A Heart to Heal

“That’s not fair! My mom had to help me like that after I got hurt, and—” Heather snapped her mouth shut, beyond angry with herself for letting that slip. She angled away from Max, pretending—uselessly—to look out over the water while he took the boat into another turn. She couldn’t go anywhere; she was trapped on this boat with Max Jones and an admission she’d give anything to take back right now. The silence on board was so thick she felt paralyzed herself.

He stayed quiet the whole way across the river, which surprised her. She’d expected Max to pry the rest of the story out of her, but he didn’t. She felt him looking at her, sensed his gaze even though she kept her eyes on the river.

Finally, as he turned the boat around again, Heather dared to look his way. His whole face had changed. His face showed warmth and understanding, not the defiance that seemed to be his constant expression. “What happened?” An hour ago, she wouldn’t have believed Max capable of such a tender tone.

She didn’t like the idea of his knowing the details. Those were private. But Max Jones needed to know he was not the only person on earth to suffer a life-changing accident. And out here on the water, Heather felt as if the secret could be safely contained. “I was burned. In an accident. My junior year of high school.” Even those vague details made her feel wildly exposed, and she hugged her knees again, clutching the scarred thigh close and away from the world. “And whether or not you think it’s useless, I’m still very, very sorry it happened.”

She expected him to press her for details, but Max seemed to sense she’d taken a huge step in admitting just the basic facts. He didn’t pry or challenge her need for privacy; he just let her be quiet amid the wind and water. When they pulled the boat up to the dock a peaceful hour later, Heather conceded that there might be more to Max Jones than she’d realized.

Chapter Four

Jeannie Owens adjusted the gift basket’s ribbon Monday afternoon with an artist’s touch before pushing it across the counter to Heather. “That ought to do the parents’ night fund-raising auction proud, don’t you think?”

“Sure.”

The Sweet Treats candy-shop owner furrowed her brow. “I was hoping for a more enthusiastic reaction. My chocolate-covered caramels are supposed to be sought after, not barely tolerated.”

Heather knew very well how “sought after” Jeannie’s caramels were. Too well, if her bathroom scale was any indication. “Sorry. This is fabulous—it’s even bigger than last year’s.”

“But...” Jeannie cued, raising one eyebrow in concern rather than judgment.

Heather sighed. “It’s not you or the candy. I’m just preoccupied, I guess.”

“Trouble at school?” Heather knew Jeannie’s son had encountered his share of problems freshman year at GFHS. While the school had tried to offer guidance, the real solution had come from Fire Marshal Chad Owens, who’d not only befriended Jeannie’s son, Nick, but fallen for Jeannie herself. Nick was now an exemplary senior and one of Heather’s favorite happy endings for this graduating class.

“I’m worried about Simon Williams. Actually, I’m worried about what Jason Kikowitz might do to Simon Williams.” She usually made it a point not to give names when talking about school issues, but Jeannie had particular insight regarding a bully’s influence on a boy facing problems.

Heather watched Jeannie try to place Simon’s name. It was no effort to place Jason’s—everyone who had a student at GFHS knew who “that Kikowitz boy” was. “Williams...Brian Williams’s boy? Chad said Brian was all huffed about something that happened at school. Now it makes sense.” Her eyes filled with compassion. “As if high school isn’t hard enough. To have to do it in a wheelchair must feel impossible.”

“Simon’ll make it. He’s such a good kid. Unsure of himself, but so smart.”

“But a target for guys like Kikowitz, I’m sure.” Jeannie pulled the top off a large glass jar on her counter that was filled with her signature chocolate-covered caramels and tilted the opening toward Heather. “You’ve got your hands full. That deserves one on the house.”

Heather couldn’t help but pull a caramel from the jar, sure she would regret it later. Even if Jeannie campaigned that the world’s problems could be solved with enough sugar and chocolate, Heather’s hips put up valid resistance to the idea. “He’s got so much potential. I care a lot about this one. Too much, maybe.”

“No such thing,” Jeannie said, sliding the canister back into place. “Don’t you ever stop caring too much—it’s what makes you so good at what you do.” Jeannie had a vibrancy about her that Heather loved. And she had a great family despite knowing a lot of trials in her life. Sure, Heather came into Sweet Treats for the chocolate, but she came in just as much for the friendship and support. “I wondered about him when the family moved in over the summer,” Jeannie went on. “Chad says Brian is a terrific father. Really engaged and involved.”

