Not So Easy

by Sherry Gammon

  Ambling toward his home felt surreal. He rounded the corner on Winding Trail and stopped. How many times had he run up and down this road? His dad taught him how to ride a bike here. He and Leo played kickball for hours on end in this cul-de-sac. A flood of emotions washed over him and he almost turned around. He stared at the house in the center of the loop, his house, and finally stepped toward it.

  The Hawthorn tree in front bloomed proudly with its tiny pink flowers. The Bleeding Hearts, his mother’s pride and joy, were starting to bud, and the purple heather, his personal favorite, waved in the gentle breeze.

  The basketball hoop in the driveway reminded him of the game his family and Em had played the night of the accident. He recalled the barbeque and his dad’s Shrimp Scampi.

  His parents. He missed them a lot. It seemed like a lifetime since he’d heard one of his father’s lame jokes, or listened to his mom stressing over organic versus non-organic gardening. He closed his eyes to the pain. Soon. Gabe promised. He had no idea how Gabe was going to pull it off since he wasn’t allowed to crossover to where they were, but he trusted Gabe. After all, how could he not trust an angel? And if Gabe promised him he’d see his parents when he finished helping JD, then he knew he’d get to see them.

  Max stood staring at the house for several more minutes, walking up to the flowerbeds for a closer view. It surprised him how everything seemed the same as it did the night of the accident; nothing had changed, really. The spring flowers were in full bloom now, but that was it. As if someone had forgotten to tell the house that no one lived there anymore. The grass was freshly mowed, the flowerbeds weeded.

  Max stepped back. Had someone moved in? It’d been several weeks since the accident, but surely it hadn’t been sold, not yet.

  “JD? What are you doing here?” Emma came around from the other side of the house. She had on a pair of jean shorts and an old t-shirt, along with some pink and blue gardening gloves.

  “Oh, hi, Emma. I’m walking home from my friend’s house since we no longer have a car.” Not wanting her to think him some kind of deranged stalker, he added, “This isn’t your house, right? Didn’t you say you lived on Pebble Hill Circle?”

  “Oh, no. This is, ah, . . . a friend of mine lives here. They aren’t around and I noticed the rose bushes were getting pretty weedy so I decided to clean them up a bit. The mom hates weeds around her roses.” She laughed self-consciously.

  Max smiled. She was right. His mother hated weeds around her prized rose bushes. It touched him that Em remembered. “I’m sure they’re grateful.”

  She nodded soberly. “I didn’t know you don’t have a car. I can pick you up tonight if you’d like.”

  “Actually, I haven’t had a chance to run all week. I thought I’d run over to your house. Helps to have a little motivation, you know,” he explained.

  “Okay. If you change your mind, let me know. I’d better get back to the roses. I’ll see you later.” She walked around to the back toward his mother’s flower garden.

  Reluctantly, Max left and headed for JD’s. He hoped to spend more time at his house. He wondered if the spare key was still hidden under the ugly ceramic frog his father’d won at the Winter Festival three years ago. But with Emma there, he couldn’t possibly go inside.

  Max hurried back to JD’s and took a shower, a quick shower since Tim sat in the living room watching TV. He slipped on the jeans that fit best, although none fit very well. He’d been able to keep the weight off JD had lost while in the hospital, but even with all the exercising Max’d been doing, his weight hadn’t changed more than a couple additional pounds. “Probably because of all the fast food we eat around here,” he mumbled, adding a belt to his pants. Max wondered if his mother knew what he’d been eating. No doubt she’d be freaking out if she did.

  He padded quietly into the kitchen to make up some dinner before going to Em’s. With only limited choices available, he opted for a Nutella and banana sandwich.

  “What are you eating, fat boy?” Tim waltzed into the kitchen. He stood next to Max, folding his arms over his chest as he watched him make his sandwich. Max didn’t answer, mostly because the only responses he came up with were sarcastic and he knew that’d send JD into a tailspin. Max scraped the last of the Nutella out of the jar and smeared it across the bread.

  Tim shoved his ugly face into Max’s. “I asked you a question, fat boy, and you’d better answer me.”

