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A Heart to Heal
Allie Pleiter


The Courage To HopeGuidance counselor Heather Browning is desperate. She needs a mentor to help Simon, a disabled student who is struggling at Gordon Falls High School. Unfortunately, hotshot Max Jones is her only option. Confrontational and cavalier, Max uses his flashy persona to hide the bitterness he's felt since his life-changing accident. Perpetually cautious, Heather finds Max's bad-boy bravado as intriguing as it is infuriating. But as Heather and Max work together to build Simon's self-confidence, they begin to trust each other. Max has never been slow and careful with anything. Can he be gentle with Heather's heart?Gordon Falls: Hearts ablaze in a small town.







The Courage To Hope

Guidance counselor Heather Browning is desperate. She needs a mentor to help Simon, a disabled student who is struggling at Gordon Falls High School. Unfortunately, hotshot Max Jones is her only option. Confrontational and cavalier, Max uses his flashy persona to hide the bitterness he’s felt since his life-changing accident. Perpetually cautious, Heather finds Max’s bad-boy bravado as intriguing as it is infuriating. But as Heather and Max work together to build Simon’s self-confidence, they begin to trust each other. Max has never been slow and careful with anything. Can he be gentle with Heather’s heart?

Gordon Falls: Hearts ablaze in a small town.


“Have dinner with me.”

Her jaw clenched—he hadn’t even framed it as a question. “No.” She gave the word all the finality she could muster.

“Because of the chair?”

“Not because of the chair, because we are currently working together on a school matter.”

He leaned back. “It’s because of the chair.”

Heather planted her hands on the table. “It’s because of the arrogant, pushy man in the chair.” She let out a breath and began putting the notebook back into her handbag. “I was just trying to be nice, to celebrate all the good you’ve done with Simon, but I should have known it’d get like this. I’ll walk back to school, thanks.”

Max put his hands up. “Okay, okay. I’ll take it down a notch. Let’s have pie and coffee and talk about Simon, and I’ll keep my dinner plans with Alex and JJ and pretend this never happened.”

She glared at him. “You were going to ditch Alex and JJ for dinner?”

“Well, not really. I was pretty sure you’d say no.”

Heather put one hand to her forehead. “You are absolutely impossible. You should come with a warning label.”


ALLIE PLEITER

Enthusiastic but slightly untidy mother of two, RITA® Award finalist Allie Pleiter writes both fiction and nonfiction. An avid knitter and unreformed chocoholic, she spends her days writing books, drinking coffee and finding new ways to avoid housework. Allie grew up in Connecticut, holds a B.S. in speech from Northwestern University and spent fifteen years in the field of professional fund-raising. She lives with her husband, children and a Havanese dog named Bella in the suburbs of Chicago, Illinois.


A Heart to Heal

Allie Pleiter












www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


The light shines in the darkness,

and the darkness has not overcome it.

—John 1:5


To Jeff

And he knows why


Acknowledgments (#ulink_cfa91c5e-795b-5139-9e31-20942989f5c7)

Some stories beg relentlessly to be told, even if it poses a challenge. My thanks to Erin Kinahan for sharing her experience of life in a wheelchair with me, and for the ongoing assistance of Dr. David Chen from the Rehabilitation Institute of Chicago for his medical expertise. I also owe a debt of thanks to author and wheelchair rugby star Mark Zupan for his frank and compelling memoir, Gimp, which helped me to understand Max’s experience. If any of the medical or disability facts of this book are incorrect, the fault lies with me and not with any of these generous experts.


Contents

Cover (#u94be7883-124e-572e-a0cc-585bcda424d7)

Back Cover Text (#u91281d63-044c-529a-9c47-36d11deef0cf)

Introduction (#u5f4fba13-8754-5671-a65e-a2d72db5dfa7)

About the Author (#u84a03f43-fccc-566f-bb00-c8a23d3e346e)

Title Page (#u753efee2-dce1-570a-8084-bbe61bb56efa)

Bible Verse (#uf8aed42b-ea39-537e-8562-734574f94e45)

Dedication (#u197a6e86-d92b-599b-b760-87ee472666b2)

Acknowledgments (#ulink_703619fb-5a10-5603-9d4f-681f05cc6c90)

Chapter One (#ulink_f93f954e-b43d-599e-b090-aa90cc5d5e97)

Chapter Two (#ulink_71ce8b1d-b8c4-5599-b991-af277c049633)

Chapter Three (#ulink_1a03a610-c10b-5f79-9dc7-1b01ce9711b0)

Chapter Four (#ulink_00796014-6caf-54da-b34b-025a2d0390ff)

Chapter Five (#ulink_4d9588c0-a1e0-5e38-9b84-f19eac81a7e7)

Chapter Six (#ulink_e979ab78-b40c-53fa-a33c-5a00300b79be)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_3bebf635-4cb0-524b-b8e7-4ca93f0da71e)

High school guidance counselor Heather Browning was twenty minutes into The Backup Plan and regretting it already.

Principal Margot Thomas seemed to agree. “That’s who you called to help Simon?”

Simon Williams, the frail but brilliant freshman boy who was Heather’s biggest concern this year, had already become the target of a senior thug. “It’s still August. We’re two days into the school year,” Heather admitted. “I thought I’d have more time than this to get Simon settled before anyone bothered him.” But that wasn’t the way it had turned out. Her initial goal—help Simon find some friends who would be protective camouflage against getting noticed by bullies—hadn’t worked fast enough.

The principal looked out the school window at that “backup plan” as he appeared in the parking lot. A boxy black car with flames painted on the side pulled into the handicapped-accessible parking space. Max Jones had arrived.

“This afternoon at lunch, Jason Kikowitz decided Simon was sitting too close to the ‘varsity table.’ Evidently he grabbed the back of Simon’s wheelchair and spun him around, knocking most of Simon’s books out of his backpack.”

“Sounds like our Kikowitz,” Margot commiserated. “I’ll be glad when that boy graduates—if he graduates.”

“Simon spun around fast enough to whack Jason in the shins with the footrest of his wheelchair. It must’ve hurt, because evidently Jason hopped around on one foot and swore a blue streak in front of the lunch monitor.”

Margot gave the sigh of the weary. “Lovely.”

“At least it gave Simon a chance to get away. For now. You know Kikowitz,” Heather explained, feeling less and less sure of her course of action. “He’s likely to lay into Simon every day this week, even if I give him twenty detentions.”

The older woman looked at Heather with determination in her eyes. “You know I’ll back you up on those even if Coach Mullen gives me grief.”

Heather was grateful for Margot Thomas every single day. The principal was an outstanding administrator who cared enough to address problems head-on, even when it meant things got sticky. “Thanks, but you and I both know detentions don’t stop Kikowitz. What we need is help for Simon, and the assistance agency couldn’t come through with a proper mentor until next month. We don’t have that long, so I called JJ.” JJ was Heather’s friend and Max’s sister. And Max Jones, or “Hot Wheels,” as a local magazine had dubbed him during their coverage of his highly publicized injury and recovery, was quite possibly the last thing Simon Williams needed. Even if he was the only other resident of Gordon Falls who used a wheelchair, Max seemed to be everything Heather didn’t want Simon to be rolled up into one defiant renegade.

