Chapter Nineteen
The door swung open and the same nurse, Sharon, who’d brought us into that tiny, vacant room, waited a moment before asking us to follow her.
Max helped his mother stand, kissed her temple, then took hold of me. Camille grabbed her mother’s arm. We followed behind Nancy and Camille. I watched their slow, deliberate steps as they sauntered down the hall.
“Doctor Sweeney told me you would like to see Frank. Because of his delicate state, there’s a chance he may already be in surgery,” Nurse Sharon said matter-of-factly to Nancy.
Nobody said a word. Max squeezed my hand and I responded by brushing my thumb across the back of his. It was our silent conversation, trying to keep our feelings of despair under control.
A haunting voice announced over the speakers that were peppered methodically throughout the hospital, “Code Blue, ER 203…Code Blue, ER 203.”
Sharon became rigid. A nurse dressed in seafoam green scrubs jogged down to us. She spoke breathlessly in coded medical terms—aortic something-or-other, acute…hyper…cardio…ventricular fibrillation—words I couldn’t understand, while Sharon shook her head. My eyes vacillated between Sharon’s conversation and Nancy’s reaction; I knew something wasn’t right. When Sharon turned to us her eyes said everything, and I knew Frank was gone.
“What is going on? What is happening with my father?” Camille demanded.
Sharon looked at Camille, her eyes glossy with the responsibility of telling us that the man who helped create this beautiful family would not be coming home. Nancy’s knees buckled and she fell back against Max. Camille grabbed for her as Max lowered their mother to the ground, and I stood, frozen in witness to the desolation of their family.
Nurse Sharon shouted for help, and within seconds, the staff had a wheelchair and two huge male nurses to help lift Nancy.
“Mom! Come on, Mom,” Max spoke nose to nose with his mother.
“Is she okay? Is she going to be okay, Max?” Camille kept repeating. She couldn’t hold it together. Max looked at me and nodded toward his sister; I wrapped my arms around Camille and held her tight until she stopped asking questions.
“I am so sorry,” I whispered through my tears and she finally understood. She clung to me and sobbed. It was the longest forever I’d ever experienced.
“Mom, the nurse is going to take you into one of their rooms. Just so you can catch your breath.” Max enunciated each word, like a grownup speaking to a child.
“Maxi, I can’t…”
“I know, Mom, I know—” Max repeated as he walked alongside her wheelchair. His voice tapered off as he disappeared into a room.
Still clinging to Camille, I guided her toward the same room Max had disappeared into with Nancy. I didn’t know what else to do. It felt wrong for me to be there, but I was caught in a nightmare that played one frame at a time—every movement, every cry, every word relentlessly playing out despite our refusal to believe any of it. What was the next step in this horrendous situation?
Camille began to hyperventilate; she struggled to catch her breath as she watched her family crumble.
Max grabbed her by the forearms and snapped her back into listening to him.
“Camille, I need you to go call Calvin and Dan. I need you to do that right away, please,” he whispered in a firm voice.
She stared into his eyes, frozen in the moment of realization that their world was collapsing. She lowered her head as Max let go of her arms. Camille had the unfortunate responsibility of telling Calvin there would never be an opportunity to make things right with his dad. If mercy existed, Camille wasn’t going to taste it.
“Max—I,” Camille slurred.
“You have to,” Max prodded before he pulled the door and held it open. As he waited for Camille to make her way out into the hall, the muscles in his neck flexed and his arms grew stone hard.
I could smell the agony of other patients slithering in through the open door as nurses and doctors scurried back and forth down the hall, hoping to gamble and win their patients’ lives back.
“Dad loved you, Camille—so much; do this for him.” Max’s eyes swelled with tears.
Camille stumbled, seemingly unsure of the way she was supposed to walk, before she managed to widen her gait and walk out the door. Max pressed his hand to her shoulder as she passed him, an unspoken thank you between them.
The nurses were fussing over Nancy and I could see she didn’t like the attention. “Maxi, don’t you dare leave me here,” Nancy gasped through the murmuring and questions from the nurses.
