Page 130 of In Your Wake

“That may be, but she didn’t need to come to Dad’s funeral.”

“I think she did.” She looks up at me, her brown eyes kind. “She came to say goodbye. And to speak her piece. As I have. It’s what grownups do.”

I’ve known Joanne as long as I’ve known Maxine and Hunter. Before her affair with my dad, she was someone I considered family. But maybe Mom’s right. With him gone, leaving us all in the same confused puddle of dysfunction, the resentment I hold toward her seems petty and not worth holding onto anymore.

In the end, who loved who, when it all fell apart, and who did the breaking doesn’t make a difference. I get that now.

Knowing she wouldn’t dare ask for a hug, but needs one, I draw Mom back, crushing her against me. “No matter what, Mom, he loved you more.”

“We loved each other.” She looks up again, and even though her smile doesn’t reach her tear-filled eyes, it’s there. “He adored you, Mitchell. You need to believe me. He didn’t hold any anger about the two of you drifting apart.”

She rests her hand against my cheek, giving it an affectionate tap, then glances over her shoulder and nods toward Maxine, who’s glaring at the mound of dirt over Dad’s grave.

“When you two were kids, I could always tell when you fought.” She looks back at me and arches an eyebrow. “Guess some things haven’t changed.”

“Not sure what you’re talking about,” I reply, pursing my lips.

“She cares for you, Chi-Chi. More than you might realize. Whatever happened between the two of you, fix it. Don’t let her slip away.”

I hang my head, remembering how Maxine said I’d broken her heart. She didn’t admit it, but the idea that she’d also been in love with me back then makes my skin prickle with horrible disappointment.

We’ve wasted so much time, and now that ship has sailed.

With one last kiss on my cheek, Mom leaves my side and welcomes condolences from some friends. Filled with anxiety, I glance around and step away from the lingering mourners, finding a quiet bench to sit on.

A few minutes later, the sound of a branch cracking behind me warns that I’m no longer alone. I find it almost impossible to lift my head, but I do.

Buried in a thick black sweater that is easily one size too big, Maxine looks so small. Her face is bare, without makeup, and when she tucks her chin into the collar of the sweater, the dark fabric brings out her milky white skin and freckles. She’s so stunning, it makes my heart ache.

“Can we talk?” Her question comes out in a whisper, lacking any emotion, and it rips me apart inside. We haven’t spoken since my bedroom days ago, and though I bet she has loads to say, I’m not quite sure I want to hear it.

I raise my eyes to hers, squinting them slightly. “And you think now’s a good time?”

“This is the best place to say what I need to.”

She tugs at the ends of her sleeves, her nervousness reaching deep into my chest. Or is there another reason for this strain behind my ribs and the short breaths I’m taking?

“Mitchell?”

Normally, I love when she uses my full name, but this time it’s so filled with uncertainty that it almost sounds unkind and impersonal.

“I’m not up for this conversation right now, Max.”

“I understand,” she replies. “But it doesn’t have to be a conversation. Like Bill said, ‘Even if they don’t want to hear it, make them listen’. And I need you to listen.”

The raw truth burns in her eyes.

Twisting my tongue around in my mouth, I look away, then shrug. I dread what she wants to say and worry it’ll be like last time, but I don’t leave.

Whatever it is, no matter how much it might hurt, something tells me I need to hear it.

Max

Dirt. Cold, damp dirt.

Bill is lying under it. A man who was like a second father to me, but was also the catalyst that tore my family, as well as Mitch and me, apart.

I thought I was over it. That after all this time, I was ready to forgive. And maybe it’s the cemetery bringing it out of me, but I’m so upset, I feel like I’m in someone else’s skin and my head is about to split into pieces.