The Shape Of My Heart. Ann AguirreЧитать онлайн книгу.

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      Uncle Lou drove a white vintage Cadillac. By its size, it probably dated from the ’70s and got terrible gas mileage, but it was smooth riding in the back. Max’s dad didn’t say a word to either one of us on the way to the house, which made me wonder if he’d honestly hated me on sight, or if it was the old conflict with Max coloring his impression. People didn’t always like me, obviously, but they seldom reacted with such immediate and virulent antipathy.

      It took forty-five minutes to get to Uncle Lou’s house, which was in Coventry, not Providence. When he turned into the driveway I realized we were there, though the line of cars should’ve clued me in. A white bungalow with detached garage proved to be our final destination; there was even a picket fence and a big deck out front with a ramp leading up. Neighbors and well-wishers were waiting when we got out of the car and strangers hugged me without asking how I knew the deceased. A kind-faced woman pressed a plate of food into my hands, and I took it reflexively, bewildered.

      I had some kind of fritters, a Jell-O-and-whipped-cream salad, cold cuts, a helping of casserole that I couldn’t identify. This was the random assortment of food people showed up with after a family death, hoping to make life easier for the survivors. Shrugging, I ate the fried thing and settled in a glider chair on the deck. I’d never been to a funeral after-party before, which was what this felt like. When Eli died, I barely held it together through the services and then I went to bed and slept for two days. I missed nearly three weeks of school my senior year.

      Half an hour later, Carol sat down beside me. “Did you lose track of Max?”

      “He’s with Michael, hopefully resolving their issues.”

      “Men,” she said.

      “Eh.” I wasn’t fond of generalizations. “I know plenty of women who have a hard time articulating their feelings, too.”

      Too late I remembered that was how women bonded, by being condescending about men. But I’d never participated in that tradition. People of both genders had equal opportunity to be idiots as well as emotionally evolved. I ignored the awkward pause in conversation, eating a bite of fruit salad. Carol stirred, as if she might get up, but then Mr. Cooper stumbled out of the house. From the smell, I could tell he’d fallen off the wagon.

      “Where the fuck is that bastard?” He could only be talking about Max, who wasn’t there yet, thank God. “It’s not enough he crippled my Mickey, now he’s—”

      His brother, Jim, clapped a hand over his mouth, dragging him back inside. The rest of the guests swapped nervous glances, as if they were thinking about bailing, but ten minutes passed, then Jim came out of the house alone. Relief pressed a sigh out of me, and tension drained from my spine.

      “Sorry, folks. It’s been a rough day for Charlie.”

      Everyone nodded, pretending to accept the excuse, but whispers about Mr. Cooper didn’t abate. Poor Max. His dad really is an asshole. But the rest of the family seemed okay.

      Before much longer, Michael parked his Scion in front of the house, as the driveway was full. Max pulled up a minute behind; that was kind of a relief. There was no question that I was an interloper here, and the longer I sat, the weirder I felt. Plus, it was fucking hot. Sweat trickled down the small of my back when I stood up to meet him.

      “You okay?” he asked, jogging up the ramp toward me.

      “Yeah. You?” I noticed he’d discarded his blazer and vest, probably stowed in the bike’s top box, and his tie hung loose, tempting me to tug on it. If we were dating, I’d use it to haul him in for a kiss.

      “It’s funny. For years I figured he hated me, blamed me for everything and that he wouldn’t believe me if I explained why I couldn’t be around. But in the end...he wasn’t even too surprised.”

      “I’m guessing he knows your dad.”

      Max glanced around. “Where is he?”

      “Drinking again. Your Uncle Jim put him to bed earlier. I think.” Before I could reconsider the meddling impulse, I shared what Uncle Lou had said.

      He stumbled back, his hand on the railing. “Are you serious?”

      I nodded. “With one exception, your family misses you, dude.”

      On closer inspection, I saw that he was actually trembling. I put down my plate as Max took my hand and led me around back. It was much cooler, more wooded, less landscaping, but there was an old swing suspended on a weathered frame. He led over me to it and sort of collapsed. Max leaned forward, his face in his hands. I rubbed his sweaty back, not really understanding this reaction.

      When he spoke, his words were muffled. “This is nothing like I pictured. I thought I’d have to fight everyone—that it would be all anger and blame. I was...I was braced for that, you know? I’m used to fighting. But Uncle Jim and Aunt Carol, Uncle Lou... They’re so nice. And sad, too. Hurt, even. Because of me. Because I let my crazy-ass dad speak for everyone. Because I listened to him and cut ties without a second thought.”

      “You were pretty young,” I said. “I think it’s enough you had the courage to come back. And I admire the hell out of you for making it right with Michael. You’ve been on your own since you were sixteen. I mean, damn. Instead of dropping out, you graduated. Somehow. I’ve always wondered how, man.”

      Max straightened, but not enough to make me think he wanted me to stop, so I circled my palm up and down his back. His lashes fluttered, suggesting he liked it. “Technically, I did drop out. I raced off on the bike, ended up in a shitty no-questions-asked motel in Scranton. I worked fast food, barely squeaking by.”

      “Your family didn’t call?” Okay, maybe they were all assholes.

      “I couldn’t afford a cell phone.”

      “Email?”

      “I didn’t check much since I had to go to the library to use the computer, and when I did, I deleted them unread.”

      “But...why?” He could’ve resolved this much sooner.

      “I was afraid they were trying to tell me Mickey didn’t make it. Chickenshit, I know, but...it was like, if I didn’t read it, then it couldn’t be true. I know now, once he started getting better they got busy managing his recovery and figuring out where he’d live...because he finally told everyone else how bad it was with Pop.”

      “You never said anything?”

      Max shook his head. “It was... I shielded Mickey from him... That was my mandate. Hell if I know why I didn’t just tell Uncle Jim. But I guess, back then, I was...ashamed, like it was because of me. So I had to hide the evidence.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “If I was better, my old man wouldn’t act like that.”

      “You know that’s not true.”

      “I was a dumb kid. When I think back to when my mother