  “I’m making my dinner.” Max said calmly, mostly because his concentration focused on reassuring JD everything was okay.

  “You pigged all the Nutella, fat boy. What am I supposed to eat?” He reached out and popped Max in the back of the head.

  JD panicked. Max didn’t. “You know, for a guy who knocks an underage kid around, you’re pretty cocky. I could turn you in to the police and have you arrested.” Max picked up the sandwich and bit into it, staring directly into Tim’s beady little eyes.

  “I’d like to see you try, fat boy. I got friends who’ll swear to their graves I was with them clear on the other side of town. My bases are covered. Besides, you’re seventeen. You’re no longer “underage,” Tim made quote marks in the air, “according to New York law.” He ripped the sandwich out of Max’s hand and shoved it down the garbage disposal as the blond bimbo pulled up in front of the house. “Don’t threaten me, boy. I will take you down.” Tim wheeled around and left without another word.

  JD wanted to crawl into bed and hide. Max refused. “You’re not cowering to that man ever again, JD.”

  Before leaving for Em’s, he needed to check on Izzy. He found her number in the phone book, memorizing it before calling her. “Hi, Izzy. How are you feeling?”

  “Not so good. I’m going to have to take another Perc. Sorry.” Her weak voice unnerved Max.

  “I’m coming over. You need to go to the hospital.”

  “No! They’ll put me through the stupid tests again and send me home in worse shape than when I go in,” she assured him. “Go to your beloved Emma McKay’s house and have fun. If it gets worse, I’ll go in. Promise.”

  “I don’t know, Izzy.” A bad feeling crawled up his spine. He should be helping her, not daydreaming about Em.

  “Please, JD. You know there’s nothing you can do. This has to run its course. I’ll be fine in a day or two. Always am.”

  He relented, hanging up after promising to call her when he got back home.

  Max decided to walk to Em’s so he wouldn’t be all sweaty when he got there. He’d run home instead. JD didn’t care much for the plan, but Max was used to his negative feelings about running. He ignored them, grabbed his backpack, and headed for Em’s, more excited than he’d been in weeks.

  Two blocks from her house, Max heard two men arguing loudly. As he drew closer to the corner, he immediately recognized one of the voices. Nate Stackman. The voices grew louder as Max ducked behind a lilac bush, peaking through the branches at the commotion. Nate, and a man who looked to be an older, slightly heavier version of Nate, came stomping down the driveway toward Nate’s car parked out on the street.

  “You’d better start pulling your weight around here, or else,” demanded the older man.

  “Or else what, dad? You’re gonna punch my face in again?” Nate demanded.

  A small, frail woman scurried down the driveway. “Stop this fighting,” she said in a harsh whisper.

  “I didn’t start this one. Your jerk-face husband did.”

  “That’s it. I’ve had enough of your lip.” His father cocked an arm back, but Nate’s mom grabbed hold of it, stopping the punch. The force lifted her off the ground a couple inches.

  “I will not have the neighbors watching this circus,” Nate’s mother said, smoothing her hair into place.

  Nate spit out a cold, hard laugh. “You afraid the neighbors might find out daddy-dearest rules his family with an iron fist? Don’t bother. Everyone knows Neal Stackman beats his kids.” Nate shook his head. “I’m out of here.”

  He j
umped into his car, the engine roaring to life. The sound made JD sick.

  “You come back here. We’re not done,” demanded his father. But Nate screeched off down the street. Max pressed himself deeper into the lilacs as Nate drove past. Nate’s parents made their way back up the driveway toward the house, arguing in hushed tones.

  “That explains a lot,” Max muttered, climbing out of the bushes. He brushed at the leaves and twigs stuck in his shirt and hair, continuing on to Emma’s.

  Excited now that he was close, Max jogged the last block, stopping at the house next to hers so he could stare at Em’s for a moment.

  Like his house, it looked the same with its tall white pillars and red brick front. Colonial style, Em told him once. Whatever the style, it didn’t matter to him, it just looked good. How many times had he played basketball with her little brother, or eaten dinner on the patio? This was his home away from home for almost two years.