The foolishness of calling on him struck her anew as she spied the HTWELZ2 license plate on the car. “Help me, Margot. I need wisdom and calm and I recruited a rolling tornado. Tell him I’ve been called into a meeting and that we don’t need a mentor anymore. I’ve made a huge mistake, and I don’t want Simon to pay for it.”

Margot leaned back against the windowsill. “I won’t tell him any such thing. I think I want to see how this turns out.”

“I don’t.” Heather rested her forehead in her open hand.

Together Heather and Margot watched Max perform the complicated task of extracting his wheelchair—black with flames on it that matched his car—and settling himself into it. He was athletic, graceful even, and managed to look casual, as if the process were no more taxing than tying a shoe. He wore blue jeans, expensive sneakers and a gray T-shirt with the words Ramp it up, baby running across his chest. It was easy to see that his shoulders and biceps carried most of his weight—his arms were toned and outdoor tan. His large hands boasted black leather driving gloves, and his mussed dirty-blond hair framed a strong face. Heather thought he needed a shave, not to mention a haircut and probably half a dozen diplomacy lessons. “Honestly,” she told her boss as Max started toward the ramp that led up the stairs to the school entrance, “that guy looks a far cry from an appropriate mentor for an impressionable teenager.”

“He’s a key executive at Adventure Access, which is supposed to be a fast-rising company in the adaptive recreation business. If they put faith in him,” offered the principal, sounding as if she was grasping at straws and not a little bit amused, “maybe he’s not as bad as...he looks.”

“Oh, I expect he’s worse,” Heather moaned. JJ’s husband, Alex Cushman, ran that fast-rising adaptive recreation company and had drafted Max as their spokesperson and development consultant. It wasn’t hard to see why. Max Jones had been so handsome, daring, arrogant and flamboyant before he’d injured himself that he’d been chosen for a nationally televised reality television show featuring adventure sports. As cruel chance would have it, he’d gotten hurt on that TV show during a risky night climb. Yet looking at him now, it seemed as if his disability barely slowed him down.

“Simon will probably adore him,” Margot offered.

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” Heather moaned. “Nothing good can come from pairing that boy with that man.”

* * *

Kids were not his thing. Not before, not now.

As he rolled up the ramp to the Gordon Falls High School entrance, Max had to wonder how he’d let JJ talk him into this. If the GFHS teachers knew the kind of tyrant he’d been in high school, they’d be barring the doors.

Only they wouldn’t have to. Just take out the ramp and he couldn’t get inside no matter how hard he tried. While he’d worked on the development of all kinds of adaptive gear in his new position at Adventure Access, even those top innovators hadn’t yet come up with a wheelchair that could climb stairs.

Still, Max remembered the “special” kids from his high school days—not that long ago, for crying out loud—and how they’d been treated. It stuck in his gut that he’d been as mean as the next guy to kids who used wheelchairs or crutches or were in those classes. Max had done lots of crazy and regrettable things in high school, but those moments of picking on the weaker kids, the different kids—those gnawed at him now. He’d only said yes to this stint as a “mentor” because JJ seemed to think it might make up for some of his past crimes.

It’s four weeks with a gawky fifteen-year-old—I’ve faced far worse, Max assured himself as he punched the assistive-entrance button and listened to the door whoosh open in front of him. At least schools usually had all the adaptations right. He’d had to sit there feeling stupid the other week when a restaurant had to literally move four tables in order to let him sit down with JJ and have lunch. Then the server had asked JJ what her “special friend” would like to eat. The nerve of some people! He’d given the server such a loud piece of his mind that they’d comped his lunch just to get him out of the place.

He rolled into the entrance, marveling at how high school was still high school. The bang of lockers, the smattering of posters for dances and sporting events, the echo of shouts from a distant gymnasium—it all flung Max’s mind back to those years. Hockey team. Prom. Working on his first car. Life was one big game back then, a never-ending stream of escapades, pranks and good times. He’d loved high school, been a master of the school scene—the social side of it, that was. Academics weren’t ever his thing, though he’d managed to graduate just fine, despite a few...dozen...trips to the principal’s office.

Funny that it was his first stop now—or rather, the guidance counselor’s office, which was practically the same thing.

“I’m Max Jones, here to see Heather Browning.” Max swallowed his annoyance that he was calling toward a counter over which he could not see. Well over six feet when he could stand, he was especially annoyed by tall counters now that he navigated the world from about three feet lower.

A gray-haired lady—school secretaries evidently hadn’t changed one bit since his varsity days—popped up from behind the blue Formica to peer at him over the top of her glasses. “Mr. Jones?” She did the double take Max always enjoyed. Somehow people never expected to see a guy in a wheelchair looking like him, and he got a kick out of leveraging the “Hot Wheels” persona to challenge their assumptions.

Max flicked an Adventure Access business card up onto the counter—shiny black with flames along the bottom with his name and title, Company Spokesman and Adaptive Gear Development Specialist, screaming out in yellow letters. “In the flesh and on the roll.”

Her wrinkled eyes popped wide for a moment, then narrowed in suspicion. “Is she expecting you?”

“Yes, I am” came a female voice from behind Max.

Max spun around and sucked in a breath. The high school guidance counselors he remembered didn’t look like that. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a rough gig after all. “Well, hello, Ms. Browning.” He didn’t even try to hide the pleasant surprise in his voice. Where had JJ been hiding this “friend”? If he’d had a counselor like Heather Browning trying to lure him into higher education, he’d be working on his PhD by now. She had fantastic hair—long, honey-colored curls tumbled down to her shoulders in a wave. Bottle-green eyes that—well, okay, they were currently scowling a bit at him, but he could handle that. People scowled at him all the time, and he much preferred it to the diverted glances of pity that some people threw him. Pulling off his driving glove, Max extended a hand. “I am most definitely pleased to meet you.”

“Thanks for coming.” He could tell she only barely meant it. He probably shouldn’t have squealed his tires pulling into the parking lot like that.

“Anything for JJ,” Max said as they went into her office. It was filled with all the stuff one would expect of a helping professional—inspirational quotes, pretty pictures, plants and pottery. The only surprising thing was a “flock” of various flamingo figurines on her bookshelf and a metal flamingo statue-ish thingy on her desk. Max picked it up and inspected it. “I’m surprised we haven’t met before.”

Ms. Browning plucked the metal bird from his hands, returned it to its perch on her desk and sat down. She crossed her arms. “We have. This summer at the church picnic.”

He remembered that picnic as a rather boring affair, all happy community fried chicken and potato salad. Nice, if you liked that sort of thing, which he didn’t.

“Mr. Jones, if you—”

“Max,” he corrected.

“Max,” she relented. “I want to state one thing right off. This is a serious time commitment, and I’m sure you’re very busy. If you don’t have the time to give Simon the attention he needs, I’ll completely understand.”