“I’m right here, Mom,” Max said as he let go of the door and went to her. I watched him scoop up her tiny, pale hands and squat in front of her. “I sent Camille out to call Calvin and Dan,” Max continued gently.
“Is she going to call the Vaughns too?” Nancy took a deep breath. In her attempt to keep from crying, she curved her lips and rolled her eyes up to the ceiling. Her chin wrinkled and crumpled in the struggle to keep from bawling.
“I’ll tell her to call them,” I offered as I left the room without making any eye contact with Max or Nancy.
I had to leave. The pressure of her loss kept building in the back of my throat. Every word and action between Max and his mother reminded me of the pain my grandpa and I went through the day we lost my grandma. I didn’t want to be the pebble that caused the house of cards to fall and I knew if I stayed with her and Max, I would be the one to obliterate any control they still had over their emotions. The moment I pulled that door closed behind me, the tears roared to life and streamed down my cheeks.
Chapter Twenty
Frank was gone. Nancy and Camille didn’t want to come home. But when the Vaughns showed up at the hospital, they took them to their house. That left Max and me, together—but alone. We drove back to his family’s cabin in silence. The whine of the engine was the only constant I could rely on to soothe the anguish that consumed me. There was nothing I could do or say to heal Max. I couldn’t make it better or take away his pain. Nothing could erase the excruciating fact that his father was dead.
The car swayed in a lulling motion down the long driveway to the Goldsteins’ darkened cabin. It felt like ghosts with murky intentions lingered around the bushes and trees. The beam of the headlights danced across the front windows, casting a glimmer of hope that someone, anyone, would wake us from this nightmare. I wanted to feel the relief of waking up. But of course that wasn’t going to happen. I watched Max lift his burdened arm up, and with his long finger, push the button on the garage door opener; we were finally home. A feeling of reprieve washed over my body when I heard the garage door moan shut and the familiar garage fell silent. He sat for a moment. Pieces of him were gone—lost, and left at the hospital. I reached over and touched him. He seemed so rigid and worn out when he looked at me.
“You need to sleep,” I said. He turned away, pushing his door open as he lifted himself out of the car. I watched him return to a vacancy nobody wanted and his motion was heartrending. I sat, stone cold and lost, while he came around to my door. My mind turned and searched, working to find what to say—what to do to help him through this. He pulled open my door. Damn it, even hurting he can’t stop taking care of me.
I love him so much.
I wanted to take every last painful experience from him and bury it deep in the sea under a massive rock so it couldn’t float up and find him. I wanted to cling to his skin and erase every memory of all the disappointment he felt today. He wrapped his arm around my waist as I stood up; I could feel his heat scorching me right above my hip as he slid his hand underneath my shirt, pressing against my skin. He pushed his face against my hair and his warm breath brushed my ear.
“Thank you for being here with me,” his voice cracked as he whispered.
“You’re welcome,” I answered.
Max pushed the door open and we meandered into the kitchen. In silence we removed our shoes and dropped them into the rattan basket Nancy intentionally
set by the door. Frank’s muddy work boots sat, lonely, on a folded newspaper, left there to be cleaned later with the expectations he’d be returning. Max didn’t notice, or maybe he didn’t want to. His hand danced down my arm, ending at my fingers. Our hands locked together and he dragged me through the dining room, past the great room, to the stairs.
We stood at the base of the staircase with the front door behind us, locking away the visions of Frank lying on the cold, wet cement. Max turned and looked at the rippled glass, clear enough to make out the black, open space just beyond the earthy stone porch. He blinked and paused for a long moment before he pulled me up the stairs.
He pushed open his bedroom door and my heart dropped to my feet. The flowers still displayed their beautiful colors in the room, the bright yellow envelope still leaned against the clear glass vase, and the banner still hung against the picture window. I’d forgotten it was my birthday. I looked at the clock beaming red numbers—12:32. No, I was wrong. It wasn’t my birthday anymore.
