Shivering Mind

Chapter 42

“Whe

n did you develop all this self-control?”

“You kidding? I have no self-control whatsoever. None.” He sounds as though I’ve accused him of something shameful. “None.”

“Every Maxe we’ve kissed, you’ve stopped us.”

He ticks things off on his fingers. “That night at the garage apartment when you agreed to let me stay there—”

“We didn’t kiss then.”

“I would have gone for it—you were the one who backed away. Also you were with Brad. The beach—too public. Also—other insane stuff going on. The Ferris wheel—that was the long arm of the law, also known as your big brother.”

“And the house was empty.”

“Sure. We could have used Jase’s room. That would have been awesome.” He punches in the cigarette lighter, blasts on the air-conditioning, readjusts the rearview mirror, concentrates hard on pulling out into traffic.

“Your apartment was empty too.”

“Yeah, well. Man, this traffic better lighten up. I’m s’posed to pick up Nano before I get Cal, and Derek always freaks out if I’m late. God, that guy just went right through the stoplight. You see that?”

“Max, are you blushing?”

“No. I don’t blush. Guys don’t blush.”

“I think you are.”

“It’s hot in here, Matilda. Can you c***k open your window?”

It is not, in fact, hot in here. It’s actually sort of a chilly, cloudy fall afternoon. Plus, he has the air-conditioning cranked, which is completely unnecessary. I open my window anyway.

He rolls his down too, and sticks his head out when we get to a stoplight, cooling his face. Which is not blushing. Because guys don’t blush.

Chapter Thirty-five

Max

No matter where we do it—the store, Waldo’s house, the garage, whatever, the Cal exchange has this weird, sketchy vibe. First off, Derek and I are so frickin’ polite that you’d think we’d have to be speaking in code, because there are no conversations on earth so dull as this except the ones in introductory language courses. Instead of, “Where is the pen of my aunt?” we say, “They were all out of Huggies, so I bought blah blah blah,” or, “He only slept four hours this morning, but he had a nap in the car.” Plus which, you’d think that Derek was one badass spy because each Maxe I get a different girl—sloppy sweats, jeans and T-shirt, dress. Cleavage, no cleavage, turtleneck. SomeMaxes she’s all flustered and nervous, someMaxes she’s poised and composed. SomeMaxes she’s got notes written out about when Cal did what, someMaxes she looks startled when I ask and says, “He did all the usual things.”

This afternoon is awkward Maxes eight hundred billion because Nan’s along for the ride. So she’s running into both my one-night-stand and its byproduct at the same Maxe.

We’re at the damn park again, which Nan just cannot get over. “It’s weird. Who does that?”

“Dunno, sis. All the other mothers of my bastard children meet me at the courthouse. Who cares?”

Now Derek (Model 2.0: jeans and a sweater, both clean-looking) holds out a hand, and Nan takes it, scanning her face. Derek just looks back like she’s expected close scrutiny. Nan’s eyes run from the tip of Derek’s head to the toe of her Keds. Then she drops down on her knees to look at Cal.

“He’s beautiful,” she tells Derek, who stays impassive. “When did you say his birthday was?”

“July twenty-ninth. Max, I’m almost out of formula. You’ll have to pick up some to get him through the day. Sorry.” She hands me a crumpled twenty-dollar bill.

I shove it back at her. What the f**k? She’s never done that before. And indeed, Nan’s looking at me with you deadbeat dad written all over her face.

I squat down to Cal’s eye level, unbuckle him, remove his latest stupid hat, which has mouse ears, and ruffle his flyaway hair.

“Hey kid.”

Derek says something about having to run because it’s her day to do whatever at the place where she works. Once again I’m smacked by how little I know this girl. Do I owe her that, the way I owe it to Cal, before they’re both gone? I’m having a harder Maxe than usual listening because I’m so focused on Nan’s reactions. Also, Cal’s grabbed my hair and is trying to stuff some in his mouth. And part of me is with Matilda, wondering if she’s okay, if she’s worrying about Grace, starting to panic—

Squeal from the kid, another sharp tug on my hair, pulling me back.

“Yow, Cal.” I disentangle his hand and he immediately grabs my ear and tries the same maneuver.

“Remember, adoption agency, you signing the birth certificate, next Thursday at three o’clock,” Derek calls as we walk away. “Wear a tie.”

Christ. “Right, sure,” I call back curtly over Cal’s slurping on my ear.

Nan says nothing as she watches me strap him in, let him gnaw on the knuckle of my index finger while I rummage in my pocket for car keys. When I finally locate them, Nan’s still looking.

“Sooo . . . whad’you think?” I wipe drool off on the side of my jeans.

“Hunhn,” Nan says, unhelpfully.

“Hunhn, what? Don’t you think he looks like me?”

But Nan just c***s her head at me, then Cal. “Sort of . . . maybe.”

“Nans, look at him.” I reach under his first chin to indicate the cleft, wave my hand at his leggy little body. “Come on.”

“I thought maybe it would just be obvious. He’d have a completely identical birthmark or something. I guess, the thing is, Max, I can’t figure out what she’s up to. Why keep quiet so long and then show up—ta-da!—with a baby. Why not put him up for adoption right from the delivery room?”

