Max

by Sawyer Bennett

  I quickly locate the shoe section and Sutton sees me coming. She holds up a pair of silver high-heeled sandals and beams at me. "These will be perfect with that dress."

  Conjuring back up that fake smile, I tell her, "I'm not sold on it. I want to think about it a bit more and maybe try some other stores."

  "Okay, let's go," she says as she puts the shoes back down. "Let's do this."

  "Maybe some other time," I tell her softly as we walk through the department store. "I'm really tired and want to call it a night."

  Tina's watching the kids for me as Max is at an away game. There's nothing I want more right now than to go home and cuddle with them for a bit. Levy and Rocco probably won't be hip to that but Annabelle is always good for some snuggles.

  Sutton looks at me doubtfully but she doesn't say anything.

  Which is good.

  I don't feel like talking about all of the crappy feelings overwhelming me right now.

  --

  I sit before my easel, staring at the blank canvas. The apartment is silent, the kids having gone to bed a few hours ago. I do my painting in the kitchen, as it affords the most room to lay out my materials, and my easel is a tabletop model so it's really the only place to paint.

  I've been sitting here for as long as the kids have been down, trying to get some inspiration, but nothing's coming.

  My gaze drags over to the envelope sitting beside my easel.

  Blocky, messy handwriting with my name and address.

  Postmarked from Atlanta.

  The return address is one I don't recognize, but the name above it I do.

  Dwayne Collins, my brother-in-law.

  I've been trying to ignore it, knowing that the minute I open it and read what's inside, my world is going to be turned upside down. I know this because it's a statistical impossibility that the contents of that envelope contain an apology or back-due child support. This is Dwayne we're talking about. He's an opportunist, and so that means whatever is in the envelope is geared toward benefiting him and hurting his kids.

  No doubt whatsoever.

  I turn back to the canvas and stare at it. I haven't even bothered picking up my brush. Haven't bothered to mix colors or fill my palette with my choices. I just stare at the blank canvas because right now my brain doesn't seem to be able to handle anything more than the soothing white of it staring back at me. It's simple and uncomplicated.

  Something I desperately need right now.

  Simple.

  Uncomplicated.

  Easy.

  My eyes go back to the envelope, and with a sigh I pick it up because I can't ignore it forever. I break the seal, run my finger along the inside to rip an opening down the length, and pull out a pack of papers that once I unfold them look to be no more than four to five pages.

  The top is a handwritten note from Dwayne, which I don't read right away but pull off to see what's underneath. My blood goes icy within my veins when I take in the fact that it's clearly a legal document and it's entitled "Petition to Terminate Guardianship."

  I try to suck in air but precious little gets in, and when it comes back out, it's in a painful wheeze. I drop the document and look back to the handwritten note by Dwayne, feeling that same sting in my nose that I felt earlier today at the department store when I was reminded that I'm considered by most to be a gold digger.

  My eyes fly over the page.

  Julianne,

  I've been to see an attorney to discuss my rights as a father to Rocco, Levy, and Annabelle. I'm told that I have a good shot at getting them back from you. The attorney drafted this up and all I have to do is file it with the court.

  I'm still considering what's best for all involved. Call me and maybe we can work things out.

  Dwayne

  He's bluffing.

  He has to be. Dwayne doesn't want those kids. He's never wanted those kids. He's only wanted freedom to do what makes Dwayne feel best, and he wants the money to do it.

  I look back at the petition and it appears legit. I'm thinking maybe he invested a little bit of cash into an attorney to draft this, hoping the payout would be bigger.

  At least that's what I hope is going on. To consider that he's actually serious about this is something my already overtaxed and emotional head can't handle right now. Let's not even discuss what this is doing to my heart.

  I consider calling Dwayne right now but I know deep down it's not a good idea. I take stock of my emotions, and in addition to helplessness and frustration, I'm feeling a great deal of anger toward him.

  Toward that woman in the dressing room.

  Toward Luc.

  Toward Camille.

