Leave it to Max (Lori's Classic Love Stories Volume 1) (12 page)

Garrett had gotten out of sticky situations
before. As a child he’d always been into, on top of or underneath
something. His father had said his infernal curiosity would get him
killed one day. Looked like James, Sr., was right again.

Panic threatened once more, but Garrett
quashed it. He’d survived worse than this. Worse than this had made
him thrive. Facing fear was what Garrett Stark did best, mainly
because the J.J. inside him was afraid of a lot.

He wrote about his nightmares so he could own
them, then lived life as if there was nothing on this earth that he
feared. A lie, but then, Garrett told lies for a living.

In truth, there was one fear he’d never
conquer. His fear of failing at everything that mattered. He’d made
a good start at letting that fear own him.

Livy hated the ground he walked on. His son
thought he was dead. The career that gave him the only sense of
worth he’d ever known was about to crash and burn. And Garrett had
just discovered what claustrophobia felt like.

Maybe he could use that in a book, too. If he
lived.

“Breathe deep. Plenty of air. Just not enough
room.”

Remain calm.
Eventually someone would
find him. When the smell reached the street.

Garrett cursed and slammed his hands once
more against the lid, as if it would actually work this time. Pain
was his reward. He rocked the coffin back and forth a while, to no
avail.

In the distance, the phone began to ring.
Andrew was going to be pissed when Garrett turned up dead.

“I’m not going to be too happy about it,
either.”

He swiped at the sweat tickling his forehead
and only ended up scraping his knuckles along the wood, gaining the
slivers he’d merely imagined before.

“Whatcha doin’?”

The voice was close enough to make Garrett
start. The nervous sweat turned cold.

“Max?”

“Uh-huh.”

Garrett’s panic receded. He was no longer
alone and in imminent danger of dying. But as the fear ebbed, the
embarrassment seeped in. Maybe he should just stay in here and die
rather than have his son see him like this.

He’d been hoping Max would show up, but he’d
had dreams of them doing fun, father-and-son things, so Max could
get to know him, come to like him; then eventually Max would love
him. But how could a boy ever respect the father he found stuffed
in his dining room coffin?

In the end, Garrett didn’t have a choice. The
latch clicked and the lid lifted. Max peered down at him, sweet
face scrunched like a dried-apple doll.

Garrett sat up so fast Max leaped back. The
lid of the coffin hit Garrett in the head.

Max giggled. “Stuff like that happens to me
all the time.”

Rubbing the bump, Garrett got out of the
coffin. “Me, too.”

“Really?” Max’s smile faded and he cradled
his cast with his good hand. “I kinda thought once I grew up I
wouldn’t be such a loser.”

Anger made the bump on Garrett’s head hurt
more. “Who said you were a loser?”

The boy’s shoulders slumped. “Everyone.
Nobody likes me.”

“A whole bunch of people signed your
cast.”

“The kids thought it was neat for one day,
and then they didn’t.” He rubbed his finger across the names.
“Mostly nurses and doctors signed. They all love me. Mainly, Mom
says, because I keep them in business. But nobody likes me just for
me. Except Mom and Rosie, and they kind of have to.”

“I like you.”

Max tilted his head and peered at Garrett
through his bright, white bangs. “You do?”

“What’s not to like? You can walk and talk
and pee on your own, right?”

Max snorted.

Garrett had heard bathroom humor worked with
young males pretty well. Looked as though he’d heard right. “And
you’re polite.”

“I came into your house without being invited
again. That’s rude.”

“You saved my life. I’ll let it slide.”

His eyes went wide. “I did?”

Garrett nodded at the coffin. “I was fooling
around and I got locked in.”

“That sounds like something I’d do. Why’d
you
do it?”

“I wanted to know what it was like.
Inside.”

“Why?”

“So I could describe it for a book.” Put that
way, what he’d done sounded silly. It so often did, which was why
Garrett spent most of his time alone.

But Max didn’t stare at him as if Garrett had
slipped a gear. Instead, the boy eyed the wooden box warily. “What
was
it like?”

“Not bad. Until I realized I couldn’t get
out.” Which reminded Garrett of something.

