Leave it to Max (Lori's Classic Love Stories Volume 1) (23 page)

“When he gets burned one too many times.”

“It has to happen.”

Livy only hoped it didn’t happen to her baby
the way it had happened to her. She didn’t want Max betrayed by the
person he loved the most.

“I don’t have the goose. That’s my story and
I’m sticking to it.”

Rosie seemed none the worse for her week in
the slammer. In fact, her cell had the air of a hotel suite.
Friends had brought colorful blankets and pillows for her bed,
books, flowers, and countless other presents. The police, who’d
known and loved her for years, had ignored it all.

While once this might have annoyed Livy, now
she was merely glad her mother was happy in jail. She might be
there quite a while.

“I have to be honest, Mama, I don’t know what
I’m going to do for you.”

“Defend me. It’s my word against theirs.”

“Unfortunately, theirs is going to hold more
weight.”

“Why is their word better than mine?”

Livy looked Rosie over—from her unbound,
flyaway hair, past the slogan
They’re Not Hot Flashes. They’re
Power Surges
across her chest, the hot-pink spandex tights,
down to the purple ballet slippers that matched the wings of the
hummingbird in her tattoo—and she had a revelation. If she believed
in justice, her client was innocent.

Livy might think Rosie had stolen—make that
emancipated—the goose, but if Rosie stuck to her story, then so
should Livy.

“Their word
isn’t
better than
yours.”

Rosie began to pace the confines of her cell,
arms waving with the force of her annoyance. “Exactly. But because
of how I dress, what I believe, who I married, Tweedle Dee and
Tweedle Dum are going to win?”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Ready to roll, Rosie came up short. “What did
you say?”

“They’re not going to win. You’ve got the
best lawyer in town in your corner.”

Confusion took the place of surprise. “But
you think I’m silly.”

“Silly? I think you’re nuts. But I love you
anyway.”

“You do?”

“You thought I didn’t?”

Rosie flopped down on her bed. “I figured you
were going to hate me forever for leaving you behind.”

“Hate? Now you’re being silly. You’re my
mother.”

“But I didn’t act like one, and you’ve never
forgiven me.”

“I’m starting to think that I’ve been a bit
rigid about some things.”

“Rigid.” Rosie snorted. “That’s a good
word.”

“Maybe you should tell me why you felt
compelled to leave.”

A darkness settled over Rosie’s cheery face.
“What good would that do now?’’

Livy joined her mother on the single bed.
“One thing I’ve learned in this job of mine—people do things that
don’t make sense. But they usually have a reason that makes sense.
In their mind, anyhow. I’d like to know yours.”

Rosie stared into Livy’s eyes a moment before
she sighed and glanced away. “I didn’t leave you
.
Well, I
did, but not the way you think. I had to get away from the memory
of him, which appeared every time I saw you.”

“I don’t look like Daddy at all.”

Rosie’s smile was sad. “It’s your
expressions. The way you tilt your head sometimes. The way you used
to laugh. You and Henry were so much a part of each other, and I
was always on the outside looking in.” She held up her hand when
Livy began to protest. “That’s the way it was, and I didn’t mind.”
She flipped her wrist in a careless gesture. “Much, anyway.
Wherever you found Henry you found Livy. So when he was gone, and
there was you but no him, I couldn’t bear it. I had to run.”

Livy had had the same problem every time
she’d looked into Max’s eyes. But there’d been nowhere for her to
go. All she’d been able to do was bury her pain and her fear
beneath layers of anger, then devote all of her love to her son.
Hover over him, keep him safe, attempt to control the
uncontrollable.

“Silly how the past can affect every little
thing,” she murmured.

Rosie put her arm around Livy and tugged her
close. Livy’s head rested naturally on her mother’s shoulder, a
place it hadn’t been for far too long, “Let’s forget about the past
and start over. Look forward, and the whole world looks with
you.”

“You ought to put that on a T-shirt.”

“Maybe I will.”

* * *

Garrett and Max turned up the walk and found
Livy sitting on the porch with a glass of wine.

“Mom!” Max dropped Garrett’s hand and
sprinted for her arms.

Garrett followed more slowly, watching them
both, letting the love lap at him and try to draw him under.