“He’s devoted to Simon—no doubt about it. Only I think this year is going to be a challenge.”

“Jason Kikowitz is good at that.” Jeannie polished off the last of her caramel and licked the lingering chocolate off her fingers.

“More than that, actually.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you remember how hard it is to loosen up on the reins when your child enters high school.” That was a nicer way of putting it than Max’s he needs to back off. “I think Mr. and Mrs. Williams are going to have a tough time granting Simon the independence to make his own mistakes, especially with the fine start Kikowitz has supplied.” It was hard for most parents to strike that balance—Heather’s voice mail and email filled every September with parents trying too hard to manage their kids’ high school experiences—but doubly so in Simon’s case.

Jeannie’s face softened. “It’s the hardest thing in the world. Which is why the world needs you. Have you decided how you’re going to help Simon?”

“Actually, JJ came up with the idea to have Max mentor him.”

Jeannie raised both her eyebrows. “Chad mentioned JJ told him something about a basketball game?” Her expression appeared hopeful. “That sounds fun.” Yes, well, Jeannie had always been famous for her unflinching optimism.

“It was...sort of. He and Simon certainly seemed to connect, but let’s just say I have doubts Max will be much of a calming influence.”

“Calm?” Jeannie laughed. “Max Jones hasn’t been calm a day in his life. Did you see his car? Nick was drooling over the flame paint job the other day.”

The car. Everyone in Gordon Falls knew that car and had an opinion of both its look-at-me paint and its here-I-come roar. “Yep. Can’t miss it—that’s for sure.”

Jeannie leaned on the counter with both elbows. “Well, I understand why you’re worried, but you never know. Max might surprise you.”

“He’s already been a surprise—and not necessarily the good kind.” She hadn’t expected Simon to take to Max so strongly, nor had she expected Max to take a shine to Simon with the strength that he had. Of course, she’d wanted to put a halt to the thing at first, but there was something about the combination of Max and Simon that wouldn’t let her give up on the pair just yet. Maybe it had something to do with the way Simon had laughed in triumph at the end of their basketball game. She got the sense he didn’t laugh like that very often.

Jeannie came out from behind the counter to sit on one of the sunny yellow window-seat cushions that lined one side of her shop. “I can’t help thinking it takes someone like Max to stand up to someone like Kikowitz.”

“That’s just it,” Heather agreed.

“Then again,” Jeannie went on, “if I had to pick someone just as likely to make everything worse, it might be Max.”

“And that’s just it.” Heather sat down beside Jeannie. “Sure, Simon thinks he’s terrific right now. He looks cool. He talks up a great game. But I don’t really know him—he seems all swagger and no substance. Max could have too much influence—and all the wrong kind—on a kid like that.”

“Alex puts a lot of faith in him, and I don’t think Alex would do that if he didn’t see something in Max that was more than just a snazzy paint job. He’s willing to help, right? Can’t be all that bad if he’s at least willing to lend a hand.”

The memory of Max’s thundering muffler as it roared out of the school parking lot gave Heather enough reason to doubt Jeannie’s optimism. “I’m not so sure. Max is very...sure of himself. Actually, he’s arrogant, confrontational and rather tactless.”

Jeannie wound one piece of hair around a finger, thinking. “Maybe Max is exactly the kind of guy Simon needs. What boy wouldn’t want to know you can be in a wheelchair and still be that cool? I know he’s a bit over-the-top, but Nick thinks he’s ‘sick’—and evidently that’s a compliment.” Jeannie laughed. “He’s not exactly hard to look at, and all those adventures he goes on...”

“He’s a walking...rolling barrel of ‘look at me.’ He’s so busy shoving his circumstances in your face that he forgets you’re even in the room.” Max wasn’t the first man in her life to be so busy being a cause that he’d forgotten how to be a person. She wasn’t eager to repeat the experience.

Jeannie pushed off the wall and headed toward the cash register as a knot of giggling girls pushed into the store. “Well, I’ll give him one thing.”