Max was so exhausted he fell onto the unmade bed. The sheets were still twisted down at the foot of it, and his pillows were scattered across the bed and on the floor—evidence that we’d been here less than four hours ago, ready to go all the way. I stood pressing my knees against the edge of the bed. I wasn’t sure I wanted to pick up where we’d left off. How could we return to the moment when Max and I were going to become tethered to my first time?
I pushed back from the bed and went over to my flowers, wanting to see the card Nancy had left for me. I wanted to feel her happiness. I slid my fingers across my name before I picked it up. She’d written in script with black ink. The bed shifted behind me and I felt the floor vibrate. I waited to feel Max push up against my back; he didn’t. I wanted him to press his chin into my shoulder and slip his hands around my waist, I wanted to feel him against me. But he stayed back, standing far enough away to give me a private moment.
I pulled at the corner of the envelope, making a jagged rip, and I couldn’t help but notice the frayed yellow edges. They became prisoners to the thin, white, wounded lines created by my desire to see that they loved me. I looked up at Max as he stood carefully, almost lightly on his feet waiting to see if what his mom had written was enough to bring me to tears. He was waiting to make sure I was going to be okay.
I pulled the card out and a cute, fluffy elephant trumpeted the words ‘Happy Birthday’ from its dark gray trunk. I opened it and inside it read, ‘…from a handful of mixed nuts!’ I noticed they’d all signed it: Nancy, Frank, Camille, and Max. I pressed my fingers to their words. I wanted to know what emotions they’d been feeling when they thought of the touching words they wrote before signing their names. Nancy, of course, wrote a beautiful note wishing me the best day ever; Camille kept her words short and to the point; Max just signed his name.
Then I saw it—Frank’s name, written in his handwriting. I pressed the card to my heart. Max didn’t wait to give me a moment to hurt before he was next to me and pulling me into his chest. I was so moved by their choice to accept me into their family.
A massive, thick bubble sat wedged against my vocal chords, but I held back my need to cry. Max tightened his arms around me, the card pinned to my heart just beneath my hands. I knew Max was hurting so much more than me, and yet again he was making sure I was okay. I couldn’t let him worry about me.
I could feel Max’s breathing become shallow, his heart thumping faster, and I knew he was struggling to stay strong for me. He pushed his face against my shoulder before turning to press his lips to the space between my collar and the bend of my neck. He took a deep breath before his hands pushed harder against my back. I felt him ripple as he battled to catch his breath, and knew he didn’t want me to know he was crying. Worn from the emotional rollercoaster of the day, I pushed him slightly toward the bed.
“Honey, I think you should try and get some sleep,” I told him as I pulled slightly away from him. But he adjusted his hands and held me tighter.
“I can’t let go. Please—I don’t want to let go.” He struggled to say the words that admitted he was broken.
“You don’t have to,” I whispered, trying to soak up his pain.
We stood in each other’s arms for a good five minutes. I rocked back and forth, swaying my hips in a hypnotic rhythm. Then I felt Max take the lead and continue the motion until he loosened his grip to a relaxed pressure across my back.
He pulled away, making sure he didn’t make eye contact as he led me to the bed. I didn’t question him. I let him take me wherever he needed to be healed. He knew what he needed, I wasn’t about to change that. Turning to face me, his gaze rose to meet mine. His red and wet, eyes searched for some type of answer to help him heal faster. I wished I had it—wanted to have it for him. With his hands pressed warmly on my cheeks he kissed me. His lips, salty from his tears, tasted painful, achy, and remorseful. I cautiously kissed him back. My butterflies trembled down low, trying to keep from being discovered. I didn’t want anything to stop us, but he was balancing on such a precariously thin edge of anguish and guilt.
Max nibbled at my bottom lip—his way of telling me he wanted more than a reserved kiss. He pushed, I opened my mouth, and the tip of his tongue slowly moved to taste more. His shoulders rose, his hands pressed against my ears, and the echo of our desires filled my head. Now I couldn’t keep my butterflies from coming to life. He sparked a desire low in my groin that vibrated up through my body and caused my hands to seek a way to soothe him. I pressed against him, my hands knotted in his hair, with no idea where we were heading or how far we were going let this go.
