Heart on a Shoestring (11 page)

He walked behind me. Up the tiny sidewalk lined by flowers and bushes. I knocked on the door. Waited. Clenched my teeth and tightened my jaw.

Dad answered. Opened the door and walked back to the TV. Not as bad as I imagined. Derek followed me to Max’s room. “Wait here,” I said, then walked to Mom’s room.

The door creaked as I opened it. She sat on the edge of her bed. Arms crossed over her chest. Hair dangling in front of her face. I moved closer. “Mom.” She shook her head. I sat beside her. “Mom, I think I may know where he is.”

“It’s my fault. All of this.” Pain seeped from her words and landed softly on my heart. I could relate. “I wanted another baby. Your father didn’t know I stopped taking the pill. He doesn’t know to this day. Thinks I got pregnant while taking it.” Her arms tightened around her body. “I didn’t know. If I had known everything Max would go through I would have stayed on the pill.”

“Max is here now. You can’t stuff him back in the womb. Why would you want to anyway?” I put my arm around her and rested my head against her shoulder. “Why don’t you come with us? Help us find him.”

“Your father won’t let me.”

I huffed and stood. “I’ve had it. This is not right.”

She didn’t look up as I stormed out of the room and downstairs. Derek stepped to the top of the stairs as I reached the bottom. I stood between my father and the television, arms at my sides, hands tightened into fists, and calmly, carefully chose my words. “I believe there is good in most people, but not you. I hate you. I hate what you’ve become. What you’ve done to this family. To mom. To me. To Matt and Mike and Max. You’re selfish, mean, and the worst excuse of a man I’ve ever seen.”

He stood. A crystal clear violence glazed over his eyes. The anger of a weak man masked with strength. I raised my chin and stared into his eyes. The vein in his forehead throbbed in the shape of a V. Derek, quiet as a winter night, stepped into the room. I saw his shadow move behind my dad, who now gripped my neck with thick, calloused fingers. 

“I brought you into this world,” he said. “I have no problems taking you out.”

“I’m not afraid of dying.” I pushed the words around his hand on my throat. “I’m afraid of not living. And no, it’s not just your sperm I thank for that. I thank God.”

He squeezed my neck, cutting off oxygen and forcing me to gag. I didn’t care. Stared him down as my face filled with warm blood. He lifted me and pressed me against the wall by my neck. “If you were a boy I’d kill you.”

Derek grabbed his arm and yanked his hand from my neck. “I’m a boy. How about you kill me?”

Dad spit in Derek’s face and rolled his hand into a fist. “Who the hell are you and who do you think you are?”

“Kill me.” Derek stepped closer so there was only an inch between his chest and my dad’s. “If it makes you feel good, go ahead and kill me.”

Dad shoved Derek’s chest with both palms, yanked me by the arm, and forced us to the door. “Come in the house again and I swear I will rip the flesh right off your faces.”

I pulled myself from his grip and ran up the stairs. “Mom, you’re coming. Let’s go.”

To my surprise, she listened. When we reached the front door Dad was nowhere in sight. Derek left too. Mom walked beside me, head low, shoulders hunched. I sat her down in the passengers seat and took my place in the back. Derek started the car and turned to me, smiled. Blood dripped from his left eye down to his jaw.

“Are you okay?” I said, reaching for his face.

“Are you?” he said.

“Yes.”

“What made him like that?”

My mom shifted in her seat, raised her head. “Maxwell. He was always distant and quiet, but not like this. Not until Max.”

“Has he hit you?” Derek said, pulling into the suburban street. 

“Never,” she said.

“Max?”

“No. Matthew stayed out later than curfew one night and Lenny waited for him with a brick. Knocked the poor boy out. Other than that, no physical threats.”

“Except what he just did to Miranda.”

Mom turned and looked at me, then back to Derek. “And your eye?”

Derek nodded. “It’s not a big deal. Just a little concerned for Max. Is it really safe for you all to live there with him?”

“I can’t leave Lenny,” Mom said. “I could never.”

And I could never understand why the heck not. 

Miranda’s mother never buckled her seatbelt. Something about it bothered me. I always made passengers buckle up, but I couldn’t ask her. Not now. Not with her son missing and her husband straight out of Jackass Central. Excuse me. But who in their right mind holds his daughter by the neck and blames an autistic child for ruining his life? I’m not one to talk. I had my fair share of horrible deeds, but what the hell?

My head throbbed, but I didn’t let the ladies know. Last thing I wanted was someone fussing over me. Miranda seemed hopeful. Believed we’d find Max and bring him home safe. Or as safe as that home could be. Me? Not as optimistic, but is that a surprise? An autistic teenager roaming Philadelphia didn’t sound promising, no matter how big the reward.

Miranda directed me to the next place, my mind hanging on to the sweetness of her voice. Something about all this made me feel closer to her. I wanted to explain everything. Be free of David Bennett and possibly win her heart. But how? When? No time ever seemed right.

I parked and opened my car door. Mrs. Ryan stayed in the car with no apparent intentions of moving. Miranda stepped out and linked her arm with mine, then wiped the blood from my face. Her eyes killed me. In a good way. Sent me to a place I longed to visit. A place I had yet to understand. All I knew is that place was the closest thing to paradise I’d ever seen. And I wanted it. Bad.

We walked down a path alongside a creek and about ten minutes later stood on a covered bridge. Old. The kind of thing that rattles when cars pass through. A perfect location for photography. 

“What’s that?” Miranda said. I saw nothing except a squirrel, trees, and a muddied creek. She jogged to a tree and knelt down. “It’s gotta be Max. This is one of the magazines I gave him.” She flipped through the glossy pages. “And it has missing letters.”