“Hang on.” Max felt his stomach tighten at the low expectation expressed in her words. “I’m willing to make the time. Only I’m not really sure how you go about making freshman year of high school not hard, if you know what I mean. That’s sort of how it goes, isn’t it?”

“I’d like to think we can do better than that. A senior boy—Jason Kikowitz—has made Simon a target of sorts, and it’s going to take more than a stack of detention slips to set things right.”

“Kikowitz?” Max chuckled; the name brought up an instant vision of a thick-necked linebacker with a crew cut and four like-size friends. “Why do the thugs always have names like Kikowitz?”

She didn’t seem to appreciate his commentary. “I want Simon to learn the right way to stand up for himself while I get Mr. Kikowitz to change his thinking.”

“Only Simon can’t stand up for himself, can he? Wheelchair. That’s the whole problem, isn’t it?” People always talked around the wheelchair—the elephant in the room—and Max liked to make them face it outright. It made everything easier after that, even if it took an off-color joke to get there.

She flushed and broke eye contact. “It’s part of the problem, yes.”

“It’s lots of the problem, I’d guess. Look, I’m in a chair. I get that. It’s part of who I am now, and pretending I’m just like you isn’t going to help anyone. It doesn’t bug me, so don’t let it bug you. I can take you out dancing if I wanted to, so I should be able to help this Simon kid hold his own.”

“You cannot take me out dancing.”

It was clear she wasn’t the type to like a joke. “Well, not in the usual sense, but there’s a guy in Chicago building an exoskeleton thingy that—”

“This is not a social meeting. Are we clear?”

She really did know how to suck all the fun out of a room.

“Crystal clear, Ms. Browning.” She was too stiff to even match his invitation to use first names. He’d have to work on that. “What is it, exactly, that you think Simon needs?”

“Well, I’d have to say social confidence. He’s led a fairly sheltered life because of his condition, but he’s brilliant...”

“The geeks always are.”

She sat back in her chair. “Can you at least try to do this on a professional level?”

Max made a show of folding his hands obediently in his lap. “Okay, Counselor Browning. Simon needs some base-level social skills and maybe enough confidence to know high school is survivable. Have I got it?”

She seemed to appreciate that. “Yes, in a manner of speaking.”

“And you’re thinking you need something just a little out of the ordinary to solve the problem, right?”

“Well, I...”

“Hey, you called me, not the nice bland people from social services.”

That probably wasn’t a smart crack to make to someone in guidance counseling. Her eyes narrowed. “Yes, well, the nice, appropriate people from social services were not available. This isn’t how I normally operate. It’s only fair to tell you you’re not my first choice.”

Max could only smile. “Alternative. Well, I’d have to say that’s exactly my specialty.”


Chapter Two (#ulink_33b5d504-34d9-5cf6-855a-0168d218910c)

Max hadn’t really expected Appropriate Ms. Browning to go for the idea of a pickup basketball game—especially one with the twist he had in mind—but she surprised him by agreeing to book the school auxiliary gym. Two days later, Max found himself whistling as his basketball made a perfect arc, rolled dramatically around the rim and then settled obediently through the net. “Jones nails it from behind the line with seconds to spare.”

His sister, JJ, palmed a ball against one hip. “Nice shot.”

Max turned to face her. “Let me see you do one.”

JJ nodded and dribbled the ball, getting ready to best her little brother. “No,” Max corrected. “From the chair.” He pointed toward the three armless, low-backed sports wheelchairs that sat against the wall. He’d decided even before he was out of the parking lot the other day that the best way to meet Simon Williams was a pickup game of wheelchair basketball. The boys-against-girls element, with he and Simon facing JJ and Heather Browning? Well, that had been a brilliant afterthought.

JJ paused for a moment, shot Max the look years of sibling rivalry had perfected and sauntered over to the chair. After settling in, she wheeled toward him in a wobbly line, smirking. “Not so hard.”

“Really?” Max teased, rocking back to pop a wheelie in his chair. “I’ve been waiting to smoke you on the court for months.”

She laughed, trying to bounce the ball until it got away from her. “Just like you smoked me on the ski slope?”

Max shot over to scoop up the ball and passed it back to her. “Worse. Okay, try a shot.”

JJ missed by a mile. “This is going to be harder than I thought.”

Max grabbed the ball, dribbled up to the basket and sunk another one in. “Actually, this is going to be a lot more fun than I thought. Me and Simon should wipe the floor with you girls.”

“Simon and I” came Heather’s voice from the gym door. “And don’t get too confident. You will get a fair fight from us ladies.”

Max groaned, JJ smirked and the kid who had to be Simon Williams had the good sense to look a little baffled by whatever he’d just gotten himself into. The boy was spindly thin and a bit pale. His glasses sat a little crooked on his face, and a 1970s haircut didn’t help his overall lack of style. Still, his sharp blue eyes and goofy grin made him oddly likable.

Max caught the kid’s eye and lamented, “Teacher types.”

“Yeah.” The boy’s response was noncommittal and soft. He’d expected the boy’s smile to widen, but it had all but disappeared.

Shy, skinny and unsure of himself—Max remembered the years when he used to eat kids like this for breakfast. It wasn’t a comfortable memory. He wheeled over to Simon and pointed to the line of chairs. “Can you transfer into that sports chair by yourself? I guessed on your size but I think it’s close enough.” Heather had given him some basic medical info on Simon’s cerebral palsy—a condition that mostly left his legs too unstable to support him for more than a few steps.

“Uh-huh.” Again, a small voice lacking any stitch of confidence. Max began to wonder if the kid had ever played any sport, ever. He looked as if his family hardly let him outside in the sunshine. Max pretended to be adjusting his gloves while he watched Simon slowly maneuver from his larger daily chair to the smaller, lower sports chair. It was a relief to see that he could do it by himself. The kid’s steps were gangly and poorly controlled, but while Max had met other cerebral palsy patients with very spastic movements all over their bodies, Simon’s seemed to be confined to his legs. He had the upper-body control to have some fun in a sports chair, yet he looked as if he’d never seen one. If he’d never known speed, this chair would be a barrel of fun. Somehow, he doubted this kid had ever seen much fun.

Whose fault was that? His shy personality? Or overprotective parents? Well, that drought was going to end today. The thought of introducing the boy to agility sparked a faint foreign glow of satisfaction that caught Max up short.

JJ noticed his reaction. She raised an eyebrow in inquiry as Simon finished settling himself into his seat. “What?”

“I think I just got a bit of an Alex rush.” Max knew he’d regret admitting that to his sister. His boss—Alex Cushman, JJ’s husband—was always going on and on about the charge he got from taking people out of their comfort zones into new adventures.

“Not all about the new toys anymore?” Her tone was teasing, but JJ’s eyes were warm. That girl was so stuck on her new husband it was like a nonstop valentine to be with either one of them.

“No, it’s still about the new toys.” Max popped another wheelie and executed a tight circle around his sister. He turned his attention back to Simon, now sitting next to a delightfully baffled Heather as the two of them explored the gear. “What do you think?”

“They’re crooked,” Simon offered in a sheepish voice as he pointed to the wheels. Unlike the straight-up-and-down wheels of his daily chair, this chair’s wheels tilted toward the middle.