Livy glanced up, and the memory of several
nights in each other’s arms flickered in her eyes. Garrett went
under gladly. She might be different, but in many ways Livy was
still the same. Even if she hadn’t been the mother of his child, he
wouldn’t be able to resist her any more now than he had back
then.

“Hi,” she said, her voice a bit hoarse, as if
she’d been crying, but he could see no other evidence of it.

“Hi.”

Max stared back and forth between the two of
them and his bright eyes sharpened. “Can Garrett have some
wine?”

She raised a brow. “Would you like some?”

Garrett’s Poe imitation had stopped as soon
as he’d begun watching Max. He hadn’t had a drink since, hadn’t
even wanted one beyond the Kool-Aid or milk he’d shared with his
son. But right now, wine and Livy sounded like a very good
idea.

“Sure.” He sat in the chair next to hers.

“I’ll get it,” Max announced, and stumbled
into the house.

“Wait, I'll-—” Livy started to get up.

Garrett put his hand on her arm. “Let
him.”

“But he’ll break the glass or spill the
wine.”

“Let him,” he repeated.

“Drop the bottle...cut his foot, his hand, an
artery.”

Garrett laughed. “He’ll be fine. He hasn’t
broken anything—not a glass, bottle, table or himself in
weeks.”

She settled back and swirled her wine around
and around in the glass. “I’m grateful, Garrett.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You’re good for him. He’s safe with you. You
don’t know how much that means to me.”

“I just let him be a kid. And while he’s
being one, I get to be one, too.”

“You can’t imagine the terrible things I fear
for him.”

“I can’t? You
haven’t
read my
books.”

She smiled.

“Maybe you should do what Max and I do.
Imagine the worst thing that could possibly occur. Then figure out
exactly what you’d do if the worst thing happened. You feel more in
control then. Not so much at the mercy of fate, even if you
are.”

“I like control.”

Garrett’s lips twitched. “I didn’t
notice.”

It was an indication of the change in their
relationship that she merely wrinkled her nose at his sarcasm and
did not throw her wine in his face.

“The worst thing.” She sipped her wine,
staring at the descending night. “Losing Max— in any way. That’s
the worst.”

“And what can you do about that?”

“Protect him always, the best that I
can.”

“Which is what you’re doing. So relax. Live a
little. Kick back.”

“I thought I was.”

She’d taken off her shoes and her stockings,
but she still wore the business suit. Why did that turn him on?
Maybe because she’d unbuttoned the blouse, and he could see a tiny
V of flesh between the panels of prissy white cotton. Or because he
knew just how soft the skin beneath that skirt would be if he ran
his fingers under the hem and—

“Here, Garrett.”

Lust dissolved in the space of an instant.
Max stood at his elbow, plastic juice cup filled to the brim with
blood red wine. Tongue between his teeth, he concentrated on the
ripples each step made in the tiny lake at the top of the cup.

“Thanks, pal.” Garrett took the cup and
brought his mouth over to sip out the excess. “Great idea for a
container. Now I won’t have to worry about breaking a glass outside
and getting your mom mad at me.

Max grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

“Good thought.”

“Excellent choice,” Livy agreed.

Max practically preened beneath their
combined praise. Garrett’s and Livy’s eyes met, and they shared a
smile. He was so in love with her, Garrett could barely keep it to
himself, and so terrified he’d blow it he could barely think
straight in her presence.

He’d tried to show her how he felt with his
body, hoping for a miracle, praying she’d love him again. But so
far, all she’d asked of him had been his help with Max and his
presence in her bed.

He ought to be ecstatic. What man wouldn’t
be? He had his son during the day and the woman of his dreams most
nights. No strings. But Garrett wanted more. He wanted Livy, Max
and himself to be a family. He wasn’t exactly sure, though, how to
go about that. Maybe by acting like a family?

Garrett sat up so fast he almost spilled his
wine.

Max giggled. “You’re going to get in
trouble.”

Most likely. Garrett took a healthy gulp as
he refined his spectacular idea. “I heard there’s a crab boil at
Old Fort Jackson tomorrow.”

He could tell by the way Livy’s brows knitted
that she was going to say no. Then Max jumped up and down. “I’ve
never gone to a crab boil, and I love Old Fort Jackson. Remember,
Mom, how they fire that cannon sometimes? We haven’t done anything
fun in forever. Can we go? All of us together?”