  Toward everything and everyone that has caused me so much anxiety and self-doubt lately.

  I turn to my box of paints and pick a few colors. Blue, black, purple.

  Dark colors.

  They match my mood.

  Because inspiration has hit me like a freight train, I decide to go with it and leave Dwayne until tomorrow, when I'll have a clearer head. I decide to focus these feelings onto the canvas and perhaps create something that will not only help to purge me of this nastiness, but will be evocative enough to entice someone to buy it.

  I paint, getting lost in the feeling and letting my talent transform my emotion into a story on canvas. I paint solidly for over an hour, never once taking a break or second-guessing where I'm going with this piece of art.

  I paint, and I paint, and I paint, sinking deeper and deeper into it.

  My phone rings, and at first it barely penetrates. My psyche seems to want to shut everything out.

  But it continues to ring and I finally drag my gaze away from the canvas and look down at it.

  Max is calling.

  I note the time and realize he's been playing an away game the last few hours against the Chicago Bobcats. I've gotten used to watching all of his games on the big flat-screen TV he'd bought for me and I reluctantly accepted.

  Not a gold digger. Not a gold digger.

  But tonight I completely forgot about it, so completely immersed in my problems. A flash of guilt sweeps through me and I feel terrible because in addition to all of my other perceived failings, tonight I've forgotten to be a good girlfriend.

  I set my paintbrush down, the loaded bristles resting on the edge of my palette, and reach slowly for the phone.

  But then I stop.

  Today has gone down as one of the shittiest I've had in my life since Melody died, and I know if I pick up that phone, I'm going to have to tell Max all about it. I have no idea if my man won or lost his game, only that I have nothing good to offer him tonight. I absolutely do not want to burden him with my oversensitivity to what others think of me or the messy problems that Dwayne has created.

  I don't want to tell him any of these things because I'm scared that one day soon he's going to really wake up and notice what he's getting with me, and I'm terrified that it will become clear to him that I'm not the catch he thinks I am.

  So I pick my brush back up and I keep painting.

  "Can I get your autograph, Mr. Fournier?" I hear from behind me. I only give a quick glance over my shoulder, keeping my hands firmly gripped to Annabelle's waist as she navigates a horizontal rope bridge that sits a few feet off the ground. "Sure thing. Give me just a second."

  I walk with Annabelle along the entire length of the bridge, the kid asking for an autograph following along with me. As Annabelle hops down, I glance over at Jules, who's pushing Levy on a tire swing. Beyond her, Kate and Zack are standing atop a wide slide built into a little hill, watching as Ben and Rocco take turns sliding down it and running back up the hill again.

  "I want to do it again," Annabelle says as she tugs on the hem of my shirt.

  "Anything for you, cutie," I say as I ruffle her hair. "Give me just a second."

  I turn to the kid. A boy, maybe about ten. His parents are hovering close by, looking worried they may be imposing. And they sort of are, but it's what you do
when you're in my position. You never take for granted any child who might be looking up to you as a role model. If I were to be an ass to this kid, tell him I'm too busy, what does that teach him?

  To be an asshole.

  I take a moment, sign the autograph, and then pose for a few pictures, all while Annabelle watches me carefully. When I'm done, I take her by the hand and lead her back to the beginning of the rope bridge. It's a moderately chilly day for North Carolina, which means mid-fifties for December, hence there aren't a ton of people out here today.

  "Why did you write on that piece of paper?" she asks me as I lift her back up. She places her feet carefully, one in front of the other, her hands holding on to the ropes at her side. My hands go back to her waist as she starts walking it.

  "You know I play hockey, right?" I ask her. "As my job."

  "Uh-huh."

  "Well, I have fans...and they like to collect my signature or take pictures with me," I explain to her.

  "What's a fan?" she asks, not taking her eyes off her feet, but truly invested in the conversation.

  I laugh and try to give the simplest explanation. "A fan is someone that really, really likes me."

  "Then I'm your fan too," she says, and fuck...if that doesn't cause my heart to melt.

