The Shape Of My Heart

“Some things are just too private to share,” I teased.

“Are you sexting?” He lunged for my phone.

To keep the joke going longer, I shoved it down the front of my dress and smirked at him, brows up. “How bad do you want to know?”

For two heartbeats, he considered going in. But then he mumbled something unintelligible and turned around.

Michael checked the rearview as I fished my cell out of my cleavage, then offered, “I could find out for you, bro.”

Before things could get weird, I said, “I’m not sexting, it’s Nadia. She just wanted to know what’s going on with us.”

“Ah. Tell her I said hey.”

“Who’s Nadia?” Michael asked.

I told him about her, along with Angus, a rambling monologue punctuated by occasional remarks from Max. By the time I finished, the convoy reached the cemetery, well outside the city limits. The trees were probably gorgeous in fall, but it was pretty in late summer, too, green and well-kept. But it was hard to follow Max up the path, harder to see Michael struggle and know it would only piss him off if I offered to help. From this distance, I could see the tent, the coffin on burial scaffolding, a hole in the ground, the folding chairs set up on outdoor carpeting. They’d moved all the flowers from the funeral home, arrayed them around the coffin, so the breeze hit me in the face with the scent of sweet decay.

We were among the last to arrive, and this time Michael hung back with us. The funerary rites were mercifully brief; since the weather was muggy, hot and overcast, I’d have hated standing there for an hour. The wind died down, hinting at the prospect of a storm after nightfall. Maybe it would clear the air. One way or another we could use it.

They lowered the coffin and Carol tossed a flower into the grave. As people started to leave, I shifted, wondering if I should suggest...something. But really, Max needed to take the reins and sort out his family business without my intervention. So I kept quiet.

“What’re you doing now?” he asked his brother.

“There’s a potluck at the house,” Michael said. “If you want to come.”

His first reaction came in the form of leaping pleasure shining in his dark eyes, quickly dulled to uncertainty. “I don’t know if—”

“It’s not at Pop’s, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ve been living with Uncle Lou for the past four years.” Though his tone was offhand, I sensed there was a boatload of a story behind that decision.

“Four years...” Max wore a stunned expression, so much that I put my hand on his arm, steadying him. “All this time, I thought I couldn’t talk to you, see you. Not even to apologize.”

“What?” Michael stared at him, equally flummoxed.

Tell him, I ordered with my eyes. In their shoes, I would’ve had this talk last night, but no, they only blabbed about the bike, apparently. This offer felt akin to falling on a grenade—I disliked their dad that much—but they needed some privacy.

“I’ll get a ride with your uncle,” I said. “Catch you later, Max.”

Before he could argue, I hurried across the grass toward Mr. Cooper’s retreating back. The man beside him must be Uncle Lou; he was both shorter and wider. I caught up with them, out of breath, and nearly tripped over a headstone. Uncle Lou had a kind, jowly face with deep-set eyes with pouches under them. His nose was bulbous, but I could practically taste the kindness in him. He was also older than I’d expected, probably Max and Michael’s great-uncle. Which made the deceased granddad his brother.

“Can I beg a lift? Max and Michael need some time.”

“Of course, sweetheart.” Normally it pissed me off when men immediately defaulted to endearments; with Uncle Lou I didn’t mind. I’d probably even eat a butterscotch if he fished one out of his pocket.

“You go to school with Maxie, do you?”

If anybody heard that nickname when he was a kid, ten to one they called him Maxipad.

I was basically ignoring Mr. Cooper at this point, and he seemed to be returning the favor, walking a bit ahead. So I yielded to the urge to brag about Max. “Yeah. He’s doing really well in engineering, works part-time at a garage on weekends. It’s amazing what he’s achieved completely on his own.”

Mr. Cooper’s shoulders squared. Yeah, I hope you’re listening, asshole. Suck on that.

“I’m so proud of him. Carol tells us what he emails to her, but he has the idea nobody in the family wants to hear from him because of what happened to Mickey. And the nonsense Charlie spouted right after the accident, of course.” Uncle Lou sighed. “But I’m sure you know how stubborn Maxie can be. He gets an idea lodged in his head and nothing short of an earthquake can shake it out.”

“He still blames himself,” I ventured quietly.

“None of us do. I slammed into a parked car once because I dropped a sandwich. Now, that’s stupid. I can only imagine how I’d feel if somebody got hurt.”

