Page 49 of In Your Wake

“Well, Mom, we all paid for it, didn’t we?”

My hands sting from the burn of gripping the mug too tightly, but I don’t let go.

She tilts her head. “What’s actually going on here, because that’s not what this is about.” She searches my eyes, reading my thoughts like only a mother could. “You’re angry.”

“Of course I’m angry,” I retort.

“But not about what Max kept from you. Not really.”

I laugh, sharp and humorless. “You’re splitting the inn with her like she’s family.”

“She is family,” Mom says. “Maybe not by blood, but they all are.” She glances over her shoulder at the picture on the fridge.

“You don’t owe her anything, though.”

“We do. You just don’t see why,” she argues. “Maxine kept that place alive. Back when your father was too proud to admit it was failing. When I was too tired, or when he got sick. Everyone stopped believing in it a while ago. But she never did.”

“Until now,” I say quietly. “It’s a job to her. She works there. It doesn’t mean—”

“No, Mitchell, she runs it,” Mom cuts in, still gentle but firm. “That girl is amazing. She fixes the boiler at midnight. She organizes fundraisers and hosts fun evenings for locals. She’s given people jobs when no one else would. And she thinks I’m not aware, but she’s even covered payroll out of her own pocket when money’s been short.

She didn’t stay because she lacked ambition or felt some sort of twisted guilt, Mitchell," she adds. “She stayed because no one else would, and she didn’t want to give up on it like everyone else clearly had. She’s always had a thing for the underdogs.”

Her words settle heavy in my chest, but a wave of revelation hits me, as if a window’s been opened in a stuffy room. That’s exactly what Max said that day in the front yard.

Mom reaches across the table to cover my hand with hers. “You left, Chi-Chi. You ran as fast and as hard as you could to get away from it all.”

That stings, and I wince. “I had to. I had a chance,” I say defensively.

“And I’m not blaming you. I’ve never held that against you. I’m only explaining how since then Max has kept the inn alive when your father and I couldn’t.”

Maxine had dreams. Big ones.

“You’re giving her too much credit. She could’ve left,” I mutter.

“Oh, don’t think she didn’t try. She wanted to go,” Mom adds. “But every time she got close, something pulled her back. Something broke. People needed her. The fact is Maxine stayed when she had every reason to leave. Even when this family, and her own, fell apart. She faced it all: the good, the bad, and the ugly.”

Staring into my untouched cup of coffee, I think of Max behind the front desk, a polite smile in place, shoulders squared like armor. The fearless and determined girl who used to race me down the beach and tackle me, a guy twice her size.

“You’re both so angry,” Mom continues. “Maxine because she was never free to choose. And you—” She pauses, releasing a sad exhale. “You’re angry because you were.”

I picture college in Michigan, the ice rinks, and how I put as much distance as I could between me and this town, and everything. I remember Maxine’s emails and phone calls that went unanswered.

“I wanted to forget,” I admit softly. “What happened and what she did. What he did.”

“I know, Chi-Chi. And you both have every reason to be pissed off. But life has a funny way of reminding us that in the grand scheme of things, the little things don’t matter.” She glances over my shoulder toward the living room, her eyes growing distant before returning to meet mine. “But she’s still the girl you loved way back then, she’s just buried under years of hard work and being let down.”

She pokes me gently in the chest. My heart skips a beat beneath her finger, and I swallow hard. I never told her about my feelings, but I guess they were always obvious to my mom.

Dad coughs from the other room, deep and wet. The sound makes me cringe, reminding me that time is running out. For him. For all of us.

“You don’t have to forgive her,” Mom says, standing. “But you have to see her.”

I nod, my jaw tight. My anger simmers, not entirely with Maxine, but with myself because I didn’t just leave town; I left her to carry everything alone.

For the first time since coming home, something finally makes sense. Maxine didn’t fail to leave. She chose to stay. And her reasons for staying remind me why I used to adore her. They remind me why she was always the strongest person I’ve ever known, even when she doubted that strength.

She was the trusty port where I could always weather any storm. Her resilience and damn stubbornness are what drew me to her. She wasn’t weak for sticking around and not following her dreams. She made a choice, a fucking big one, to do what she could to help others.