  Seems it's been doing that a lot around these kids, the more I spend time with them. Jules has done just a remarkable job of keeping them centered and grounded. They're good kids--not without some faults, but for the most part my day is always better anytime I can spend with them.

  A glance back over at Jules and I see her watching us, a light smile on her face. I wink at her. Her smile doesn't lessen but it doesn't get any brighter either as she turns back to give another push to Levy.

  Something's wrong with her.

  I have no clue what it is, because when I ask her she insists nothing is wrong.

  But I know differently. She's been a little distant since I got back from Chicago yesterday. Hell, the distance actually started when I was in Chicago, because for the first time ever, she didn't answer the phone when I called her. It has become our ritual when I'm at an away game: I call her as soon as I make it back to the hotel and we talk about the game: She'd taken to watching my games with fervor, chattering away at me excitedly if we won, or with softly empathetic tones if we lost. But she didn't pick up the phone the other night and it made me wonder.

  If I'd had my way about things, I would have preferred to spend today alone with her. We'd talked about it earlier this week, because Kate and Zack were going to use his day off today to take Ben to the Durham Life and Science museum. They'd invited Annabelle, Levy, and Rocco to go along and thus it was the perfect opportunity for me and Jules to have a day to ourselves. I figured maybe we'd go out to lunch, and then perhaps back to my house, where we'd spend the rest of the day in bed.

  Good plan, except Jules didn't want to do that. Instead she wanted to go with the kids, and I wasn't about to tell her no. Spending time with them was just as important to me, and I figured that one day Jules would be mine in all ways. That might mean moving in together or it might mean marriage, but for now I had to take what I could get from her and it didn't bother me in the slightest. As long as we could be together, it didn't matter if it was when I was balls deep in her or hanging out with her and the kids.

  Any Jules time was perfect time.

  Except when she's like this.

  Distant.

  Closed off.

  Unapproachable.

  I have no fucking clue what's going on, but figure I'll try again tonight after the kids go to bed. I'm staying the night whether she likes it or not, and I'm willing to battle a sore back from her couch.

  Annabelle jumps down at the end of the ladder and yells, "Again."

  "Of course, again," I tell her.

  I glance again at Jules as she pushes Levy on the tire swing, and hesitate when I see him grab the ropes and pull himself up to a standing position.

  "Levy," Jules snaps at him. "Sit back down."

  He doesn't obey and instead uses leverage on the peak of the back swing to propel the swing higher.

  "Watch, Aunt Jules," he exclaims when at the peak of the front swing he launches himself off the tire. He doesn't get much air but I'll admit my heart jumps into my throat as I watch him hurtle toward the ground, where thankfully he lands with grace on his two feet.

  I start to lift Annabelle up the ladder, but Jules is stalking toward Levy, her face a mask of fury that stops me. She reaches him, grabs him by the arm and leans over to get in his face, where she yells, "Damn it, Levy. When I tell you to do something, you better damn well do it."

  To perhaps any other parent, this wouldn't seem like an over-the-top reaction for a child who doesn't listen and willingly does something stupid where they could be hurt. But not once since we've been together have I ever heard Jules yell at one of the kids. And it's not just that she yelled, but that she did it while holding on to his arm and with anger vibrating from every pore on her body. She yelled loud, and it garnered the attention of everyone in the vicinity.

  "I'm sorry, Aunt Jules," Levy says, the tears immediately welling up in his eyes.

  I start walking their way and then pick up the pace when she tells him furiously, "I'm so tired of you not listening to me. Just sick and tired of it."

  She says this last part as she releases his arm and practically snarls at him, "Come on. We're going home. If you can't behave, you don't deserve to play out here."

  "Whoa," I say softly as I reach her, my hand going to her lower back. I note Zack and Kate watching with worried eyes, and they start to come down the hill now that they've heard Jules proclaim we're leaving. I drop my voice lower and lean in toward Jules' ear. "Babe...let's just calm down."