Livy’s brow smoothed and her eyes filled with
a love so deep and pure Garrett’s own eyes watered.

“Why not?” She upended her wineglass,
draining the contents.

For a minute Garrett thought she might smash
the glass against a nearby tree, just as all the legends said those
Bonaventure ghosts did. Behavior like that would be so un-Livy he
wasn’t sure what he’d do. But instead, she smiled at him almost the
way she used to and murmured, “Let’s live a little.”

* * *

Even though rain was predicted at some point,
Saturday dawned bright and warm—a perfect Savannah autumn day.

Garrett picked up Livy and Max as promised in
the early afternoon. His car was a surprise—a family-man minivan
that did not fit the image of the J.J. she’d known or the Garrett
he’d become. A lot of things about him did not fit her image, and
it was those things that were causing her to lose sleep at night,
even more than the lovemaking she’d begun to crave.

“Interesting car.” Livy buckled her seat belt
before glancing over her shoulder to make sure Max had done the
same.

“Garrett, your seat belt,” Max urged. “You
don’t want to know what you’d look like if you went through the
windshield.”

Garrett raised an eyebrow at Livy, then
pulled what appeared to be a virgin seat belt across his chest. He
didn’t even have to say what he was thinking. She knew.

Max sounded like a nervous little old man.
Once, Livy would have hoped that his parroting of her dire
predictions meant he’d take proper care of himself. Now she knew
that Max and care did not go together in the same sentence, and
there was little she could do about it.

Her son’s chatter, about his stories and the
monsters he had foiled within them, filled the silence on the trip
to the fort.

Situated three miles outside of Savannah,
Fort Jackson was the oldest standing fort in Georgia and had once
been the headquarters of all river batteries. The brick structure
was surrounded by a tidal moat, making it appear even more ancient
than it was.

After Garrett parked the van, the three of
them walked about. Max bounced here and there, so excited he
couldn’t keep still, while Livy and Garrett trailed behind. Livy
felt so at ease with Garrett she finally gave in to the urge to
slide her hand into his.

They ate crab until they nearly burst, then
Max trotted toward a band that played in the distance—old music,
tunes she didn’t recognize but liked just the same. As she and
Garrett wandered along an ancient stone wall in the wake of their
son, she got an inkling of what it might feel like to be a family,
and she wanted it so badly she ached, not only for Max but for
herself.

To add to her confusion, the promised rain
poured down as if from nowhere. The scene looked like something out
of a silent movie. People fled in every direction at high speed as
the band continued to play.

Livy started forward, planning to take Max’s
hand and lead him back to the van. But Garrett stopped her, one
hand on her arm, one word whispered low. “Look.”

Max, being Max, began to dance, and though
the blasted voice that had been with her since Max had been laid in
her arms—a helpless bundle given over to her protection—whispered,
He’s going to slip on the stone and spill his brains out on the
street,
she kept her mouth shut and watched the magic of her
son dancing in rain.

Then Garrett joined him. Hand in hand, they
did a jig—the same crazy two-step—then laughed and threw back their
heads to drink of the water pouring from the sky.

The band played faster, the musicians
laughing, too, at the wonder of Max. Livy hugged herself against
the chill of the rain as it drenched her to the skin. She shivered
as Garrett’s shirt became plastered to his chest, the curves and
dips she’d touched with her fingers, tasted with her tongue, both
familiar and enticingly new.

The song ended. The fort was deserted and
rain came down in sheets. With no reason to run, as they were
already soaked, the three of them meandered toward the minivan.
Somehow the afternoon had given way to dusk. The streetlights came
to life, capturing Livy and Garrett in a starburst, and suddenly it
was another night, another storm, another streetlight.

Garrett kissed her, just as he had all those
years ago. That night she’d snuck out, gone walking with J.J., and
the storm had caught them unaware. Soaked and laughing, he’d
twirled her to face him underneath a streetlight, then he’d kissed
her until she could think of nothing but that mouth, those hands,
his body. They’d tumbled into the garden, fallen on the wet summer
grass, and he’d become her first right there beneath the sky as the
rain flowed over them both.