without thinking. She shot a look at Nancy.
What was I supposed to do, act like I didn’t hear it? It was clear as day, and obviously it was information Max never shared with me. So I played it cool.
“Yeah, Mallory,” I said in the most casual, unexcited tone I could muster. All I have to do is keep cool. I can do this.
Chapter Seven
I didn’t care what sandwiches Camille was making. My appetite had disappeared, and suddenly nothing mattered to me more than the words that were going to follow the information she’d just churned out about some girl named Mallory. Instantly I felt my butterflies kamikaze-diving into the curdling acids exploding in my stomach. There was no saving them—one by one they were drowning, helpless.
“Camille!” Nancy barked.
“What?” she answered.
“I don’t think Wilson wants to hear about this right now,” Nancy growled clenching her teeth.
“No worries,” I piped up. I felt the blood rush to my cheeks and my mouth go dry. Every bit of moisture in my body rushed to the palms of my hands.
“It’s not like I am talking behind anyone’s back. It isn’t like Mallory is ever coming back,” Camille snapped. Her muddy brown eyes emulated her father’s bent for sarcasm.
“Well, any information about Max’s past should be told by him, not you. It’s not your place.” Nancy grabbed the jar of mayonnaise and twisted the lid back on it. I saw her eyes narrow as she glowered at Camille.
“Fine, I won’t tell her how she crushed his heart in her vicious claws and almost caused him to lose everything. I’ll let Max tell her.” Camille tossed a cheeky grin at Nancy before turning to put away the sandwich fixings.
“That’s no way to talk of her,” Nancy whispered with gritted teeth as she reached up and pulled down some elegant, black art deco plates.
“Why? Because she’s dead?” Camille spat.
Dead? What the hell? I felt chills ripple across my skin at her words. This Mallory person is dead? Maybe I didn’t want to hear what Camille had to say about Max’s dead ex-girlfriend.
I busied myself with the sandwiches, making them presentable on the plates before I turned to Camille.
“How about I take these out to the guys?” I offered, holding a plate in either hand, working to change the subject.
“That’s a good idea, Wilson,” Nancy answered, snatching another two off the counter. Camille huffed before she scooped up the last remaining plate. I think she got the hint; I wasn’t ready to hear anything about dead Mallory.
“Camille,” I heard Nancy hiss as I turned and pushed through a massive, glossy black swinging door with my backside.
I wasn’t ready for the bubbling turmoil I had in my gut when my eyes met Max’s. He was standing next to the raging fireplace, watching me. His electric-green eyes raked my body as his flawless lips curled to a slight smile. His black hair, damp from the weather outside, curved down perfectly, giving drops of Aspen the ability to tangle with his eyelashes and glisten against his complexion. He pulled off his wet jacket and hung it on a wrought iron coat rack next to the fireplace. His navy blue t-shirt, tight against his muscles, exemplified how fit he was. He doesn’t look broken to me; he’s perfect. But then again, how do I know what broken looks like? According to half the people at Wesley, we’re all broken.
Max dragged his hand through his hair, pushing it back off his face before he sauntered over to me.
“Is one of those for me?” he asked with twinkling eyes. He had no idea that, in the next couple of minutes, his past was going to haunt him.
“Yeah, it sure is.” I pushed a plate out to him.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” he said before he lowered to kiss me. I wanted to kiss him so bad—I wanted to taste his lips, feel his warmth—but I couldn’t; I couldn’t let him taste my heartache. I turned my head, avoiding his kiss on my lips.
“What’s wrong?” he whispered. I looked over at his family sitting at the table eating, probably murmuring words of regret to each other.
“They don’t mind if I kiss my girlfriend,” he continued before he set his plate down on the rocky hearth of the fireplace and pressed his hands to either side of my face. He kissed me, his lips warm, his taste unbelievable. I wanted to enjoy it; I ached to let go of the ghost haunting my thoughts, but I couldn’t. Now I worried about being a replacement. Who was this Mallory and how special was she to him?
Max must have felt my distance. He pulled away, looking deep into my eyes. I watched him searching for the reason I’d become so cold. His jaw tensed, his lips helpless without words to speak. He was lost waiting to be found. I didn’t mean to be so cruel.