Heather settled her handbag higher on her shoulder and picked up the massive gift basket. “What?”

“He knows how to get a rise out of you.”

* * *

Tuesday afternoon, Max rolled into Heather’s office in response to a phone-message summons.

“It’s one-thirty.” She scowled at the big white standard-issue school clock on her wall when he arrived. “I asked you to come by in the morning. It was kind of urgent.”

“I had an appointment. I got here as soon as I could afterward.” Normally he didn’t mention the dozens of monthly medical visits his condition required, but he wanted her to know life wasn’t all fun and games for him, even if he was in the fun-and-games business. “My neurologist is a nice guy but not nice enough to ditch just because you need backup.”

She didn’t seem capable of pulling off a mean face. “Who says I need backup?”

“It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know your voice mail is probably chock-full of worried calls from Brian Williams today. Come on—I saw that one coming a mile off. Has he asked you to keep me away from his precious impressionable son yet?”

He’d nailed it; he could see it in her eyes. “Do you have to ride the man so hard? He cares about his son.”

He wheeled farther into her office. She’d moved her guest chair to the side to accommodate his chair. That settled somewhere soft in the back of his brain. “It’s been my experience that there’s a very thin line between care and smother. Especially when you’re fifteen. Did you see Simon’s eyes when his father pulled up after the basketball game? Did you hear how even the school ramp made Pops nervous?”

Heather leaned one elbow on her desk. “How long, exactly, has it been since you were fifteen?”

He didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of a number. “A while.”

“Well, then, think back a while and remember that every student his age—disability or not—is mortified by everything their parents do. It’s practically rule number one in the high schooler’s handbook.”

“Hey, you just made a joke.” He angled himself around to dig a hand into the bag he kept attached to the back of his chair.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Really?” Heather was just so much fun to tick off, Max suspected he was going to get in trouble here far faster than his usual rate—which was pretty fast as it was.

“Well—” he found what he was looking for and pulled it out of the bag “—it just makes it easier to give you this.” Scooting up to her desk, he planted a bright pink rubber duck made to look like a flamingo on top of her files. It made a ridiculous squeaking sound as he did so, its little black rubber sunglasses squishing in on its hooked flamingo beak before inflating back into shape. Normally he wasn’t the gift type—barely remembering birthdays and such—but this had caught his eye in the hospital gift shop. The tone of her voice mail had made it clear Brian Williams had clouded up and rained all over her morning, and he’d wanted to cheer her up. “It’s a flamingo rubber duck, which is kind of a joke when you think about it.” When she looked genuinely startled, he added, “For your collection. And for not getting here until now.”

She reached for it, and he could see she was holding back a smile. “You know, a phone call to let me know your time frame would have been all I needed.” Her words were all you shouldn’t have but her eyes were I love it. How did someone so transparent make any headway with predators like teenagers?

She placed the flamingo-duck right next to the one he’d toyed with at their first meeting. “Yes, Mr. Williams expressed his concern.”

“Is that teacher-speak for he chewed my ear off?”

“Let’s just say I think it will take more than rubber waterfowl to bring Mr. Williams around. He was curious...suspicious, actually, that you clearly did not include him in your sailing invitation. That, more than any physical danger, is what kept Simon off your boat Saturday.”

Max didn’t like where this was heading. “He’s jealous?”

“Could you be serious for one minute here? Schools have to tread carefully where and how we let adults alone with students. And there are really good reasons—really awful ones, actually—why those rules are in place. He’s in the right here, Max. I should have never okayed that boat outing.”

Max had no patience for this kind of red-tape stupidity. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. You were going along. Brian Williams knows who I am. He works with my sister. I’m not some creep off the train from the big bad city.”

Heather sat back in her chair. “Do you want to help Simon or not?”

“Yes!” He didn’t even have to think about the answer. Simon’s eyes had been haunting him all weekend. He was like a walking poster child for everything Adventure Access was about—giving people with disabilities the chance to be regular people and have the kinds of fun that everyone craved. Max didn’t just want to help Simon; some part of him needed to help the little guy.

That clearly wasn’t the answer she was expecting. Wow, did she really think he’d walk away just because Daddy got hot under the collar? That bugged him more than Williams’s unfounded suspicions.