Mr. Cooper picked up the pace, probably trying to get out of earshot. I watched him go, wondering how he lived with himself. He’d kicked one son out and then couldn’t look after Michael after he got out of the hospital, just went on drinking like it was his reason for living. The whole situation made me angrier than I could recall being in my whole life.

Uncle Lou studied my face with the air of an adorable, aging basset hound. “It’s a mess, no two ways around it. But I hope we can clear up the misunderstanding while Maxie’s here.”

“I hope so, too.” We were nearly to the car when I gave up and asked the nosiest question of my life. “What, exactly, did Max’s dad say that night at the hospital? I know Max left home right after, but—”

“Honey, I think you already know this, but...that story should come from Max. And it’d do him good to get it off his chest. When he’s ready, he’ll tell you himself.”

Maybe, I thought.

And the prospect blazed through me in a shower of joy.

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 was alive, he wasn’t that way. But I was so young, I don’t remember much about her.”

Working my palm up his spine, I cupped my hand around his neck, massaging the tense cords until he let out a pleased sigh. “What was she like?”

“Like I said, I was five when she died. But she spoke with an accent, and...” He paused like he was sorting his memories. “I loved watching her cook. She’d set me up in the kitchen with wooden spoons and two or three pots to bang on. Never yelled no matter how much noise I made. And...she smelled like jasmine.”

Max tipped his head back, and I took the invitation, lifting the shaggy black hair to sink my fingers into it, rubbing the base of his skull in slow, gentle circles. “How come your family never tried to find you?”

“Michael said they didn’t mean to lose track of me, it just happened. They figured I’d blow off some steam, come home in a few weeks. But I was too stubborn. I didn’t set foot in Rhode Island until I was old enough to take the GED.”

“After so much shit, you still got into college. From where I’m sitting, that’s incredible. Your whole life is a colossal in-your-face to your dad.”

“Not so much. The first year after I left was...rocky. I drank a lot, flirted with various addictions. Fucked any woman who’d take me home and got into pointless fights. A guy nearly stabbed me in an alley before I realized dying in the gutter wasn’t how I wanted to go out.”

“You turned it around, though. And your family’s proud. Why wouldn’t they be?” After Eli died, I got full-on hooked on prescription meds; I loved the numbness. But I didn’t pull out of the spiral on my own. My mother sent me to rehab the summer after I graduated.

“I thought they agreed with him,” he said quietly. “That I’ve always been a worthless fuckup and always will be.”

“Is that what he said at the hospital?” I held my breath, wondering if he’d tell me about the most traumatic night of his life.

“I can still quote him, you know? I was sitting in the waiting room, covered in blood and powdered glass, while they worked on Mickey, afraid to hope, afraid to pray. My dad burst in and I thought, Thank God. It’ll be okay now. But he yanked me out of the chair and hit me so hard, I bit through my lip.”

Reflexively my hand clenched in his hair, but I relaxed my fingers to avoid hurting him. On a deep, steadying breath, I resumed stroking, meant to soothe him, though it had the same effect on me. His dark hair felt like damp satin on my palm and he smelled vaguely of the shampoo we’d used earlier. There was nothing I could say, so I leaned closer, letting him know I was there whether he wanted to keep talking or not.

A few seconds later, he went on. “He said, ‘I wish to God you’d never been born. What a worthless shit you turned out to be. This is why I’ve tried so hard to pound the asshole out of you, but you are fucking un-save-able.’ Then he shoved me up against the wall and threatened to crack my skull with a beer bottle.”

“Holy shit. Your dad’s insane.”

Max turned with haunted eyes, shifting so I had to move my hand or drop it entirely. I chose not to relinquish contact, sensing that he needed it. I left my hand on his jaw, the uneven scruff teasing my palm. Though I might be wrong, I didn’t think he’d ever told this story before. He wore a shell-shocked expression, as if the memories were more powerful than he’d expected.

“The worst part is, I didn’t even leave then. I should have. But I went all sad puppy. ‘How can you...? You’re my dad, you’re supposed to love me.’” His mouth tightened, revealing how he felt about the pathetic nature of the question.

“What did he say?” It couldn’t be good.

“‘It’s not hard to work out, you dumb shit. If I don’t love you, it’s because you’re unlovable. Now get out of here. If I see you again, I will fucking end you.’”

“You took off that night.” Now that I had the whole story, I understood why.