“Nah, they’re cambered. Gives you stability and agility. You can turn fast on these. Try it.”

Max watched as Simon, JJ and Heather made circles in their chairs. Slow, careful circles. Max growled and came up behind JJ to give her a hefty shove. She shot forward, yelping, and then managed to turn herself around in a respectably quick U-turn. “Cut that out, Max!”

“Quit being snails, the lot of you. These things are made for speed. Use ’em!” He angled up next to Simon, who looked as if someone needed to give him permission to keep breathing. “Race ya.”

“Huh?”

“First one to the end of the gym and back gets ice cream.”

Simon just looked at him. Who’d been keeping this poor kid under glass? Max chose to ignore the uncertainty written on the boy’s face and pretend his silence was a bargaining tactic.

“Okay, then, two ice creams and you get a three-second lead,” he conceded. Max allowed himself a sly wink at the guidance counselor. “Ms. Browning said she’d buy.”

“I never...”

Simon started pushing on his wheels. Max whooped. “One...two...three!”

* * *

A sweaty, crazy hour later, Heather had fed every dollar bill and coin she had into the school vending machine as she, Max, JJ and Simon sat on the school’s front steps eating ice cream.

“There’s a whole basketball league,” Max explained to Simon. “And hockey. I’ve even seen a ski team.” She watched Max look Simon up and down. “You’re kinda skinny for the hockey thing, but I saw the way you shot today. Wouldn’t take long for you to hold your own pretty nicely on the court.”

“You outshot me,” JJ offered, licking chocolate off her fingers.

“I’ve always had a chair.” Simon said it as if it was a weak excuse. The embarrassed tone in his voice burrowed into Heather’s heart and made her want to send Jason Kikowitz to Mars.

A red van pulled up, and Heather saw Brian Williams wave his hand out the driver’s side window.

“My dad’s here,” Simon said, tossing his last wrapper into the trash bin and angling toward the wheelchair ramp. At the top of the incline, he paused. “Thanks, Mr. Jones. That was fun.”

“Max,” Max corrected, making a funny face. “Nobody calls me Mr. Jones. Want to go sailing next week?”

Heather watched Simon’s response. His eyes lit up for a moment, then darkened a bit as he heard the door click open and the whrrr of the lift extending out of his parents’ van. “I don’t think my folks would go for it.” Simon’s lack of optimism stung. Heather knew that despite his spot on the Gordon Falls Volunteer Fire Department—or maybe because of it—Simon’s dad was a highly protective father. She’d had a highly protective dad herself—she’d had her own share of medical challenges in high school—but even she had reservations about how far Brian Williams went to keep his son away from any kind of risk.

Max had caught the boy’s disappointment. He waved at the van. “They’ll say yes. Can I come meet them?”

“Um...maybe next time,” Simon said, quickly darting down the ramp.

“Hey, slow down there, Speedy!” Simon’s dad called as the lift platform rattled onto the ground. “Watch that crack there or your wheel might get stuck. You’ve got to take your time on ramps, remember?”

Heather heard Max mutter a few unkind words under his breath. JJ got to her feet. “Speaking of speed, my shift starts in half an hour and I’ve got to run home first.” She gave Heather a hug, then pecked her brother on the cheek and snatched up the sweatshirt she’d been sitting on. “Dinner still on for next Thursday?”

“You bet,” Max said, still staring as Simon was swallowed up by the van’s mechanism. His irritation jutted out in all directions, sharp and prickly. “Does he know how much he’s holding Simon back?” Max nearly growled. “Have you talked to him about it?”

“Hey,” she said. “Cut the dad a little slack here, will you?”

“You know what half of Simon’s problem is?” Max jutted a finger at the van as it pulled away. “That. I was trying to figure out what made Simon such a walking ball of shy and I just got my answer.”

Heather swallowed her own frustration. People were shy for lots of reasons, not just fatherly protectiveness. “So after two hours with the boy, you’ve got him all figured out? Is that it?”

“It doesn’t take a PhD in counseling to figure out they keep that kid under lock and key. He’s afraid of his own shadow, and somebody had to teach him that.”

“Aren’t you coming down awfully hard on someone you hardly even know?”

“Simon’s not sick. Okay, his legs don’t work so hot, but I get how that goes. He could be so much stronger than he is. He could be doing so much more.”

It needed saying. “He’s not you, Max. Not everyone needs to come at this full throttle.” When that just made him frown, Heather tried a different tack. “What were you like in high school?”

“A whole lot different than that. Even as a freshman.”

“I can imagine that.”

Max shook out the mane of shaggy dirty-blond hair that gave him such a rugged look. He was tanned and muscular—the furthest thing imaginable from Simon’s pale, thin features—with mischievous eyes and a smile Heather expected made girls swoon back in high school. She found his not-quite-yet-cleaned-up-bad-boy persona as infuriating as it was intriguing. Max Jones just didn’t add up the way he ought to, and she didn’t know what to do with that.

Max tossed an ice-cream wrapper into the trash bin with all the precision he’d shown on the basketball court. “Truth is,” he said, his voice losing the edge it had held a moment ago, “I was a lot closer to the Kikowitzes of the world than to geeky kids like Simon.” He shot Heather a guilty glance. “Let’s just say I’ve shoved my share of kids into lockers. And, okay, I’m not especially proud of it, but I think I’d rather be that than go through life like Simon.”

Heather tried to picture a teenage Max prowling the halls of GFHS, picking on kids and collecting detention slips. It didn’t take much imagination. “Football team? Motorcycles?”

He laughed, and Heather reminded herself how such charming smiles shouldn’t always be trusted. Sometimes those dashing ways covered some pretty devastating weaknesses. “No,” he corrected her. “Basketball and my dad’s old Thunderbird. Well, before I rolled it my junior year, that is.”

“You were a terror in high school.” She nodded over to the black car with flames and the HTWELZ2 license plate. “It boggles the mind.”

“Very funny. You have no idea how much work it takes to make a car like that look so cool. No way was I going to drive around in some suburban-housewife minivan.” He looked at her, hard. “I’m still the guy I was, and if people can’t take that it comes in a wheeled version now, it’s their problem.”

It was an admirable thought, but his words came with such a defiant edge that Heather wondered how many times a week Max chewed someone’s head off for an ill-phrased remark or just plain ignorance about life with a disability. Bitterness did that to some men. “Maybe that’s just it. Maybe Simon hasn’t figured out who he is yet. I had no idea who I was in high school—I just bumbled around most of the time trying to stay out of the sights of all those mean cheerleader types.” She borrowed Max’s measurement. “I suppose I’d say I was a lot closer to Simon than thugs like Kikowitz.”

“Thugs like me?” Again the disarming smile, the penitent hoodlum with his hand over his heart.

“I don’t know too many thugs who would round up a bunch of wheelchairs to play basketball with a geeky kid and two hapless ladies.” She was going to say girls, but hadn’t she chided Max for the label earlier?

