Leave it to Max (Lori's Classic Love Stories Volume 1) (16 page)

The sadness in his voice caused Livy to
pause. But Klein shook his head. He would not talk about himself.
He never did.

“How did you know?”

Klein lifted his huge hand and tapped a
surprisingly long, elegant finger to his cheekbone. “Max has his
father’s eyes.”

And here Livy thought she was being
ultrasensitive. “Is it that obvious?”

“Not to someone who isn’t used to looking
beneath the surface. Once I noticed that, I noticed other things.
The way Stark touched you.” Klein stared out his window, as if
seeing something a long way off. “How you leaned into him when he
did. What was between you is too intimate to be new. It didn’t take
Sherlock Holmes to deduce you’ve got a big lie on your hands.” He
shifted so he could look her in the face, and the odd dreamy
expression was gone. “Max doesn’t know, does he?”

“No.”

“When are you going to tell him?”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“Ever?”

Klein’s voice was so incredulous she
twitched. “You don’t know J.J.”

“No, I don’t. Who the hell is J.J.?”

“His pen name is Garrett Stark. His real name
is J.J. Garrett. He specializes in running off in the night. I’m
not going to let Max get attached to his long-lost daddy so he can
be crushed when the man finds a new and better toy.”

“You think Stark would do that?”

Livy threw up her hands. ‘‘I’m obviously no
great judge of character. I didn’t think he’d leave before, so I
was the one left holding the baby.”

What
had
she really known about the
man she’d loved? They’d been little more than children, caught up
in a whirl of new emotions and each other. They had shared their
bodies and their dreams. But Livy had not shared her past and J.J.
had not shared his.

“You should still tell Max.”

“Wouldn’t it be better for Max if he
continued to think his father’s dead rather than to lose him?”

“There’s a difference between dying and
leaving.”

“Is there? Having been on the receiving end
of both, I have to say they felt the same to me.” She blinked to
keep the heated tears in her eyes from dripping down her face.

Klein patted her shoulder, awkwardly, like a
big puppy that couldn’t quite control his limbs. But he meant
well.

“One problem at a time,” Livy said. “Right
now I can’t think of anything but Mama and her golden goose.”

Klein allowed the topic of Garrett Stark to
drop, though she still sensed his disapproval hovering heavy within
the close confines of the car.

“Grab Max, and we’ll see to one problem at a
time.”

* * *

Lucky for Max his gramma was in trouble
again, which took the heat off of him. He’d known he was in for it
the moment he’d walked away from school. But an afternoon learnin’
how to stomp on the fears that haunted him was worth a whole lot of
time in his room.

Even though his mom said, “I’ll talk to you
later, mister,” and the spark in her eyes showed she wouldn’t
forget, she didn’t start yellin’ at him in front of the Hammonds
like he’d expected. Not that she yelled much, but he figured if
there was ever a time for yellin’, the time was now.

They traveled in silence to the police
station, which was okay with Max. The less said about anything the
better.

Detective Klein parked in his space, and
together the three of them went inside. Max had liked Detective
Klein the first time he’d met him. He looked like that droopy dog
Duke on the
Nick at Night
show about the oil-rich
hillbillies. How could you not feel warm and fuzzy about a guy as
sad as that?

Max liked the old shows on
Nick at
Night
almost as much as he liked the old horror movies on
Saturday afternoons. Besides his mom smiled a whole lot more when
she found him watchin’ the story about a man named Jed.

Turned out they were also lucky Detective
Klein was along, because the policeman at the front desk didn’t
want to let Max in to see Rosie. He’d never gotten to see her in
jail before, and while he loved her bunches, he really wanted to
see what she looked like behind bars.

The detective eyed Max and winked. Max
glanced at his mom, who seemed real nervous and jumpy, but she was
starin’ at the wall and not at him, so he grinned and winked back.
Detective Klein liked kids—kids knew that sort of thing—and he was
nice, deep down where nice counted. Max heard that in his
voice.

The detective returned his attention to the
policeman. “You go get some coffee while I take care of a few
things.”

The other man didn’t seem happy, but he went.
Max figured that happened for Detective Klein a lot. He was huge.
What would it be like to be so big no one picked on you? Max
thought he might like it.