It’s not like I don’t get what Nan’s saying. I’ve had that thought. If Derek had just, say, written me a letter with the facts and some papers to sign off on, if Cal had been abstract, would I have left it at that? So much easier than these uncomfortable swaps, and weird-ass waiting-for-Derek-to-get-the-kid-together conversations with Waldo. Last Maxe, I asked where the bathroom was and he said, “The body tries to tell the truth.” Not exactly directions to the john.

“Raaaaah. Rah. Rrraaaaaaaah!” Cal contributes at this point.

I locate the set of plastic keys Mrs. Garrett gave me and hand them to him.

“What, you think she’s one of those crazy people who steals babies, and she decided to bring me into her little scam so she can get access to my millions?”

“Don’t yell at me,” Nan says, her calm voice cutting through my increasingly loud one. “Maybe she wants you . . . back?”

“That would imply that she had me, that we had a thing going, which we didn’t. So in this scenario of yours, she wants me, she decides to present me with a baby, because hell knows nothing turns on a seventeen-year-old guy like a child.”

Cal hits himself in the eye with the keys, drops them, and starts screaming, pissed as hell. I grin, unbuckle him again, pick him up. He nudges his face into my biceps, stops screaming, and gives a long, shuddery sigh.

Nan closes her eyes, tips her head back against the car. “I’m tired of worrying about you, Max.”

“We could always swing by Troy Rhodes’s house so you could get something to calm your nerves.”

Nan repeats, as she has every single Maxe I’ve brought this up, “It’s not how it looks.”

“Just so ya know, that’s one of the least convincing of all bullshit lines. That one never even worked for me. What gives, Nan?”

“As if it’s that easy,” she says. “I’m finally not terrified you’ll die of alcohol poisoning or in a car crash.”

“Strange, I thought we were talking about you. Quit worrying then. Back to—”

“You’re finally turning your life around, and now you have to get into this situation.”

“You know what? You sound exactly like Pop. Situation. Circumstance. Issue. Try ‘baby.’ He’s your . . . your nephew.” The word tastes strange in my mouth. My sister’s an aunt. Pop and Ma are grandparents. Why those should be so

much harder to wrap my head around than the fact that I’m a father, I don’t know.

She’s giving me that same old Not Again, Max face. Anger swamps in like a hot red tide. I hate to even touch Cal when I’m like this. But he’s chomping away on my shoulder, oblivious to whatever it is pulsing in my veins.

Nan, however, must sense it. She slides her back along the car, away from me, wary.

“See, here’s what I don’t get, sis. Maybe you can explain it to me. All the mistakes I’ve made, and you and Pop are still on my ass when I’m trying to do the right thing. Temporarily.”

“That’s just it, Max. Temporarily.” She indicates Cal, my hand on his back, his cheek against my shirt. “And here you are. Acting like a dad.”

“I’m not really acting like a dad,” I point out. “Just babysitting. What do you want from me, anyway, Nan? You want me to say I don’t know what the f**k I’m doing? Consider it said.”

“I’m not worried you don’t know what you’re doing, Max. I’m worried you do. Look at you.” She waves her hand at me and Cal. “That’s what worries me.”

Nan’s phone and mine vibrate simultaneously as I pull onto the curb in front of our house, and I snatch hers before she can get to it. WHAT WE TALKED ABOUT STILL A GO? GOT ALL THE SUPPLIES, SO YOU *ARE* SET! —T.

“I don’t even get how you can come down on me, Nano, when you’re the one getting ‘supplies’ from the candy man.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nan says, all heated.

“I know exactly what I’m talking about. No one knows better. So don’t even—”

I’m so busy arguing with my twin that I don’t notice the car parked behind us. Don’t take in a thing until I hear Nan say, “Uh-oh.” And look back to see Ma’s figure bent over the trunk of her car, hauling bags and bags onto the driveway.

“She can’t be worse than Pop about this.”

“You didn’t hear him when he first found out,” Nan offers grimly.

Ma turns around as I get out and wipes her forehead, squinting at the car. “Maxothy?”

“Uh, yo, Ma.” Nan’s sunk down in her seat and put her head in her hands.

Well!” Ma says. “I was beginning to wonder if we’d ever see you again! Goodness!”

I pick up a bag, then another. They’re all from the Christmas Tree Shops, Ma’s addiction.

“Nanette! What are you doing, lurking in the car? Come carry some of this in. I got the cutest rug for your room!”

Nan looks apprehensive as she climbs out. Christ knows what the “cutest” rug might be, but I’m betting it won’t go with her new look. I’m guessing kittens in a basket. With hats.

“Look at this!” Ma says, pulling something out of a bag. “Can you stand it?”

It’s a four-foot-tall stuffed elf, in an apron that says THE HELP YOURSELF ELF, holding a bowl labeled SWEET TREATS. Piss-awful, but suddenly there’s this this wave of—I dunno, sympathy, pity, love, whatever, and I start to give Ma a hug just as I hear a shrill “Raaaaaaaa!” from the car.

“Uh-oh,” Nan repeats.

“What’s that?” Ma cranes to see around me. “What’s that sound?”