Pulling slightly away from my lips Max whispered the words I’d waited to taste for a month: “Wilson, will you make love to me?”
There was a huge part of me that wanted to become one with him, feel him from the inside—our skin meeting, our bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces. But I didn’t want him to know I was afraid. I wanted to feel the ecstasy, but not the pain. Not just the physical pain of my first time, but the fear of not knowing what comes after. So many stupid questions filled my head. Will he go his way as I go mine? Will making love to him bring us closer, or will he be disappointed and pull away? When we go all the way, will I feel as good as I do when we make out? Will he feel how much I love him?
Nevertheless, I capitulated to my hovering state of want. I pulled him down on top of me. Max’s mouth found the edge of my ear and whispered something even better, “Can I make love to you, Wilson?”
He pulled up my shirt, exposing my stomach before he pressed his lips to it and tasted my skin. My butterflies went wild. They shot straight up into my head before diving deep into the apex of my thighs. It felt like my butterflies were fighting to break free from being contained in my body. My heart pounded ferociously in my chest as their wings tickled my insides.
Max looked up at me as he pulled at the top button of my pants. His electric green eyes begged for permission—I didn’t say a word. I just nodded yes.
Chapter Twenty-one
Max lowered the zipper on my jeans, pulling the front open enough to press his lips just above the waistband of my panties. His warm tongue trailed across to my hip bone, his silky black hair tickled at my stomach. I welcomed him. I wanted him to explore my body; wanted him to feel my heartbeat speed as he tasted my skin. He lifted his body off mine and tangled his arms into the edge of his t-shirt, quickly pulling it off. His gorgeous skin exposed, I rose to touch him. My hands rushed to meet his tight skin. With muscles flexed, he yanked at the base of my shirt, pulling it up above my head until my hands were caught in the twisted fabric. He pushed me back. Locked in my shirt, I couldn’t stop him from touching me, kissing along the edges of my bra. I quivered and my breath got caught low in my throat as I moaned. I wanted to indulge him—touch him, take him, heal him. But mostly I wanted him to know he was going to be okay.
Max’s fingers tickled over my bare skin up to my torso and moved slowly underneath my bra. He seduc
tively dragged it up off my chest, giving him total access to drive me wild. Teasing me, he kissed the curves of my breasts. Slowly he tickled me with the tip of his tongue before he pressed his mouth against my waiting nipple, trapping it between his teeth. My breath quickened, and a fire raged down in my groin. He drove me to the edge of ecstasy before he plucked his mouth away. A chill struck me as the heat evaporated from between my breasts. My insides were turning and twisting, my butterflies hovered low. His hands cased up my arms to the fabric that held my hands hostage. He untangled me and finally I was free to touch him.
Pushing myself up off the bed, my hands dove straight to the button on his Levi’s. I wanted him out of his pants, to feel the heat of his entire body. He pulled away and hopped off the bed, his pants loose around his hips. I wanted them off altogether.
“Mmmm, come here,” Max moaned a low, hot growl as his hands pulled at the air to reign me in. His earthy green eyes drank up every inch of my body. I tangled my hands in my unkempt curls before I released them to fall down over my chest and down to my waist. I hope this is working. I wanted to tease him; to make him want me so badly he would have no choice but to take me. I held my finger to the edge of my mouth, my lips pouted, and that was it. He lunged against me as his hands worked to peel my jeans off. Even my panties fell victim to his desire.
I pressed my hands to his chest and slid them around to the small of his back. I pushed my hand between his Calvin Kleins and the perfect curve of his rear. With my other hand I caught the waistband of his boxers between my fingers and forced them down. They fell to the floor fast, he kicked them off, and we both melted against each other. He was scalding hot as my butterflies’ wings beat frantically against every erogenous zone in my body. I felt my knees buckle and every muscle of his warm body pressed against me where I needed him.
Wilson Mooney Eighteen at Last Page 14