“Then we’ve got to work within the boundaries here. Simon’s dad sees him as vulnerable, and he’s not all wrong. This is hard for any parent, much less one with as much to worry about as Brian Williams has on his plate.”

She was right, of course. Some part of him recognized that. He’d gone in full blast, letting Williams’s perfectly natural responses get under his skin because of how much he hated being coddled. And while she was eons better now, hadn’t his own mother been ten times worse than Brian Williams when he was first injured? “Yeah.” He owed her at least that much of an acknowledgment.

“If it helps, I think he really should go out on your boat. It’s a beautiful boat, and it’s fascinating to watch how it works and you work on it. It’s just not the right starting point. Basketball? Now, that was a good first step for a lot of reasons. Can we think of something else like that? Something that can take place here on school property?”

“Williams is going to supervise, isn’t he?”

“Yes.” Her eyes flicked down at the admission. “He’s asked to be present.” She looked up. “Think you can play nice here?”

Normally, Max’s reply to a request like that would have been a resounding Not on your life! Only it was as if Simon’s pleading eyes watched him even though the kid wasn’t even in the room. “How are you at Ping-Pong?”

That smile could have made him buy twelve flamingo-ducks in rainbow colors. “I happen to be pretty good. Thursday afternoon?”

He could move his marketing-team meeting. It’d mean he would have to get up an hour earlier than normal—something he only did in the most dire circumstances—but he’d do it. “Let me make a few calls.”

Chapter Five

“Got ’em!”

Heather watched in amazement Thursday afternoon as Simon edged his chair in front of his father to nail the match’s winning shot. In the last half of the game, Simon had seemed to come alive right before her eyes, showing a determination and enthusiasm she’d not ever seen from him. It was the first time she could use the phrase young man to describe Simon. Lots of boys made the transition from “boy” to “young man” in their first year of high school, but she’d never seen the transformation happen quite so dramatically.

Max had noticed the change, as well; she could tell by the way he caught her eye in between volleys or when Simon made a particularly spectacular shot. Simon wasn’t the only one making surprising changes right in front of her. Max had gone out of his way to “play nice” with Brian Williams. Right down to the nondescript polo shirt instead of his usual T-shirt bearing a wild message. She’d spent the first game trying not to notice what the light blue color did for Max’s eyes. JJ had told her Max had rolled up in a tux for her wedding, and suddenly she wanted to see the pictures of what that looked like. Max Jones, for all his edgy attire, cleaned up very nice.

“Hey, Dad, watch this!”

Heather gasped as Simon made an attempt to pop one of the wild wheelies Max was known for—and succeeded only in toppling himself out of the chair. Mr. Williams let out a “Don’t do that!” and flew out of his own chair—for everyone had to play in chairs again to even the odds—grabbing Simon’s arm before Heather even had a chance to blink.

“I’m fine!” Simon declared, pulling his arm out of his father’s grasp. The air in the gym suddenly thickened. Heather didn’t know quite what to do.

Max did. In a matter of seconds, Max spun over next to Simon and proceeded to catapult himself out of his own chair. Now there were two people on the ground, with Heather and Mr. Williams standing in shock beside them.

“Didn’t that hurt?” Simon asked, as stunned as anyone else in the room.

“Not if I can’t feel anything below my waist. Of course, I wouldn’t advise this as a general practice, but it’s easier to show you how to get up than to sit there and explain it.”

“I can help him get up,” Mr. Williams interjected, reaching between Max and Simon.

“No, Dad,” Simon protested. “Let me see how Max does this.”

Mr. Williams looked ready to object, but Heather walked over and gently touched his elbow. “Let him try,” she whispered, seeing the panic in the father’s eyes. “You can step in if he gets in trouble.”

“What do I do?” Simon was as cool as a cucumber and obviously not a bit hurt.

“First—” Max winked “—you find somewhere else for the people around you to look because this isn’t pretty. Point out a flower or a puppy or something.”

Simon managed a wry grin. “They’re staring right at us.”

“Well.” Max elbowed Simon as if being sprawled out on the gym floor were all part of the plan. “Think of something.”

Simon pointed clear across the gym. “Hey, Dad, could you go get the Ping-Pong ball where it landed over in the corner?”