He slipped into the kitchen, and returned
with a hammer then knocked the offending latch off the coffin. “Why
would they put one of those on there, anyway?”

“To keep the wanderers in?”

“Wanderers?”

“Undead. Zombies. Ghouls. Spirit walkers.
That stuff.”

Since Max appeared dead serious, Garrett kept
a straight face. He could remember when the surreal had seemed very
real—a year ago when he’d last been writing a book. How he wished
reality would blur that way again soon.

“I doubt a latch would be of any use if that
stuff really wanted to get out”

The expression Max turned on him stunned
Garrett. A smile of joy, eyes full of adoration—the combination
pure hope. What had Garrett done to gain such a reward?

“You’re not going to tell me there’s no such
thing as zombies and the rest?’’

The boy had his father’s imagination as well
as his eyes, and Livy was like James, Sr., more than Garrett would
have liked. If he hadn’t planned to stick around a while for his
son before, he certainly would now.

“Why would I tell you that?”

“Because you’re a grown-up and you’ve lost
your angel eyes.”

“What are those?”

“Did you ever see a baby babbling to the wall
or the ceiling or the air?”

“I haven’t seen many babies.” Thanks to Livy.
She might be mad at him for leaving, but he was getting madder by
the minute that she hadn’t found some way to drag him back.

“I haven’t, either. But Rosie says babies can
still see the angels ’cause they only left ’em a little bit ago.
Once they start talkin’ and listenin’, they stop seein’ angels.
Most babies anyway. Some, like me, still see things that other
people don’t.”

“You get to watch a lot of angels, Max?”

Garrett could almost hear the kid wondering
if this grown-up could be trusted with the truth. Garrett held his
breath.

“Not a single one.”

Interesting.
“What do you see?”

“Nothin’.”

Garrett frowned. “But you said—”

“Sometimes you don’t see with these—” He
pointed to his eyes. “You know with this—” His finger tapped his
temple.

Garret knew things there, too, and none of
them were real. At least, the way the rest of the world judged
truth and lies. Max looked at things the way no one else did. Or
maybe the way no one did
anymore.
But maybe the way they
could again. If they knew how.

That wispy idea Garrett had first heard in
the graveyard, then lost, now hovered like a mist over the river at
dawn—a teasing lilting presence just out of his reach.

“When you go off like that, are you knowin’
with this?” Max rapped on his forehead with a knuckle.

Poof,
went that wisp of a whisper.

At the sight of his son, Garrett couldn’t
care less. “Uh-huh.”

“Can you teach me to be like you?”

“We already talked about this. I’m still very
much un-undead.”

“I mean, can you teach me not to be afraid of
stupid stuff that isn’t there?”

To Garrett there wasn’t anything better to be
afraid of than what wasn’t there. Like his book.

“How do you know I’m not afraid?”

“Are you?”

He couldn’t very well admit to his son that
he was scared of just about everything—love, hate, Max, his mother,
the next day, the next page, the rest of his life.

Loser.

Garrett’s inner voice was downright nasty
sometimes.

“Mr. Stark?”

He shook off the voice and smiled at his son.
“You can call me Garrett.”

“My mom won’t like that.”

Max’s mom didn’t like much these days, which
made Garrett wonder. “Is it okay for you to be here?”

“Until four.” He waved his cast in dismissal
of minor annoyances. “Please tell me how not to be afraid. I’ve
never met anyone who knew what I was talkin’ about.”

Garrett had spent a lifetime with no one who
understood all the strange yet wonderful things that went around in
his mind and flowed onto the page. Oh, Andrew loved how Garrett’s
mind worked, but he didn’t understand it, or even care to. As long
as Garrett kept using it.

So how could Garrett deny the entreaty in his
son’s voice, his son’s eyes?

“You say you’re afraid of stupid stuff that
isn’t there?”

“All the time.”

“But if you think it’s there, then, isn’t
it?”

“No one else knows about it.”

“Then maybe
they’re
stupid.”

Max’s mouth made a little
O
of
surprise.

“Don’t ever discount the magic of your
imagination, Max. It’s a gift few people have and fewer
appreciate.”

“That’s what Rosie says.”

“I’ll have to meet Rosie.”

“She’ll like you. Especially the hair.”