“Don’t call my sister hapless. She was in the army, you know.” He wheeled a careless arc around the front walkway, ending up a foot or two closer to her than his earlier position. “So let me guess—4-H Club? Junior Librarians of America? Church choir?” He did not list them with any admiration—that was certain.

“Art, mostly. I kept to myself a lot. And not choir, but church youth group.”

“I knew it.” Max executed a spin while he rolled his head back. “One of those.”

“Hey, cut that out. I had a...good time in high school.” That was at least partially true. Some of high school had been great, but she’d learned her sophomore year what Simon already knew: high school wasn’t kind to sick or injured kids.

Max stopped his maneuvers. “No, you didn’t.”

Heather froze.

“Girls who had awesome times in high school do not come back as guidance counselors. You want to help people. And you want to help people because you don’t want anyone to go through what you did.”

“Where do you get off making assumptions like that?”

Max threw his hands in the air. “Hey, don’t get all up about it. Do you know how many physical therapists I’ve had since my accident? How many counselors and docs? Pretty soon it gets easy to recognize the type, that’s all.”

“Oh, yes, JJ told me you used to tear through a therapist a week back at the beginning. A paragon of empathy.” That wasn’t particularly fair to throw back at him, but for Heather, his attitude struck an old nerve. “Look—” she forced herself to soften her voice when Max’s eyes grew hard and dark “—I want you to help Simon, and I think you might actually be able to. But not if you dump him into some labeled box based on your own experience. Simon’s had his disability his entire life—he’s never known anything different. You need to respect who he is, not who you want him to be, or this will never work.”

Max didn’t reply at first. He looked down, fiddling with a joint on his chair. “Okay, I get it.” When he raised his eyes again, the edge in his features was replaced by something else. Determination? She couldn’t quite tell. “What do you want to happen from all this?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know if you want Simon to be happy, to be less of a target or to be able to punch Kikowitz out. What’s the end goal here?”

She thought carefully before she answered. “I want Simon not to be afraid of who he is or what Kikowitz might do to him. He’s brilliant, you know. Simon’s one of the smartest kids at our school. I want him to enjoy coming here, not dread it.”

Max didn’t appear to have an immediate answer to that. After what she hoped was a thoughtful pause, he said, “You want him to be able to take risks?”

“He needs a few outlets, I’ll admit that.”

Max pivoted to face her. “Then we go sailing. You, me and Simon on Saturday afternoon. That way we both can convince the geek there’s more to life than Math Club.”

“Don’t call him a geek. And how did you know Simon was in Math Club?”

“Puh-lease. I saw two calculators in his backpack. The dock behind Jones River Sports, two o’clock. You’re in charge of permission slips and snacks.”

Heather tucked her hands into her pockets. “Who said you could take over here?”

“Eleven therapists,” he called as he started down the ramp, clicking the remote starter on his car to send it roaring to life as he descended. “Actually twelve, if you count the one who lasted ten minutes. And four nurses. And there was an intern at Adventure Access who—”

“Okay!” Heather shouted as Max somehow made the engine rev before he even got into the car. “I get the picture.”


Chapter Three (#ulink_beea1a2f-d78b-5246-98cf-0447112e335c)

Max checked his watch again Saturday afternoon. Since when did he get nervous about stuff like this? Chronically late, he didn’t have a leg to stand on—if he could stand—about anyone’s punctuality. Still, Simon’s dad seemed like the guy to show up ten minutes early, not twenty minutes late. And where was Heather? He wheeled the length of the dock again, needlessly checking the ropes that tied the Sea Legs to the dock, frustrated with how much he’d managed to invest in one kid’s sailing lesson.

It was the look in Simon’s eyes that did him in. That heartbreaking eagerness at the mention of going sailing nearly instantly squashed by a dad’s harping voice. Parents were hard enough to take at that age as it was. To have all that other stuff loaded on top, then compounded by kids like Kikowitz?

Kids like he’d been?

The faces of all the kids he’d ever bullied had haunted him last night. He saw Simon’s face every time he shut his eyes, and it was making him crazy. Sleepless, fidgety and just plain nuts.

The sound of tires on gravel hit his ears, and he looked up, expecting the Williamses’ big red van. Instead, a small tan sedan pulled into the parking area and Heather climbed out of the nondescript little car. Shoulders slumped, head slightly down, Heather’s body broadcast what he’d begun to suspect: Simon wasn’t showing.

His understanding—and annoyance—must have been clear on his face, for all Heather said when she walked onto to the dock was “I’m sorry.”

Max grunted. It was a better choice than the nasty language currently running in his head.

“I’ve been on the phone with Brian Williams, trying to convince him Simon would be safe, but—”

“But hooligans like Max Jones can’t be trusted with his precious son—oh, I can just hear the speech.”

She set down the loudly patterned tote bag she was carrying and eased onto the dock’s little bench. “It’s not about you.”

“Oh, not all about me, but I can just imagine what Simon’s dad thinks of someone like me.” He flipped open the equipment locker’s lid and tossed the third life jacket back inside.

He was picking up the second one when she put out a hand to stop him. “So I guess we’re not going, huh?” Disappointment tinged her words.

Max looked up, life jacket still in his hand, surprised. “No, we can still go.” He’d just assumed she’d ditch the day with Simon not coming. Sail alone, just with her? He’d have to go so slow and be so nice.

“I sort of want to know how this whole rigging works.” She gestured toward the specially modified sailboat, covering her tracks with a “professional curiosity” that didn’t quite pass muster. She frowned and crossed her arms when she reached the back of the boat. “Sea Legs? Really?”

“I thought that was particularly clever, actually. Much better than my first choice.”

Her brows knotted together. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”

“The Crip Ship. JJ thought that a bit confrontational.”

Heather laughed. “Max Jones? Confrontational? Imagine my surprise.”

Max spread his arms. “Got me where I am today.” He tossed her the life jacket. “Hop in. I’ll hand over your bag and cast us off.” Wheeling over to the bag, he picked it up. It weighed a ton. “There had better be decent snacks in here.”

“Homemade brownies, watermelon and some of the firehouse root beer.”

Max handed over the bag as he rolled on board after her. “Someone ought to call Simon and tell him what he’s missing.” He pulled the ramp up and stowed it in its special spot alongside the keel.

“I think he knows.” Heather’s voice sounded like he felt. Disappointed and not a little miffed. “This would have been so good for him.”

Max liked the way that sounded. Ever since he’d wheeled into Heather’s office, he’d gotten the vibe from her that he was a poor substitute for whatever mentor she’d had in mind. It bugged him that Heather hadn’t judged him capable of helping someone. Then again, no one was more surprised than him that he’d even cared to take the whole thing on.

He pointed to the bowline. “Undo that knot and pull the line aboard, will you?”

While she climbed up to the front of the boat, Max transferred himself from his chair and into the swiveling seat on rails that allowed him to move freely about the boat. It wasn’t a particularly graceful maneuver, and he preferred having her attention diverted elsewhere. Once settled, he collapsed his wheelchair and stowed it in a compartment. Pulling the jib tight, Max felt the singular, blissful sensation of the boat under way. Even before his injury, nothing felt like pulling out onto the river. Now that gravity was often his enemy, the river gave him even more freedom to unwind his nerves. Sea Legs may be a mildly tacky joke to some, but it was actually close to how he saw the boat. Anything that gave Max speed and movement gave him life. They counterbalanced all the parts of his life that had become slow and cumbersome since falling from that cliff a little over a year ago.