The family could only cope with one emergency at a time. While everyone sat by Michael’s hospital bed, Max got farther away. And the longer the silence lasted, the more convinced he became that everyone hated him. Until Carol sent a wedding announcement email. Did I think somebody should’ve been on Max’s side, searching tirelessly to find him? Absolutely. But sometimes the world was a cold, horrible place, and people slipped through the cracks. That didn’t make it right.

“Yeah. You’re really quiet. It’s kind of freaking me out, I don’t want this to change us. I’ve never laid it out completely before, and—”

“I know, you say you don’t get along with your family and leave it at that. Thanks for trusting me. And no, it doesn’t make a difference. You’re my best friend...and I’m always on your side, Max. You can count on me for anything, you know that, right?”

His dark eyes shone, brightening with tears. They didn’t fall; he backed away from that emotional precipice, though his smile remained soft and sweet. “I do, actually. That’s why I asked you to come.”

“That means a lot to me.” I hugged him then, wrapping my arms around his waist.

He settled me against his chest, resting his chin on my hair. It was beyond me how anyone could call him unlovable. He radiated warmth. Yeah, the packaging was a little rough, and he didn’t speak with an upscale accent, but Max hid only goodness at the heart of him. Some guys talked shit about their hookups, but I’d never heard Max comparing notes or denigrating a girl for sleeping with him.

“You got the room for three nights, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I was wondering if you’d mind hanging out with Michael tomorrow. We’ll take off the day after.”

“Not at all. I was hoping you’d get some family time.”

“I didn’t think it was likely,” he admitted. “But Michael isn’t mad. Well, he is, but not about the accident. He just didn’t get why I vanished.”

“Did you tell him everything?”

He shook his head. “Kid has enough on his plate without hating Pop as much as I do.”

“So what’re you guys doing tomorrow?” I figured I’d walk downtown and check out the shopping in Providence, maybe see a movie.

“You aren’t coming?” He actually sounded disappointed.

“It seems like I’d be in the way. I mean, I’m not family.”

Max sat back and planted his hands on my shoulders. The suddenness of the motion jolted the swing, so the chains creaked. I tumbled backward, feet coming off the ground. I didn’t fight when he shifted, pulling me against his side. In slow, steady movements, he pushed off with his feet. Green shadows played across my bare legs, highlighting the pallor.

“You are,” he said.

“What?”

“Family. Maybe that sounds strange. I’m not looking forward to graduation. I mean, shit, we’re already splitting up. Nadia’s living downstairs, and Kia might be moving in. It’ll suck when I can’t see you guys every day.”

Mostly I didn’t think about the future. I had acquaintances in the business program who had five-year and ten-year life plans. But for me, the idea of what came after college—it was all a big blur. I couldn’t picture myself doing anything in particular. For a long time, I had been going through the motions, pretending I had goals, when I just missed Eli and didn’t take medication that would make it stop.

You have to let me go, Eli said. You can’t be happy unless you do.

But if I let you go, you’re gone.

I’ve been gone for years, baby.

“Where do you go when you do that?” Max asked unexpectedly.

“Huh?”

“Sometimes in the middle of a conversation, you check out. Not here, not listening, not with me anymore.”

This confession would make him think I was crazy. “Talking to my dead boyfriend.”

Max’s eyes widened and he glanced around his uncle’s backyard as if he expected some Medium scenario to play out. Ruefully I smiled and shook my head, tapping my temple. “In here. We knew each other so well—and for so long—that I hear his commentary on stuff and sometimes I answer. It’s weird, I know. I didn’t realize anyone could tell, though.”

“Trust me, I know when you’re paying attention to me. And that’s not the strangest habit I’ve encountered. When I was in Scranton, I met a guy who had a bird living in his pocket.”

I shuddered. “That sounds horrible for everyone involved.”

“I know, right? Anyway, the question stands. Will you come out with Michael and me?” His hand found the nape of my neck and he returned the favor, massaging until I nearly melted onto his lap.

Truthfully, he was turning me on somewhat, but I’d learned to ignore the little sparks between us. This friendship was too perfect to be complicated with sex, and making out with Max forced me to acknowledge that one night wouldn’t satisfy me. Plus, he went for pretty girls—Lauren, for example—and I’d heard all about his crush from Nadia. I couldn’t afford to become sexually obsessed with someone who thought of me as family.

We’re better as friends.

“Sure. It makes sense to let him show me around. Local knowledge and all.”

“Hey, I grew up here, too. I can line up some attractions that will rock your world.”

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