  Max raced up the stairs, eager to get inside and see everyone again. Emma opened the door as he raised his hand to knock. “Hi, JD. I saw you staring at my house from my bedroom window. You looked a little lost so I was coming to tell you that you had the right house.” She pulled the door open wider and signaled for Max to come in.

  “You have something in your hair.” She pulled out a few small twigs. “Come into the kitchen, I want you to meet my family. Oh, one thing, could you not mention you saw me weeding at my friend’s house earlier? I don’t want my parents to get any ideas about having me weed around here.” Max thought her request odd since he knew she always helped her dad with the weeding. He nodded anyway. “Thanks.”

  He followed her into the kitchen, taking the opportunity to glance around at the familiar setting. It was like being home again. The smell—her mom baked cookies again—the ding in the hallway floorboard where her brother carelessly tossed his ice skates last winter, and the broken doorknob leading to the basement. He smiled at each.

  “JD, this is my mom,” Em said.

  “Please, call me Bev.” Em’s mom had pretty sea-green eyes, every bit as pretty as Em’s sky-blue ones. He loved her almost as much as he did his own mother. When she offered him a kind smile, Max fought the urge to hug her.

  “And I think you know my dad.”

  “Yes, sir.” Max held out his hand and her dad shook it firmly.

  “You can call me Marty.”

  Max remembered having to date Em for three months before being invited to call her dad by his first name. Max guessed he didn’t see JD as a threat to his daughter compared to the jock who’d stolen her heart.

  “Do you remember anything about the accident yet, JD?” he pressed.

  “No, sir. I thought the investigation was closed.”

  “It is. You have nothing to worry about, JD, I promise. It’s just that your injuries were a bit . . . how should I say it?” Marty thought for a minute then said, “Unique, I guess is the best word. I’d like to know exactly how you flew out the windshield like you did. You really should have been wearing a seatbelt, young man.” He smiled, but Max knew he was serious. Marty had a passion for seatbelts. He once questioned Max about how often he wore his, which wasn’t very often, and he went into an hour-long lecture about the gruesome accidents he’d seen and the unnecessary deaths that occurred because someone didn’t buckle up. Max never forgot to wear his seatbelt again after that. He also had a few mild panic attacks for the next two weeks every time he got behind the wheel.

  “And that’s my little brother, Noah,” she said, pointing out the patio door at her thirteen year old brother playing basketball with a couple of his friends. Noah. Man, he missed him too.

  “The computer’s in the family room. If you want to head in there I’ll get us some cookies.” Em showed him the family room, returning with a plate of chocolate chip cookies before he’d pulled up the report. She set the plate on the desk next to him.

  “You need a new one. Cavemen had faster computers,” he said as they waited for it to boot up. He used to love giving her dad a hard time about the outdated machine.

  “I tell my dad all the time about it.” She reached over his shoulder and took a cookie. Her silky blond hair brushed his cheek. Max pinched his eyes shut to keep from thinking about it.

  “Okay. What exactly do you need help with?” he asked as she pulled a chair up next to him.

  “I’m afraid I’m computer illiterate. Max always laid out all my stories for me. He was a genius on the computer.” She took a deep breath. Max wondered if she was remembering some of the times he’d helped her. The laughs when she’d turn the article into a mass of confusion by a simple click of the mouse, or the tears when she accidently deleted the entire thing. And of course the stolen kisses whenever her dad wasn’t around.

  “I’ll teach you what I’m doing so you can do it yourself.” He never taught her before because he enjoyed helping her and it was a good excuse to be near her. They did, however, plan for him to teach her the basics this summer before they headed off to college. So much for that plan.

  Max helped her understand the basics, impressed at how quickly she caught on. He wondered if maybe she’d been holding out on him a little so he’d have to keep helping her. The thought made him smile.

  When they’d finished the first half of the paper, Bev brought them a plate of leftovers. Lasagna. Max loved her mother’s lasagna. She used Italian sausage and it always gave him heartburn, but it was so worth it.

  After they ate, her little brother came in and challenged him to a game of basketball. “We can play pig, it’s shorter than horse.”

