Page 53 of In a Far-Off Land
I shivered. He saw and thought it was the wind. He went into the house, coming back with a soft quilt that he pulled over both of us. He leaned back, pulling me next to his fire-warmed skin. I wanted to ask a hundred questions, but I was afraid to break the spell, afraid he’d stop talking.
“I got older, and I guess the novelty wore off. I was the kid he sometimes remembered. By then, he was usually drunk, or doped, or hungover. That was the worst. That’s when you find out how terrible people can be. Even your own father.”
An ember dropped and flared, illuminating his face. He looked unfamiliar for a moment, like a stranger. “But sometimes... I think it was when he got tired of it all, we’d come here. Just the two of us.” He stretched out beside me, his long legs against mine, his arm still keeping me close and warm at his side. “Just beachcombing and eating clams, fishing sometimes. No parties. No women.”
I wanted to tell him I understood, but I didn’t, so I kept quiet.
He hooked his free hand around the bottle and poured more for me, then emptied it into his own glass. “He was different here. Like the man he wanted to be. Not the drunk that everyone remembers at the end.” Max looked down on me. The fire flickered, making his eyes dark one moment and flashing gold the next. “Part of me is glad he’s gone.” He let out a breath that was a little shaky, so I knew this admission was costing him. “Maybe I’m as bad a son as he was a father.”
“Max.” I laid my hand against his warm chest, wishing I could bring him back from whatever dark place he’d gone. “You were just a kid.” Surely, he knew that. I looked into his eyes, dark and still mysterious, but not as mysterious as they used to be. “He loved you, Max.” How could he not?
Max gave me that sideways look that meant he didn’t believe a word. “He never said it.”
“He said it the only way he knew. He brought you here, where he could be himself, with you.” I thought of early mornings in the barn with Papa, before everything broke, before Mama died. When I deserved his love.
“Well, it’s the last time I’ll see the place,” he said. His arm around me was prickled with goosebumps now that the wind had come up.
“What do you mean?” If I had a place like this, I’d never leave it.
“Sold it. Dusty owed a lot of people.”
“Oh, Max. I’m sorry.” The pop of the fire devouring the driftwood was the only sound other than the rhythmic waves pounding against the shoreline. The moon had risen, illuminating the white sand.
He shrugged but I could see it mattered. “Now you know my sad story, Minerva Sinclaire. Let’s hear yours.”
Max had told me the truth, given me a look at a real part of himself. That was something in this land of fake sets and thin-lipped smiles. I wasn’t sure if anyone else had seen it. Not the Dorises, maybe not even Julia. But I couldn’t do the same. It was too much. So I played for time. “Weren’t you the one who told me to keep my secrets?”
“I lied.” He turned his face to me, mere inches away now. He smelled of ocean and smoke. “Tell me all about Minerva Sinclaire.”
My heart flip-flopped and for a moment I was tempted. If I was going to tell anyone about all of it, it would be Max. I’d tell him about Papa and Penny. About how much I missed the open prairie and the smell of the farm. But about Alex? Stealing the money and Mama’s ring? Never. And then there was the rest. The dance hall and Bert and Cal. If I started, I might tell him everything.
Max’s arm around me was comforting and warm. He’d given me so much. Not just a job and food in the cupboard. Hope. Friendship. A part of himself tonight that I didn’t deserve. And I couldn’t give him the truth. Maybe my thinking was muddledfrom wine—more likely from the starlight and the song of the waves—but I figured there was one thing I had to offer.
The sorry thing was, I’d given the same to men who deserved it less.
I leaned in and kissed him. Before this, my kisses had always been something I doled out, like change from the cash register. But this kiss wasn’t like that.
He went still, then drew back and looked into my eyes. He lifted a hand and pushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re playing with fire, Mina,” he whispered with the flicker of a smile. He’d let me off with that if I wanted. We’d go back to being friends.
I kissed him again. If he was looking for permission, I was giving it.
The next kiss was all him, and I’d never been kissed like that. “You know, we shouldn’t do this.” His eyes were on mine, one hand at my waist, the other at the nape of my neck.
My heart pounded like mad. Under my hand, I felt the beat of his, just as quick. I brushed my cheek over his sandpapery chin. “You do plenty that you shouldn’t,” I reminded him.
He said my name like he was giving up. He said lots of things then, nonsense, most of it. He murmured against my lips about mistakes, but I didn’t answer. His hand pulled at the knot of the silk robe. I squeezed my eyes shut, memories of Alex edging into my thoughts. Max must have noticed, because he stopped.
I didn’t move, my heart double-timed, and I held my breath. Was it fear, or something else? I honestly didn’t know.
“Mina, look at me,” he whispered.
I opened my eyes to his, dark and intense.
His hand cupped my cheek. “We can stop.” His thumb smoothed over my lips. “Just say the word.”
That was probably the moment I decided. If he’d pushed me, if he’d been at all like Alex, I would have stopped right there. I should have, I suppose. But this was Max. I touched the back of his neck where I knew his hair came to a point and pulled him closer.
His eyes sought mine in the moonlight. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.