“Livy?” Klein stared at Max’s mom with a
frown so deep, the lines between his eyes and around his mouth were
like crevices in a rock.

Max peered back and forth between the two of
them. Something was up. Had his mom told Detective Klein about Max
skipping school? Were they really taking Max to jail, and Rosie
wasn’t even here?

No, his mom would never lie to him. She’d say
right out, “You’re busted, buddy. Off to jail you go.”

Besides, Max wasn’t scared of jail. Rosie had
told him all about it, and from her point of view the place sounded
like one big slumber party. Still, when they got back where the
prisoners stayed, Max breathed a sigh of relief to hear Rosie’s
voice coming from behind the bars.

“They say Renee Rondolia, his simple, lost
soul denied final rites, wanders on moonless winter evenings
throughout Savannah. When you hear the cool river wind whistling
through the trees, glance out your window or perhaps down a
shadowed city street, then you might see his large, hulking figure
coming for you.”

Max hurried past the other two, ignoring his
mom’s urgent, “Max!” as well as her hand, which snatched for his
shoulder. He’d gotten so used to avoiding that hand, he didn’t even
have to think about it. But he did trip over his big toe and slam
into the cell door, catching himself with his free hand before he
got a nose full of iron. His cast skidded along the bars as if they
were an xylophone.

He pressed his face through the opening.
Rosie was surrounded by several women dressed pretty weird—which
was saying a lot, considering how Rosie dressed. Right now she wore
big, loose, orangey-red pants that looked like something out of an
Arabian Nights movie and a T-shirt that said,
It's as bad as you
think and they are out to get you.

“Hey, Rosie! Are you guys havin’ a slumber
party?”

Her smile made him warm all over.
No
one
had a gramma like Rosie. “Hey yourself, sugar. I was just
telling a story to pass our time.”

He took in the brightly painted faces and
really short skirts of the ladies. One of them wore a leopard bra,
though why she had on a bra and no shirt, Max couldn’t quite
figure. Still, it was pretty, in a jungle sort of way.

“Like your boots,” he told that lady, because
her boots matched her bra, and she must have searched all over
Georgia to find something like that.

“Thanks.” She cracked her gum louder than Max
had ever heard.

“Mama, what are you doing in there?” His mom
glared at Klein. “Why is she in with the regular population?”

“She
is
the regular population. This
time around she’s garnered more than a nuisance charge.”

“It’s nonsense, and you know it.”

“I’m not the judge. You can tell him all
about it tomorrow at the hearing.”

“I don’t want any special privileges.” Rosie
joined them on her side of the bars. “Besides, I don’t like to be
alone, and the girls wanted a story.”

“Rosie tells the best stories,” Max put in,
uncertain why his mom was mad about the pretty ladies. They looked
ready for Halloween, and Max loved Halloween. On that one night,
magic walked all over the place.

“My stories aren’t half as good as yours.”
Rosie put her fingertip to his nose and flicked it.

“The one you were tellin’ sounded good. Who’s
Renee Rondolia and why was his soul lost?”

“Mama,” Livy warned.

“He’s going to hear about Renee eventually.
Everyone does. The story is as much a part of Savannah as the
river.”

“He doesn’t need to know now. That legend
scared the sh—” His mom glanced at him, then pursed her lips. “The
pants off of me when I was eighteen.”

If something scared the sh—pants off his mom,
Max really wanted to hear about it.

“I’ll only ask Sammy tomorrow,” he pointed
out.

His mom glared at Rosie, and Klein, too, when
he snorted, then she turned to Max. “Fine. I’ll tell you.”

Rosie rolled her eyes behind Mom’s back, but
Max knew better than to laugh.

“A long time ago there was a man named Renee
and he was simple—”

“What’s simple?”

“Not the brightest crayon,” Rosie put in. “If
you know what I mean.”

“Ah.” Max nodded. “Like Sammy. Two cans short
of a six-pack.”

“Max!” His mom groaned. “Where do you get
this stuff?”

He shrugged. “Around.”