In a matter of minutes, Sea Legs was under way, slicing her way through the Gordon River and catching the perfect breeze that blew through the warm September afternoon. Heading upriver and upwind, he angled the boat toward the opposite shore, ready to “tack” back and forth as the craft moved against the current and into the wind. He watched Heather settle into one of the seats closer to the bow, the breeze tumbling through her hair.

“You’re different here than at school,” he offered, liking how she angled her face up toward the sunshine. “Not so serious.”

She shot him a look. “I take my job seriously. Don’t you?”

Max shrugged and tightened up a line. “I don’t have a serious job. I’m...enthusiastic about it, but Adventure Access is about making fun, so it’s not the kind of job you ought to take seriously.”

Heather brought her knees up and hugged them. He found himself staring at her bright pink toenails peeking out of the blue thong sandals she wore. Funny the details that don’t come out at the office. Max spent a lot of time noticing feet—now that his weren’t much use—and she had ridiculously cute toes that wiggled when she realized he was staring at them.

“Are you serious about anything?” she asked, shifting to tuck her legs underneath her and blushing. Some part of Max was highly entertained that he’d made her blush. What kind of woman wore sensible clear polish on her nails but bright pink on her hidden toes?

“I’ve been seriously injured. Been listed in ‘serious condition’ at Lincoln General.” He tied off the line. “And I’ve been in serious trouble lots of times.”

She looked more disappointed than annoyed. “What does it take to get a straight answer out of you?”

That was a loaded question. His boss and now brother-in-law, Alex Cushman, had asked pretty much the same thing before bringing him on board at Adventure Access. Nobody seemed willing to take a smart aleck at his word these days—they all wanted to see some deep and serious version of him, as if what he’d been through didn’t supply enough credentials. “It takes a straight question. Duck, by the way—we’re coming about and the boom is going to come across the boat.”

“Okay,” she said as she ducked. “Straight question. What did it feel like?”

It was obvious what she meant by “it.” “When you cut to the chase, you really cut to the chase, huh?” He had a couple of stock answers to insensitive questions like that—mostly asked by curious kids who didn’t know better or adults who only wanted gory, tragic details—but opted against using them. He’d asked her for a straight question, after all. He just hadn’t counted on “straight” going to “serious.”

“You don’t have to tell me. It’s none of my business.”

“No.” Max was surprised to find he didn’t feel any of the irritation that kind of question generally raised. He actually wanted to tell her. It must be some kind of empathetic-counselor trick. “It’s okay. But it’s not especially pretty.”

She didn’t reply, just leaned one elbow on the bow behind her and looked ready to listen. So he told her.

“I wanted to die.”

* * *

Heather swallowed hard. Max said it so matter-of-factly. As if I wanted to die was like my left shoulder hurt. All her counselor training left her no response to his casual attitude.

He actually laughed—a dark half laugh, but still, it sounded wildly inappropriate to her—and she cringed at the sound. “That’s horrible,” she said, not exactly sure if she meant his feelings that night or his disturbing attitude now.

“Horrible, tragic, devastating—pick your sad word. I’ve heard them all. Everybody was being so kind and vague and optimistic, but it didn’t fool me. People get that look in their eyes, you know? The one they cover up in a second but you still catch it?”

She did know, but she didn’t say anything.

“I think I knew right when I fell that something really serious had happened, but I don’t remember hardly anything from that night. I don’t remember the helicopter ride—which is rotten, by the way, because I think that would have been cool—or the hospital or surgery or really anything until about a day later. And even my memories from those first days are sort of blurry.” Max pivoted the seat and shifted a bit down the rails, adjusting his position as the boat picked up a bit of speed. Heather felt the wind lift her hair and the sun warm her shoulders. It was easy to see why Max craved time on this boat.

“The first thing I clearly remember,” he went on, his voice still remarkably conversational, “is waking up in the middle of the night and trying to get up out of bed—I think I wanted to go find JJ or something. That was the moment when I really, truly figured out that I couldn’t feel my legs. Like the world just stopped at my hips.” He pretended to busy himself with some adjustment to the rigging, but even without a counseling degree, Heather could’ve seen he couldn’t look her in the eye while talking about the trauma. His eyes darted everywhere around the boat but at her, and she could see how hard his hands gripped the tiller. Why even pretend this was an easy memory? What had made her think it would be a good idea to ask?

Max cleared his throat and shifted. “I remember pinching my thigh, hard, and feeling nothing. Zip. Nada. Then all the tubes and nurses and Mom showing up clicked in my head, and I knew. Alone, in the dark, I just knew. And I decided it would be better if I stopped breathing, right there and then. It was like I didn’t even have enough life left in me to get mad. I was hollow, empty...just gone, like my legs.”

He ventured a glance up at her, and she felt the severity in his eyes as fiercely as if he’d grabbed her hand. “So that’s what it was like. Lousy’s not really a strong enough word, if you get what I mean.”

She had a way-more-than-lousy memory like that. The scars running down her left hip and thigh shouted memories that made her feel hollow and “just gone.” Only she couldn’t brandish them like Max did. There had been another man in her life, years back, who pushed his pain out onto the world like that. Mike had forced his illness on people, daring them to cope with the nasty details, almost looking down on her when she couldn’t do it that way. Heather could count the number of people who had seen her scarred leg on the fingers of one hand. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, not knowing how else to respond.

Max shook his head, his sardonic smile mocking her compassion. “You know, everybody says that. I’ve got enough I’m-sorrys to fill this river twice over. That always struck me as funny, ’cause it never accomplishes anything.”

“Oh, yes, you make it clear no one’s allowed to feel sorry for you.” That came out a bit sharper than she’d planned, but some part of her was having trouble swallowing Max’s nonstop bravado. Sure, he laughed off his huge trauma—and looked down on anyone else who couldn’t do the same—but he wasn’t fooling anyone. He thought all that casual charm hid his dark edge, but it didn’t. Not to her.

“I don’t think Simon wants people feeling sorry for him, either. I think half his problem comes from how much people coddle him.” Max waved his hand around the boat. “See anything life threatening here? Any deep, dark dangers?”

“Only one, and he’s just as dangerous on land.”

Max jutted a finger at her. “See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Would you make a crack like that at Simon? Would you give him the respect of thinking him strong enough to take it?”

“Simon is a fifteen-year-old boy who’s sick.”

“No,” Max nearly shouted, jerking a line in tighter so the boat picked up speed. “He’s not sick. That’s just it, Heather—he’s not sick any more than I am. Okay, his legs don’t work right. My legs don’t work at all, but I can do almost anything I want, while he...” Max growled and slid the seat so fast down the rails that Heather felt the whole boat shake when the chair locked into a new position. “Simon and I have been texting each other since the basketball game. His mom cuts up his meat, for crying out loud. The only thing limiting him is his parents. If he’s having social problems, it’s their fault.”