  “I’d like to but I really am a terrible player, though I am pretty good at Werewolf Island.” Noah and Max played the video game countless times over the past two years. Noah was better than him and he loved to beat Max.

  He watched as the kid’s eyes lit up. “Yeah! Oh man, I haven’t played Werewolf Island in weeks. Not since Max and . . .” He froze mid-sentence and looked at Em. “Sorry, Em. I didn’t mean to say his name.”

  “I told you, you can talk about Max. It doesn’t bother me.” She shook her head, frustrated.

  Noah nodded. “Okay. So, do you really want to play?”

  “Sure. If Em doesn’t mind. We haven’t finished laying out her story yet.”

  “I’m finished. My brain’s saturated. Go ahead,” she said.

  Max and Noah sat on the green couch, the new green couch. They had a brown couch in the family room the entire time Max knew them.

  “You got a new couch. I like it.” Max said, stroking the soft microfiber cushions.

  “Yeah, my parents . . . how did you know we got a new couch?” Em asked.

  Oh, no. Think fast, Max.

  “Duh, sis. The thing still stinks like a new couch,” Noah said, loading up the game and handing Max a controller.

  “Yeah, it still stinks like a new couch.” Max laughed while silently thanking Noah for his astute observation.

  As usual, Noah creamed him at Werewolf Island, but it was worth it to watch Em laugh every time the witch-demons killed him.

  “Don’t take this wrong, but you’re worse than Max,” Noah said, turning the game off. “I’ll let you redeem yourself. Em and you against me.” Noah picked up the basketball and spun it on his finger, a trick Max’d taught him.

  “I’m worse at basketball then I am at Werewolf Island.”

  “Sorry, dude, but no one is that bad at basketball,” he teased. “Come on, Em.”

  Her brother held back as they played. No doubt Noah hoped that somehow he and Em would win at Pig. Kind, like his sister, Max knew Noah wouldn’t want to beat JD twice in one day. Max lost track of how many shots Noah’d missed. Em made the final shot, winning the game for them.

  “Good game,” Noah raised his hand for a high-five. Max, dripping in sweat and breathless, high-fived the un-sweaty Noah back.

  “Hate to break up the party,” Marty said, coming out the sliding door, “but I do believe everyone has school in the mornin
g. It’s ten-thirty.”

  Thanks to all the lights outside on the patio, it didn’t seem that late. Noah headed upstairs, as Em and Max got a long, cool drink of water. “I’ll take you home. Grab your stuff.” Em dug through her purse for her keys while Max slipped his backpack onto his shoulder. “Be right back, Dad.”

  As they turned on JD’s street several minutes later, Max said, “Thanks for the ride.”

  “Thanks for the help. I really should learn my way around the computer since my plan is to become a journalist.” Em slowed as they pulled up in front of the house.

  “JD, can I ask you something? And I want you to answer honestly. I don’t want you to worry about offending me.”

  “Sure, Em. You can ask me anything.”

  “Does it bother you when I talk about Max?” She turned off the car and faced him. “I mean, I know you were in the accident and all, and seriously hurt, so I don’t want to make you feel badly.”

  “No. I don’t mind. I’m just glad you don’t blame me, like some of Max’s other friends do.” Max peered into her sky-blue eyes and fell in love with her yet again.

  “I don’t blame you at all. My dad said you’re completely innocent. If anything it’s the deer that I’m angry with, but it too was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. No one’s to blame, JD. Please don’t take this on yourself. And Max’s friends, they’ll be okay. It’s just going to take some time,” she promised.

  “Thanks, Em. I appreciate that.” Wanting desperately to reach over and caress her cheek, Max wedged his hands under his legs to be safe.

  “Thanks for letting me talk about Max. You’re the only person who doesn’t cringe when I say his name. If ever I bring Max up around my friends, they quickly change the subject. Same for my family.” She shrugged. “It’s as if they want to erase the fact that he even existed, you know?

  “But he did exist, and I loved him very much. I still love him. My heart hasn’t change just because he’s de—gone.” She brushed a random tear from her face. “I know they’re trying to help me, but to pretend he never existed is not helping me.”