His mom pushed on her eyelids as if they
hurt. After a deep breath, she dropped her hand. “Anyway, Renee was
slow. When a girl turned up dead, the town blamed him. He died.
They buried him in the marsh and that’s where he stayed. Got
it?”

Max squinted at his mom, then turned to Rosie
with his eyebrows raised.

“She sure knows how to take the fun out of a
good story, doesn’t she?” Rosie asked.

“I’ll say.”

“Never mind, you two.”

Mom sounded real annoyed, so Max kept his
mouth shut. He was still on her list, and he didn’t need to make
her any madder at him than she already was. If he was really lucky,
the missing goose would be all the trouble Mom could handle for one
night and maybe a few days, too.

Sometimes Max wondered if Rosie tried to get
in trouble so in comparison the things Max did wouldn’t seem so
bad. That would be just like Rosie.

“Klein, I want her out of this cell.”

“I like it in here.”

“And we want more bedtime stories,” said the
lady who seemed to be wearing a shiny purple bathing suit with
orange shorts over top. Except the shorts might fit Max, even
though the lady was a whole lot bigger.

“Mama, where’s the goose?”

“Goose?” Rosie batted her eyelashes and Max
laughed.

“Max!” His mom pointed to the corner.

“Come on, kid.” Klein led him away.

“What’s goin’ on?” Max whispered
urgently.

“Just listen and don’t interrupt. You can
find out a lot that way.”

“Tell me where you put the goose. Then I’ll
give it back and this will all go away.”

“No can do.”

“Why the hell not!” Mom shouted.

The place went quiet.

“Uh-oh,” Max murmured, as Rosie’s cheery
smile went south.

“I may not be the usual mother, Olivia, but I
am your mother.”

“You tell her, Rosie!” The bra-and-boots lady
punched her fist high in the air.

The other ladies did the same. “Yeah!”

Max almost felt sorry for his mom. She hadn’t
had a good day. He could tell by the way her mouth kept pinching
together and her forehead was all scrunched. Rosie could be a real
pain when she tried. Though Max had to say she didn’t even seem to
be trying today.

“I’m sorry.” Mom rubbed between her eyes.
“But this could get serious if you don’t give the thing back.”

“I didn’t say I had it.”

“Mama, we both know you have it.”

“What happened to ‘innocent until proven
guilty?’ ’

“Got me.” Mom sighed. “I’ll be back in the
morning to go to the hearing with you. I’m hoping that if you sleep
on this you’ll come to your senses.”

“You can always hope.”

“But I won’t hold my breath.”

“That’s my girl.”

Max relaxed. Rosie was smiling. Mom had
stopped rubbing her forehead and chewing on the inside of her lip.
Things were okay again—or as okay as they’d get while Rosie was in
jail.

But Mom would get her out. She always
did.

How am I going to get her out this
time
?

The question beat in Livy’s brain the entire
way home. All of Rosie’s other legal entanglements had been settled
with a small fine and a bit of community service, something Rosie
loved anyway.

Folks in Savannah knew Rosie Frasier. She was
eccentric in a city where eccentricity was relished. She meant no
harm, and therefore serious charges had never been pressed. Of
course, she’d never gone head to head with the sisters before.

Livy unlocked the door and stepped into the
darkened house, Max hugging her side. Livy didn’t like to come home
to an empty place. It always made her feel lonely. From the way Max
kept her skirt clenched in his fist, he wasn’t a huge fan of an
empty dark house, either. What a surprise.

“Hungry, baby?’’ she asked.

He shook his head. She knew what he was up to
with the absence of the usual chatter. As a toddler, Max had always
thought that if he couldn’t see Livy, she couldn’t see him. During
hide-and-seek he would toss a blanket over his head and believe he
was hidden. In the same vein, he no doubt hoped that by keeping
quiet he could make her forget he was there, or at the least, what
he had done.

Not tonight.

Livy followed Max upstairs, then straightened
his room while he changed into his pajamas and brushed his teeth.
There were books tumbling out of his bookcase again. She needed to
buy a bigger one or at least buy another. He had drawings taped all
over his walls, and a few had fallen down. She replaced them with
new tape, finishing just as Max returned.

Once he climbed into bed, Livy sat on the
edge and traced her fingers through his long bangs. “Haircut time
again.”