Shivering Mind

Chapter 43

“Here, I’ll get those.” Nan grabs about seven of the bags and bounds up the steps into the house.

“Maxothy?”

“Oh, yeah . . . um, it’s uh . . .”

“RAAAAAAAA!” Cal sounds both loud and alarmed.

I hurry to open the back door and reach in for him.

Geez, Dad. I had no idea where you were! Don’t do that again! It’s scary. It makes me hungry! Raaaaaaa!

Ma has her hand to her mouth. and her face, always rosy, is completely white.

“Maxothy Joseph. How did this happen?”

Let’s see. Possible answers:

Well, Ma, I had s*x with a stranger. But don’t worry, I don’t remember a thing about it.

God, I have no idea. I knew I should’ve taken better notes in health class.

Well, it turns out they were wrong, and kissing does make babies.

I tell the truth. “Uh, accidentally, Ma.”

She marches up to me. “Like everything else in your life, Maxothy! Oh, sweet Lord, I cannot believe this! What will your father say!”

I jiggle Cal a little and he settles, slightly, then turns his head, with the expression he always wears when he does that, as though it’s taking an enormous amount of energy and concentration, and focuses his blue eyes on Ma.

She looks back at him and I notice that her eyes are that same intense blue. Her red hair is fading into gray, but it has the same wave as my own. And Cal’s.

Her voice is low. “How could you? We raised you better than this.”

You guys raised me better, Ma. This was all on me.

The Jaguar reels into the driveway, as always reserved only for Pop’s car. He’s on his phone. Ma clucks her tongue. “I just can’t imagine what he’ll say. I’m afraid you’re in for it, laddie.”

But when he gets out, Pop barely looks our way. He lowers the phone, shields it with his hand, and says, “I’ll see you in the office in a bit, Max. I’ve made some calls about your situation with the child.”

The shock, incredulity, and devastation show on Ma’s face, plainer than the wrinkles and the makeup she hides them behind.

“I guess this is old news to everyone but me, then.” She turns and walks into the house, stumbles for a second on the first step, leaves a bunch of Christmas Tree Shops bags in her wake.

I start to go after her—to apologize, hug her, to do some freaking—God, I don’t know, whatever—thing. But the door closes behind her with a click. I stand there, look down at Cal. He gives me the calm face back, then the goofy grin, like he’s all full of confidence that I’ll figure this out.

And again, I’m looking for direction from an infant.

Bring the bags in one-handed, Cal propped in my other arm.

Inside, Ma’s nowhere to be found. No Nan either. I’m about to knock on Pop’s door when there’s the familiar rhythm of footsteps on the stairs. Ma’s face is blotchy, her eyes blue blue against pink, puffy skin, and it near about breaks me. Sure, we Masons cry easily, but I don’t get the idea there was anything easy about these tears.

“Well, then,” Ma says, all hold-it-together smile and straight back, “now you’ll be filling me in on the episodes everyone else has already seen.”

Matilda’s “so we’re playing it like this?” hits me. Mason family mode—moving right along, nothing to see here, folks.

From there, the conversation rolls pretty much as you’d expect.

Me: And then, blah-blah-blah.

Ma: Oh my sainted aunt!

Me: So she blah-blah-blah.

Ma: Stars above! This cannot be good for your father’s blood pressure!

Me: Then I blah-blah-blah.

Ma: Sweet Mary and all that’s holy!

Cal, finally fed up with the swaddling and maybe the exclamations: Raaaaaaaa!

Except for this part:

“He looks just exactly like you did,” Ma says. “More like your twin than Nan ever was. Goodness!”

“Goodness had nothing to do with it, Ma.” Ha-ha. I’m unsnapping the sleeper thing, getting ready for a diaper change.

To my surprise, she smiles, sets a hand lightly on my shoulder. “Let me do that. You’re making a mess of it. Just like a man!”

On cue, the man of the house emerges from his gray cave, looks at us, says, “I got in touch with Gretchen Crawley, who runs that Crawley Center for Adoption Services in West Haven.”

Cal, freed from his blanket, kicks his feet at me, his eyes shining. I cup my hand around his face, rest my fingers in those red curls.

“Excuse me? What happened to ‘I won’t fix this for you,’ Pop?”

“This is strictly big picture. Not your strong suit.”

“Maybe not, but I thought the deal was that you were out of this particular picture. Like Ma was. Apparently.”

“Max,” Ma interjects, “you don’t need to—”

Without looking at her, Pop holds up a staying hand.

“So what happened to this ‘changing nothing about December’?”

“What about December?” Ma asks, looking confused.

In the dark about that too, looks like.

“She’ll be happy to meet with this girl to discuss placement.”

I focus way harder than I need to on the task of diaper changing, something that’s pretty automatic at this point, and I’m acting as if it requires incredible reflexes, split-second Maxing. Cal snags my fingers as I peel off the tape, yanks them to his mouth, watching me intently.

“And with me, right?”