“Your mom didn’t like it.”

“Mom doesn’t like much.”

“I noticed.”

“Yeah.” Max sighed. “Did you ever feel like
you were dreamin’ even when you knew you were awake?”

Garrett loved it when that happened. Those
books just wrote themselves. “That’s the best time.”

“Not when it’s scary stuff.”

“Define
scary
.
”

“I feel things hoverin’ just out of my sight.
And if I turn around, they’ll be gone. But I’ll hear ’em
laughing.”

Garret hated when that happened.

“You know why I write books?”

“Because you can?”

“There is that.” Although not at the moment.
“I learned that to make a fear go away you have to own it.”

Max appeared intrigued. “How?”

“By facing it.”

“How?”

The kid never stopped with the questions.

“If you’re afraid of spiders, pick one up.
The dark? Sit in it for a while—it’s not so bad. Coffins bother
you—” he winked “—hop on in.”

“And things that aren’t there, even when they
are?”

“Write about them. Conquer them in a book and
they go away for good.”

“I like to write stories.”

Garrett resisted the urge to run his hand
over Max’s electric-blond hair. How could they be so much alike
when they’d only just met?

“Stories are what I do best.” Max glanced at
his cast “Next to fallin’ down, anyways. Does writin’ about what
scares you
really
work?”

“So far. In a book I’m the god of my own
little universe. I can take every nightmare and stomp all over
it.”

“Like Godzilla and Tokyo.”

“The fifty-foot woman and every man she could
find.”

“King Kong and New York City.”

“Exactly. Where do you think all those
moviemakers get their ideas?”

Max’s smile started in his eyes, then spread
all over his face. “From things that no one else sees.”

“You’re not weird or crazy. And you’re not
alone, Max.”

The boy slipped his hand into Garrett’s just
as he had the first day. “Not anymore.”

“You never called me back last night.”

Livy shut the door of her office. “Good
morning to you, too.”

“It’s afternoon,” Kim pointed out.

Livy glanced at her watch. “I didn’t realize
I’d been in court that long. Lucky me.”

Kim leaned back in her chair and crossed her
arms. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on? Or do I have to
guess?”

There was no way Kim was ever going to guess
this one, and Livy wasn’t telling, either.

“Nothing’s going on.” She breezed through
Kim’s office and into her own, put her briefcase on the table and
yanked out what she wanted. She didn’t need to look up to know that
Kim had followed. “I had to leave early. People do it all the
time.”

“You don’t unless there’s a dire emergency.
What was it this time? Tripped into the river? Fell off the curb?
Landed on the neighbor’s dog? What?”

“Nothing like that.”

“Then it was
Save the crab, Clean up the
cobblestones, Preserve our southern heritage,
or
Ghosts are
people, too.
What did it cost to bail her out this time?”

“Mama hasn’t been in jail in over two
weeks.”

“Uh-oh.”

“That’s what I thought. I wonder if I should
take her temperature or something.”

“I’m sure she’s fine. But you aren’t.”

Kim knew her too well, and Livy wouldn’t be
able to keep lying for much longer. But she didn’t know if she
could ever confide in Kim about this.

“I have no idea what you’re talking
about.”

“Why won’t you lean on me? That’s what I’m
here for.”

“I thought you were here to answer the phone,
file the files and weed out the psycho nutcases to a manageable
level.”

“Those are only a small part of the Kim
Luchetti bonus plan. First I’m your friend, second I’m your
partner. Though I’m starting to think it’s the other way around for
you.”

“That’s not true.” Although Livy knew it was,
and not because she didn’t want to be a good friend. She wasn’t
sure how. She gave up pretending to read her notes and searched for
a friendly topic. “How’s Joshua?”

“Toast. Don’t change the subject. You’re
acting weird and I want to know why.”

“I'm tired.”

“You’re always tired.”

“More so than usual.”

“Uh-huh.” Kim crossed the room and peered at
Livy’s face like a surgeon. “You don’t look like you’ve been
sleeping well.”

That was the understatement of the year. Livy
had barely been sleeping at all. Last night had been the worst. The
time with Garrett, the argument with Rosie, Max’s questions—all had
combined for a sleepless night with too much to think about.