Mr. Williams did not look as if he cared for this one bit. Heather offered him an encouraging smile, eyebrows raised in a silent invitation to just play along.

The pause before Mr. Williams said, “Sure, son,” felt excruciating. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he stepped away from Max and Simon and walked across the gym floor.

As she followed Mr. Williams, swallowing the urge to turn and look at whatever it was Max was teaching Simon, she heard the smile in Max’s voice as he instructed, “Okay, pull your chair over here and put your left hand up on this.”

She walked in the direction Simon had pointed, catching Mr. Williams’s eye one more time. “I know that was hard,” she said, keenly aware that she truly had no idea how hard it might have been.

Brian Williams was trying; she had to give him that. He wanted to turn and watch as badly as Heather did—it was all over his face—but he made a show of searching for the little white ball both of them quickly realized wasn’t anywhere near where Simon had sent them.

After he heard Max’s overloud, “There you go, back upright,” Heather turned and threw up her hands in mock failure, inwardly delighted at the beaming and seated Simon—right next to a seated and slightly winded Max. Something hummed under her ribs as she realized what it had cost Max to toss himself out of his chair like that.

“Hey, look, Dad—the ball was right here all the time.”

Did Simon actually just wink?

“No kidding,” Mr. Williams said, his voice a mixture of emotions Heather couldn’t quite read. Was he proud of his son? Or annoyed at being “played”?

“Yeah. And I’m fine,” Simon repeated.

“Upright and awesome.” Max held up a fist and Simon bumped it in the universal high school sign of victory and admiration. “Only, I’d hold back on the wheelies till you get better at them. Knocks the cool right out of the whole thing if you tumble like we just did.”

“True.” Simon looked at Max. “We still beat you.”

Max pasted a dejected look on his face. “You and your dad creamed me and Ms. Browning. I’m not used to losing—we’d better find something else to play next time where I can be sure I’ll win.”

“Then it can’t be chess,” Mr. Williams offered. “He beats me every time.”

Surely this would bring some crack about chess’s geek factor. Max probably stuffed the Chess Club into lockers on a weekly basis in high school. Heather saw the barb come across his face, then watched as he swallowed whatever wisecrack was on the tip of his tongue. “Not really my thing, chess. But I’ll think of something and run it by Ms. Browning and your dad before I set it up, okay?”

Heather had to work to keep her mouth from dropping open. Somehow she was sure Max Jones never sought approval for anything—he definitely seemed more like the “do what you want and apologize later if you get caught” type. Was Max doing a little maturing of his own?

After they’d packed up the equipment and walked Simon and his dad to their car—and Max had gotten a lot of mileage out of a “walk you to your car” bit—Heather found herself at a loss for how to deal with this new side of Max.

She knew where to start, at least. Sitting down on the short wall that framed the school steps, she folded her hands in her lap. “Thank you.”

“For what?” His face told her he knew exactly for what.

“I want to say for behaving, but that doesn’t sound very good.” She fiddled with her watch, suddenly finding his eyes a little too intense. “You know what you did back there. I just want you to know I appreciate it.”

“You mean launching myself onto the floor so Simon wouldn’t feel like a train wreck? That was kind of fun, actually. Although, I expect I’ll find a few bruises in the morning.”

“Did it hurt?” The minute the words left her mouth, they felt like the most insensitive thing she could have picked to ask.

Max held her gaze for a moment—something that made her insides buzz. The man had astounding, expressive eyes. “It’s okay to ask stuff like that, you know. I don’t mind. If I think you’re stepping over the line, believe me, I’ll tell you.” He shifted in his chair. “No, it didn’t hurt. Nothing hurts. I’m deadweight from the waist down. But it also means I can’t tell if I’ve hurt myself, so flinging myself out of chairs isn’t the smartest thing I could be doing. That was more of an impulse.”

“It was a good one—I mean, provided you didn’t get hurt. Did you see Simon’s eyes?”

“Couldn’t miss it. Kid lit up like a firecracker. Do you think that’s the first time he’s told his dad to back off a bit?” Max was as excited about Simon’s confidence level as she was.

“Could be. And you found an appropriate way to make that happen.”