“What’s going on, Wilson?” he asked. I could feel the words at my trachea, clawing to come out, while my heart squeezed every last fear from its chambers. I had to ask, I needed to know. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing him to a ghost.
“Mallory?” I whispered. Her name slashed brutally at the delicate lining of my throat. He heard it like daggers stabbing his heart. His face lost its warm hue and his ardent, green eyes became hollow, anemic. He stepped back from me, widening the gap I created with this haunting from his past. I could tell he hadn’t expected that name to surface between us. He turned and looked at his family before he snatched my hand and dragged me through the kitchen and out to the garage.
When he pulled open the plain white garage door, the air chilled my skin. I felt like I was right back in the morgue that stored my dead grandparents; the chill sliced me to the bone. He pressed my body against his jet-black BMW Z4. His hands, on either side of me, rested against the roof of the car. His head hung, waiting or searching for an explanation I could understand. He bent closer and his damp hair tickled across my lips before he pushed away. I could tell he was struggling to find the right words; I didn’t say anything. I waited to learn what had caused this girl to create so much pain in his family.
Max paced across the garage before stopping to answer my one-word question. He couldn’t look at me so I stared at his back, watching his head sink forward. His hands dropped to his sides.
“Mallory was my girlfriend in college. She died a couple of months before the end of our sophomore year. Let me guess, Camille told you about her?” He turned and faced me, his expression stoic as he shook his head back and forth. His eyes strained to make contact with mine.
“Max, I didn’t mean to dredge up your past. But I’m sorry, you have a dead girlfriend that you didn’t tell me about.” I moved back from him.
“I wasn’t ready to talk about Mallory yet; it wasn’t Camille’s place to tell you about her.”
“Yeah, but if your sister didn’t say anything, would you have told me?”
“There hasn’t been a right time. And quite frankly, I didn’t want to lose any time with you talking about an ex-girlfriend of mine who died. But you’re right, Wilson; I should have shared that part about my life. You should know everything about me.”
“No I shouldn’t. Not if it is going to cause this.” I flipped my hands in his direction indicating how busted he appeared. He didn’t move. I wanted to press against him, feel that he was going to be okay, but every time I stepped toward him he stepped away.
“It was my sophomore year at Michigan. Mallory would come to my football games and always made sure she’d run into me at different places on campus. I always thought it was a coincidence; but slowly she and I became friends, and eventually, started dating. We had been together for a couple of months, maybe three tops, when I noticed she started obsessing over crazy things—like me spending too much time on h
omework, or at football practice.”
Max stared down at the shiny, light gray cement floor of the garage, accessing the lost memories of him and Mallory together in his mind. He continued, “One day during spring break, she came unglued because I hadn’t taken her to meet my family. She accused me of keeping her away from them because she thought I was ashamed of her. The more I tried to explain my situation the more irrational she became. It finally reached a point where I couldn’t handle it anymore. I told her she needed help. Maybe it was my fault; I knew there was no way that I was equipped to help her. So a month before the end of school, I broke up with her. I thought I was giving her the space she needed to find help.” He wrung his hands together. His eyebrows crouched low against his eyes and the deep creases in his forehead revealed how painful her memory was. I watched as his whole demeanor shifted in an instant. His ears burned red and his shoulders rounded as everything about him became heavy. My mouth seared dry trying to swallow something, anything, to clear the ache.
“You don’t have to say anything else. Really, Max, I am so sorry I mentioned her.” I took a step at him but he didn’t move; so I took another and another until I was right in front of him, angling my head to make eye contact with him. His broken spirit and fragmented thoughts consumed him—entirely.
He looked at me before his eyes became lost in his story again. “She called me from her dorm room. She tried to apologize for being so insecure. I didn’t want to hear her pleas for me to take her back; it was too hard. I thought if she believed I was done she would find a way to get better. She ended the call by saying if I didn’t want her—nobody would. Her roommate found her later that day.” He sighed deeply. Blame for her death overwhelmed him.
“You know it wasn’t your fault. I am so sorry you’ve lived with that,” I whispered. “There was nothing you could have done,” I continued.
“I used to tell myself that every day, Wilson, but it never took away the guilt and pain of losing someone that way. I couldn’t stop her. I didn’t want to be bothered.” He looked deep into my eyes. He was hurting and it was because I’d ripped open his wound.
Wilson Mooney Eighteen at Last Page 6