What he says: “It’s not necessary.”

What I hear: “You’re not necessary.”

Why does it piss me off so much to be shoved out of a picture I don’t even want to be in?

The meeting I flee to, right after this? It’s a topic one—and the topic is “acceptance,” which generally makes people either eloquent or pissed as hell. Vince, who lost a leg and an arm in Afghanistan, yells and throws his crutch across the room, “Accept this? f**k no.” This other guy talks about how his wife accepted him, despite all his drinking and cheating, for years, then when he finally got sober, she got lung cancer and died before he could “give her all those good memories to replace the bad ones.”

I talk about Ma, and her unexpected acceptance of Cal, and about the Garretts and how acceptance is a given there . . . then a word or two about Pop.

Jake sits next to me at the top of the long steps to St. Jude, after the meeting. Tears a bag of root beer barrels open with his teeth, holds it out to me, saying nothing.

I take one, slide it to the side of my mouth, just sit there, legs splayed, hands hooked together between them.

“Giving up the cigarettes.” Jake says. “Again. This Maxe, I hope to hell it’s for good. You’re a power of example, kid. And that is the last thing I ever thought I’d say to you.”

I glance at him, manage a smile, turn my eyes back to my hands.

“Thing is,” he continues, “when my partner told his par

ents he was gay, they called their pediatrician hoping there was an immunization to fix it. My folks, they called him to ask what he wanted for dinner so they’d be sure to have it ready for him.”

Jake looks at me sort of meaningfully. Then sighs, smiles. “SomeMaxes . . . if we’re lucky . . . we can find family in unexpected places.”

Matilda

“So this is what normal people do for fun, huh?” Max asks, sticking his head out the passenger window of the Mustang as it jounces over the dirt road.

“Who knows?” Samantha gathers her hair in a messy bun. “It just seemed like the thing to do. It’s been all work and no play for most of us lately.”

“Ooooo,” Cal contributes. He’s in his seat between Sam and me, wide-awake at eleven o’clock at night, eyes shining, arms waving. I look at him, look at Max. His dad.

His dad.

Roll that around my head for a little.

I’ll get there.

“This on Joel’s patrol route?” Max asks, catching my eye in the rearview mirror.

I grin. He flashes the dimple back.

“I don’t think Stony Bay’s finest bother with the corn maze at Richardson’s Farm,” Jase says from the driver’s seat. “Let’s park here before the underbody gets destroyed.”

Actually a bit spooky. Richardson’s Farm has a huge amount of acreage right along the salt marshes off the coast of Seashell Island where the marshes run into the bay. Tonight it looks beautiful and desolate, completely abandoned except for us.

“If we don’t see the Great Pumpkin, I want my money back,” Sam says, clambering out of the backseat, throwing her arms around Jase, who’s stretching, fingers laced, looking out at the water.

Automatically, I’m pulling Cal out, holding his wiggling body tightly to my chest, reaching for a blanket. Max’s buckling on the BabyBjörn, muttering “Don’t start” in response to Jase’s muffled laugh.

Then I’m tucking Cal into the front pack, adjusting his fiercly kicking legs, snapping him in. Max’s pulling Cal’s fingers away from my ear, my upper lip, the front of my hoodie, all the things he’s determined to grab. We’re in sync in a surreal way that I’ve seen with my parents, anticipating each other, compensating, filling in.

Crazy.

I’m doing this. I’m with a boy who has a baby and I’m right here acting like a mom.

I stumble over a rock concealed in the high grass, whoosh of exhale loud in the still air.

Temporary. This is all temporary.

By this Maxe next year—God, by springMaxe—Cal will be with another family, Max’s deadline will have come and gone, maybe I’ll be in Manhattan.

I don’t get the rush of comfort I expect. Instead, my breath snags harder, my lungs too small. My phone chooses that second to buzz and I don’t even want to look at it.

Ally, please. I can’t give up. I won’t. Where are you? Out with that kid? Matilda, we’re not

“All good?” Max asks, his hand on my elbow, looking into my face, glancing at my phone.

I nod, shoving the phone into my pocket. All good if I don’t need to use any air to talk.

He stops on the path. “Matilda.”

Sam and Jase are farther down the hard-packed dirt trail, almost to the maze, arms looped around each other’s waists.

“What is it?”

I remember this from that seventh-grade year—one thing gets to you and then the others come in like a football pile-on. The good—Max. The bad—this with Brad. The ugly—Grace Reed. In this moment, they’re all stealing my breath.

Stay in the moment, stay in the moment, stick with what’s happening.

Deep breath.

“She’s really getting back into politics? Grace?” I ask. “They actually called you?”

“I see the romantic atmosphere is getting to you, you softie. Yeah, kiss-ass Brendan did. Not much Maxe to assemble a team—since it’s already October and elections are less than six weeks away. Don’t worry, I’m not working for her again. Though it would certainly make Pop stand up and cheer if I did. Or at least give a faint smile.”