We scanned the area for a note. A sign. A teenage boy. Nothing. My pessimism kicked up a few notches. Her optimism almost burst her heart like a balloon in the hands of a toddler.

Smiling, she rubbed the missing letters in the magazine as we walked back to the car. Mrs. Ryan didn’t look up. Not once. Her mind and heart far from Philly. Reminded me of myself. The self I didn’t want to be.

We parked a block away from an ice cream shop in the middle of the worn out city. I didn’t ask why Miranda thought he’d successfully find his way to an ice cream shop 27 miles from his house in the middle of a huge city, but yes, I had my doubts.

Mrs. Ryan stayed in the car. Miranda told me to stay with her. I did. Watched Miranda’s pink cast swing down the city sidewalks, her dark blue jean shorts hugging her hips. Simple faded yellow t-shirt down to her back pockets. Long brown hair between her shoulder blades, tossed in the summer breeze. A picture of beauty smashed between old historic buildings and dirty cement. Ashleigh brushed my mind like a cryptic breeze. She looked so different. I remember watching her walk away. Dark blue jeans too. Except she was taller with less hip and more up top. Fake, of course. Always a designer hand bag to match her shoes and necklace. One of five thousand. Her hips didn’t sway as she walked. They jolted back and forth like a runway model with no training. She never seemed to rest. To just be. To wipe off the lipstick and live.

I forgot about Mrs. Ryan. She seemed to be as deep in thought as me. I turned the music down and relaxed. Looked at her. “Why do you think Max made Mr. Ryan like this?”

She looked up, then to her right, out the passengers window at a man smoking a pipe. “He always wanted things his way.” She continued staring out the window as she spoke. “I just think life didn’t turn out the way he imagined and he doesn’t know how to handle it. He regrets a lot. He won’t say it. And he won’t change either. He just dwells in it.”

“I can relate.”

She finally made eye contact with me. “No, I don’t think you can.”

I didn’t want to argue with her. People couldn’t imagine Derek as David Bennett and I wasn’t about to help her see my true colors. I nodded. Miranda tapped the hood of my car and came up to her mom. She leaned on the open window. “Have anymore envelopes in there?”

“Yeah. Why?”

She popped the glove compartment open and snatched an envelope, then hobbled her way back to the ice cream shop. A few seconds later she returned and sat in the back. “No Max, but there was a single mom in there who was trying to use food stamps to get her kids some ice cream. Hope you don’t mind me using the envelope.”

“Not at all.” I turned the keys in the ignition. The engine rumbled. “That’s what they’re there for.”

We tried a few more places. Mrs. Ryan wanted to go back home. We dropped her off and drove away. Miranda thought of one more place. An abandoned farm house in the middle of nowhere. Trees lined the driveway and circled around the house. Some windows had boards covering them, others looked worn but functional. The roof needed repair. Gutter hung from the left side like a cracked bone. The sun colored the sky orange behind the rolling hills and trees. We stepped out. Miranda linked her arm with mine and kept the crutches behind. I didn’t mind. I helped her up the porch. The sign on the door said it was the state’s property. Not to trespass. I looked at Miranda. She laughed. I pointed. She laughed again, then directed me to a window on the side of the huge porch. She tried to open it. When she failed, I did.

She sat on the sill and swung her cast over the window, like saddling up for a ride out west. I followed, looking around for cops. 

“They won’t arrest you. We’ll just say we’re looking for Max. We have a good excuse.”

Right. Good thinking. We dodged missing floor boards and Miranda stopped at the fireplace, ran her fingers down the edges and swiped the dust from her hand. Ceilings were taller than two stories of most modern homes. Ornate design. Stained victorian wallpaper peeling from the walls. Beautiful. I imagined it restored. The fireplace lit and people crowded around it holding drinks and laughing. For a second I felt like Miranda. And laughed.

“What?” she said. Her eyes glistened in the fading sunlight.

I cupped her face with my hand and so badly wanted to kiss her. She swallowed. Couldn’t tell if it was excitement or hesitancy, so I kissed her forehead and turned in a circle. “You think he’s here?”

She hobbled to the doorway and motioned for me to follow. When I reached her she wrapped her arm around my back and leaned into my shoulder. I supported her with my right arm and we walked up the steps, checked every room, then heard something crack in the hallway.

A small closet. I opened it and peered up. “This goes to the roof.”

She went up. The steps were small. Almost child-size. Felt like crawling through a tunnel. I followed her. She pushed the door at the top and revealed the moon. Sunsets never last long enough. She pulled herself out, then I did ... only to put myself right back in, away from the roof.

My hands trembled and my pulse throbbed in my ears. “I can’t do heights.”

She vanished from sight. Came back and whispered something I couldn’t hear. Her smile looked super white against the dark blue sky. “He’s up here. He’s on the next level of the roof. Over that way by the chimney.” She pointed to the left. “You need to help or I’ll have to with this cast.” She knelt down and squinted her eyes. “Are you down there?”

I steadied myself on the shelf to my left. I couldn’t move. My legs weighed a thousand pounds.

“Derek?” She sighed. “Please.”

The edges of her face turned black. I closed my eyes. Opened them. It was no use. Everything was blurry. Spinning. And then blackness took over. 

Everything disappeared. 

Pretty sure he fainted, but I couldn’t tell. I peeked up at Max, still asleep on the roof with his favorite blanket. I didn’t think I could hop up to that level. Not with my leg. I needed Derek. I needed him to get over his fear of heights.