  She spins on me, Levy forgotten. "Don't tell me to calm down, Max. I don't need your patronization."

  "Hey," I say softly, my hand coming to her cheek. "I'm not patronizing you. I'm sorry. If you want to go, we'll go."

  Jules doesn't meet my gaze but her eyes take in Levy crying, Zack and Kate hovering nearby, and a few other parents in the area watching carefully.

  Finally, her eyes lift to mine and it's a gut punch when I see the self-loathing in them burning through the layer of tears that are welling up. She whispers to me with a husky voice on the verge of a meltdown. A small voice. "Can you take me home?"

  I nod and turn to Kate. "Mind taking the kids for the rest of the day? I'll come pick them up a little later."

  Kate nods, holds her arms out silently, telling the kids to gather near her. "Come on, kiddos...why don't we go get some hot chocolate."

  They all walk toward Kate as Jules stares blankly at my chest. I reach down to take her hand, but she suddenly spins from me, rushes over to Levy and drops down before him on her knees. She wraps her arms around him and pulls him into a hug, squeezing him hard and whispering fiercely, "I'm sorry I yelled at you. You just scared me and it made me angry but I shouldn't have done that."

  When she pulls back, Levy smiles at her and then throws his arms around her neck for another hug. "It's okay. I shouldn't have jumped."

  She nods her understanding and releases him. She then gives Rocco and Annabelle hugs too, and a murmur of thanks to Kate and Zack before turning back to me.

  "Come on." I hold my hand out to her. "Let me take you to lunch. We'll relax, maybe have a few beers and talk."

  She takes my hand but she shakes her head. "I don't want to go out. Just to my place."

  Her voice is still so small but it's also firm.

  While I'd rather not have her go to the apartment to sulk, I'm not going to argue with her either. I have a sinking feeling that things are definitely off between us, so I need to give her the room to air those things as she sees fit.

  --

  The ride back to Jules' apartment was silent and tense. I had no clue how to go about effectuating conversation. Had no clue if she was receptive to it.

  Ultimately, I decided to
hold my tongue until we got to her place, because I suspected that my attention should be on her fully and not on the road while I was driving.

  When we walk in, she immediately goes to the refrigerator. "Want something to drink?"

  "I'm good," I tell her and watch as she opens the door, stares for a few moments at the inside, and then closes it with a sigh, not taking anything out.

  When she turns to me, her face is worried. "I was awful to Levy."

  "You were a mother to Levy," I correct as I walk to the couch and sit down. I pat the cushion beside me and she trudges my way, shoulders slumped.

  When she sits down, I note it's not right beside me but rather she leaves about a foot between us. I let it go and turn to face her. "What's going on, Jules? And don't give me that 'nothing's wrong' shit you've been handing me since I got back from Chicago."

  She stares down at her lap a moment, and I think she may indeed tell me nothing's wrong, but then she murmurs, "I don't want to go to that charity gala next weekend."

  "What?" I ask, completely taken aback. Of all the things I thought might be bothering her, this wasn't at the top of my imaginative list.

  Jules angles her head and brings her eyes to mine. "I don't want to go to the gala," she repeats.

  "Okay," I respond slowly, sensing that this is just a front for what's really going on. "Want to tell me why?"

  "It's just...overwhelming to me."

  "I'll be by your side the entire time," I provide, hoping to not necessarily coax her into going, but rather trying to get to the root of the true issue.

  "I know," she says with a frustrated huff. "I just...I don't like being on display like that."

  "On display?" I ask, confused. No clue what she's talking about. "You wouldn't be."

  Her eyes harden somewhat and she says, "Let me be clearer then. I don't like people looking at me with you and second-guessing my motives to be there by your side."

  And understanding hits me. "Is this because of what Luc said at Thanksgiving? Because I thought we were past that."

  It's true. We haven't talked about that since, just as we've had no further conversation about her moving in with me, despite the fact I've brought it up twice and only got an "I'm still thinking about it" from her.