“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 (#ulink_3f8566c9-be90-522c-aadb-90d5a47c0d50)

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 (#ulink_3ad5089a-c64c-5aba-bd63-46ce901a80ad)

“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.”

He got that heart-slayer gleam in his eyes again. “Look at me, Mr. Appropriate. Who knew I had it in me?”

She hadn’t. Up until today, Heather had worried that he would grow bored and skip out on Simon in a matter of days. Looking at him now, she could see his investment in Simon was surprising even him. “You did a great thing today. I hope you know that.” Before she could think better of it, she nodded toward his shirt. “You even dressed for the occasion.”

“You noticed.” He preened the collar on his polo shirt, grinning. “Had to dig deep in the closet for this. Not a lot of call for business-casual attire at Adventure Access.”

“Not a suit-and-tie kind of office?”

“Are you kidding? This counts for formal wear at AA.”

The visage of a tuxedoed Max at the wedding where Alex married Max’s sister popped back up in her imagination. He must have had ladies lined up at his feet when he could walk.

The horrid nature of that thought shot through her—what an awful, terrible thing to think! Why was Max Jones such a mental minefield for her good sense?

“Okay, what was that?”

She hated that he noticed. “Nothing.”

He pointed at her. “You just had a cripple thought.”

“A what?”

“Aw, come on—you think I can’t tell? Someone has a thought, usually to do with my paralysis, that they think is totally awful and cruel, usually because it is, and their face goes all screwy like yours just did. I call them ‘cripple thoughts,’ because that’s the most offensive word for what I am.”

She felt horrendously exposed. Guilty and trapped. What on earth was she supposed to do? Why did Max feel as if he had to shove the awkwardness in everyone’s face like this?

“Look, just get over it, okay? It’s easier if you admit this is weird. I hate tiptoeing around the issue. You had a cripple thought. It’s gonna happen. I’m used to it. I can see it a mile off.”

Heather launched up off the wall. “Why do you do that? It was a terrible thing to think and I’m already ashamed of myself, so why are you making me feel so bad about it when you were just so incredibly nice to Simon?”

Max spun around to follow her. “There. See? You can yell at me for being a jerk just like any other guy. Glad we got that out of the way.”

She turned to look at him. “You’re awful—you know that?” But, she had to admit, the tension had just evaporated. Crude as it was, he was breaking down her misconceptions about him one at a time. Ten minutes ago she would not have felt free to tell him he was awful. He’d sensed her pity even before she had, and he’d called her on it because he didn’t want pity from her. Or anyone.

“Awful is a personal specialty. Just don’t sugarcoat things for me on account of my wheels, okay? I can take just about anything but that.” He motioned to the wall again, silently asking her to sit down so they could be eye to eye again. Heather was coming to realize how important that courtesy was to him.

“So,” he said, rubbing his hands together, “how about we start that part over?”

Heather cleared her throat. She would do as he asked; she would treat him as she would treat any other person who had just done something incredibly nice for Simon. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee and a slice of pie at Karl’s to show my appreciation?”

It was fun to be the one surprising him for once. He wasn’t expecting that. “Celebrate our little victory over helicopter dad?”

Heather rolled her eyes. “When you put it that way...”

“No. I mean, I won’t put it that way. Which means yes. Yes to coffee. If you’re buying.”

“I am.”

“Only if I drive.”

How had she known there’d be a catch to his yes? “You drive?”

“Yep. If you’re willing to ride in the flaming toaster, I’ll know you really mean it.”

“Is everything a test with you?”

There was that glint again. “Only the good stuff.”

She might regret this. “I’ll go get my handbag—since I’m paying and all.” She walked toward the door, then turned around again. “The flaming toaster?”

“JJ’s name. Fits.”

She didn’t know what to say. I feel that a lot around you, she thought as she pulled the door open and went inside.

* * *

Max punched JJ’s number into his cell phone the minute the school door shut behind Heather.

“Hi there,” she answered. “I just put the steaks into the marinade.”

“I might not make dinner. I don’t have a ton of time to talk, but I’m heading out for coffee with Heather Browning.”

Silence greeted his news.

“Look, we can have dinner tomorrow night, right?”

Another long pause. “Max, don’t.”

Oh, she was a master of the big-sister tone of conviction. “What?”

“You promised me you wouldn’t get personal with Heather. She’s a friend. You were helping her out. Now you’re going to go all Max on her, aren’t you?” Max could practically hear her stabbing the steaks with a sharp fork over the phone.

“I’m not doing anything. She invited me out for coffee. A friendly celebration over something good that happened with Simon.”

“You don’t know how to do friendly, Max. Please don’t get into this with Heather.”

Now she was getting annoying. “Get into what, exactly?” Sure, Max had left a long line of broken hearts in his wake before his accident, but he hadn’t exactly boasted a stuffed social calendar since. “So now that I’m in a wheelchair, the entire female gender is off-limits?”

“You can date anyone you like, Max, as long as it’s not Heather.”

“Who said I was even dating Heather? Or planning to date her? Jumping to a few conclusions, aren’t you?” Max kept one eye on the door. “You’re out of line here, JJ.”

There was a pause on her end of the line. “I just don’t want you...well...you know.”

“Wow. Your confidence in me staggers the mind. It’s pie and coffee at Karl’s, for crying out loud. And she asked. Give me a little credit here.”

“Credit or not, you’re still blowing Alex and me off for dinner. We’ve been planning this for two weeks.”

She was right about that much. Between her shifts at the firehouse and Alex’s schedule, getting together was proving nearly impossible lately. “What if I came by at seven—would that work?”

“Yes. I’d like that.” After a moment she added, “I miss you, Max. I used to see you all the time and now—”

“Hey. We’re still Max and JJ. Besides, you’ve got that spiffy new groom to keep you occupied.”

“That spiffy new groom also happens to be your boss. Have you considered you were just trying to ditch your boss, too?”

“I’m trying to help a kid out, JJ. That’s all this is.”

“Look, I just want you to steer clear of Heather in the date department. You know your track record. She’s a friend. This could get all kinds of weird, you know?”

It bugged Max that his own sister thought of him as toxic in the boyfriend department. Sure, he wasn’t a master of solid relationships, and all her cautiousness hinted at a seriously painful past, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be a decent human being over a slice of pie. “It’s just coffee, JJ. I gotta go.”

“Be nice, Max. Nice? Do you remember how?”


Chapter Six (#ulink_12d6a495-b78d-5d35-b00b-9c8adf35f1e0)

Max hit the remote-control button that slowly opened the double doors on his adapted Honda Element. Heather was surprised to see the pair of doors open from the middle like French doors, but it made sense given the large opening they formed.

“Ta-da!” Max imitated a trumpet fanfare as if the gates to his castle were being raised. He was always cracking jokes. Max was like a kid that way—ramping up the wisecracks when he was nervous or uncomfortable. The mechanized ramp unfolded, making the drawbridge metaphor a little more apt, and Max waved her on board with a grandiose gesture. “Ladies first. You get to ride like I’m your chauffeur this time. I can put in the passenger seat with a little more notice, but right now my chair goes there. Although I’ll warn you, it’s not the cleanest car in the world. Just shove everything over on the backseat and make room for yourself.”

She walked up the ramp, surprised to see the backseats were a little higher than the front seats. It made her feel like a spectator instead of a passenger; an odd sensation. True to Max’s warning, Heather had to move three T-shirts, a fast-food bag and a pair of sports magazines over to make a spot to sit. Max rolled on board and went through the process of securing his chair where the passenger seat usually went, then shifted himself into the driver’s seat and rotated it into position.

“It’s amazing,” Heather said, watching the adaptations. It was both interesting and a little unnerving to be in his car. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d even been in the backseat of a car, much less one as tricked out as this.

Max caught her eye in the rearview mirror. “You didn’t think I’d drive a minivan, did you?”

“No, the paint job pretty much gives your taste in cars away.” He turned the ignition, sending a deafening blast of loud music through the car.

“Sorry!” he hollered as he quickly lowered the volume. “I like it loud.” The engine roared to life, loud enough without the music. He really was like a teenage boy in too many ways.

He grinned and adopted a terrible highbrow accent. “To Karl’s, madam?”

“Yes, please.” She watched in fascination as he worked the hand controls that pulled the car out and into gear. “Was it hard to learn to drive?”

“The hand controls?” Max called over his shoulder. “Not really. I just think of it like a real-live video game. I took out a mailbox my first week, but it’s been smooth sailing since then. I had more accidents with my old walking car than I’ve had with this one.”

It was a matter of minutes before he pulled up into the accessible spot around the corner from Karl’s Koffee. “I get all the best spots at the mall,” he said, doing a spot-on imitation of a teenage girl as he hit the button to reopen the automated doors. She climbed out, then waited on the sidewalk for him to shift into his chair and come down the ramp.

“This is where it gets a bit tricky. Karl’s front has steps, so I get to use the secret entrance.”

“That sounds fun,” she replied.

His eyes darkened a bit. “You’d think, but not really. You can meet me around front if you’d like.”

She didn’t know if this was another of those diversionary tactics like he’d coached Simon to use or a true invitation. She decided to see Karl’s from his point of view. “I’ll go for what’s behind door number two.”

Max’s smile was pleased but cautious. They went around to the back of the establishment, where Max hit a doorbell. After about a minute, Karl, the friendly older man who owned the place, pushed open the door. “Maxwell! Saw that boat out on the river the other day—pretty spiffy. It’s good to see ya, son. Gimme a second to clear the decks.”

Heather felt a twinge of guilt as Karl went back inside. “I didn’t even think about the front steps before I suggested Karl’s. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Max almost looked as though he meant it. Was he really okay with her choice, or was he using this as a lesson in how challenging Gordon Falls could be for him? “I was a regular here back before I got hurt, and I’ve always liked the place. He just has to move a few things to give me a clear shot to the front. He’s always good about it, but...” Max finished the thought with weary eyes rather than words. “I can get in easier at Café Homestead, but I like their pie better here. You gave me an excuse to make the extra effort.”

“Me, too. Everyone always goes there for pie, but I think it’s better here.”

The door reopened. “Okay, all set. Corner table’s all waiting.”

“You rate the corner table at Karl’s?” Heather asked. It was always taken when she came here, and it was a favorite spot with the best view out the window.

“Sort of,” Max admitted. “It’s the only place I fit, so it’s a backhanded benefit. Evidently you get a free coffee if Karl has to move you to make room for me.” He said it with a cheerful tone Heather didn’t fully believe.

He had good reason. Heather was astounded how much effort it took to get Max through the back of the coffeehouse, around the existing tables and settled in the corner spot. It made her feel terrible at how easily she breezed in whenever she felt like it.

“Don’t go all pity party on me.” He sent her a dismissive grin, tossing back his tousled hair. “I get seated first on the airplane, and if we ever go to Disney World I can get you on Space Mountain without waiting in line. This is nothing. I’m used to it.”

She sat back in her chair. “Why did you ever say yes to here if you knew it would be such a hassle?”

“Because it’s where you wanted to go.” He peered toward the chalkboard that held Karl’s daily offerings. “And like you said, the pie is good here. Besides, I like Karl and I don’t get to see him as much. They have blueberry today. Awesome.” When she stared at him, he added, “Don’t you ever do things that are a hassle just because you want to do them?”

Heather thought of the fifty-minute drive she made to her preferred hairstylist. “I suppose I do.”

“So, are we just pie celebrating, or did today’s victories rate pie a la mode?”

His eyes could stop a train when he smiled like that. “Oh, definitely with ice cream.” Karl had walked up, so when Max nodded in her direction, she said, “Dutch apple pie a la mode and coffee, Karl.”

Karl wrote on the little green notepad he always used. “And what about you, Hot Wheels?”

“Blueberry. With ice cream. And coffee.”

Karl scribbled, then tucked the notepad into his apron pocket. “Done and done. Coming right up, kids.”

Heather laughed. “Kids?”

Max looked after the old man as he limped away. “Karl’s hip isn’t doing so good. Age. I guess to him we’re all kids. He told me once that he has a granddaughter about our age, but I’ve never met her.”

“He didn’t try to set you up?” Max was handsome and Karl poked his nose in everyone’s business.

Max shot her a look that belonged on a pirate. “Would you set me up with your granddaughter?”

She laughed at the way he could make fun of himself so easily. “Well, now that you mention it, I suppose I’d hesitate. You drive a flaming toaster, after all.”

He laughed, as well, but Heather caught something in the way Max looked at the man. “How long has your dad been gone? JJ told me he passed away, but I never did ask her much more.”

“Years.” Max tapped his chair. “It’s probably for the best. I don’t think Pops would have handled this too well. My dad was hard-core military. A ‘walk it off’ kind of guy who even had trouble when JJ wouldn’t re-up after all she’d been through. This isn’t a ‘walk it off’ kind of thing, if you’ll pardon the pun.”

Heather decided she would try a different approach. “Why do you make so many jokes about it?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, it’s just that you say it doesn’t matter, but you make it matter all the time by making cracks about it. Dark, on-the-edge-of-not-quite-so-funny cracks.”

Max put both elbows on the table and pasted an enthralled look on his face. “No, really, counselor, tell me straight-out what you think my issues are.”

“Close your mouth, son. She’s pretty, but she’s already sitting with you” came Karl’s voice over Heather’s shoulder as he put down the two slices of pie. “Don’t try so hard.”

“This is school related,” Heather felt compelled to point out, waiting for Max to back her up.

“Could have fooled me.” Karl nudged Max’s shoulder. “Nice going, Hot Wheels.”

Heather remembered the one reason she didn’t come to Karl’s more often—it was ground zero for the local gossip chain. Why hadn’t she remembered that if she showed up at Karl’s with Max, it would take about seventeen minutes for folks to start making inferences? She pulled a notebook out of her handbag and put it on the table with a pen.

“Oh, that’ll throw them off for sure,” Max whispered loudly.

“You weren’t helping.”




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