I just shrug at her. I can’t win with this one, and I’m already in a hole so deep that I might as well just keep digging.
“Sorry, but my money’s on Max,” I laugh, causing her to huff and sit back in her chair, defeated.
Avery finally stands from the table to fix her own plate, and as soon as she does, Max puts the papers down flat next to him. I shake my head in amusement, kind of proud of him for winning this battle, when he slides the pages toward me across the table. I can feel everyone stop everything the second he does.
“Me?” I mouth to Ray.
Ray shrugs and raises his brow, no help at all. I turn to Avery next, and her hands are gripping the edge of the table, her eyes fixated on the papers, squinting at them like she’s trying to sort through a puzzle.
Max hasn’t moved the papers any closer, but they are now in the very center of the table. I don’t know what to do, and I’m so afraid of doing the wrong thing, that I’m almost stuck. I look at Ray again, wincing, just hoping that he’ll see how lost I am with this kid and help me out. Thankfully, he does, as he wipes his hands on his napkin and leans forward, moving his hand toward the papers.
“Max, mind if I see what you’ve got here?” he waits, and Max doesn’t respond. “I’ll give them right back.”
Ray slides the stack closer to him, and Max seems to be okay with that. He pulls a pair of glasses from his shirt pocket and puts them on, crinkling the papers and stacking them neatly together in front of him so he can read. He’s half smiling as he flips through them, nodding. Finally, he starts to hum, and when I begin to hum along, we both freeze and look at one another.
“That’s a pretty song, Max. Did you just write that this morning?” Ray asks, his eyes locked on mine and a faint smirk on his face.
Max remains silent, his gaze fixed on his plate, but he nods yes. Avery comes back to the table, and she reaches slowly for the papers, not wanting to start another round with Max over them. Her dad slides them in front of her and tilts them so she can see, and I lean forward to look along with her. I would say it was unbelievable if I weren’t looking right at it. Max charted every note that I played for him this morning—every mistake and every improvisation that I strummed less than 30 minutes ago. Everything—exactly.
“Max, did you learn this from Grandpa?” Avery asks, her eyes finally coming to meet mine. She’s looking at me with surprise, but I’m looking at her. I’m looking at her because it’s the first time since we’ve come back together that she’s letting me, and I’m embarrassed that I never really saw her before. Her eyes—they’re f**king unbelievable.
Max finally puts his fork down and looks up from his plate, though not at any of us directly. “I heard Mason play it this morning. I wanted to see what it looked like, so I copied Grandpa’s music books,” he says, standing abruptly and heading for the stairs.
“Uhm, Max? You forgetting something?” Ray calls after him. Max stops at the bottom step, and looks up and to the side.
“Thank you for breakfast. I am excused,” he says before climbing the rest of the way up the stairs and back into his room.
The room is silent for the next few minutes while we all sort of put together our own versions of what just happened. Ray interrupts us first, standing, and sliding out his chair to begin clearing the table. I stand up to help.
I’m sliding scraps of food off a plate into the trash when I turn back and see Avery standing next to her father, whispering again. Her eyes are wider this time, and she’s smiling. Add her smile to my ever-growing list of shit I find drop-dead gorgeous about grown-up Avery Abbot. She catches my stare, and flushes—and the fact that she does makes me nuts.
“You heading to therapy this morning?” Ray asks over his shoulder, stopping Avery just before she starts up the stairs. She just nods yes and gives her dad a wink.
I wait until she’s out of earshot before I ask Ray. “What’s Avery in therapy for?” I’m so damned curious, and suddenly all I want to do is spend my day gathering facts and putting together Avery’s puzzle.
“It’s not for her. It’s for Max,” he says, running a washcloth under the water and turning to wipe down the table. I grab a dry towel and follow after him.
“Oh. I get it,” I swallow. I’m dying to know what’s wrong with Max, but I feel like nobody wants to come right out and tell me. Unable to stand it any longer, I finally break.
“What’s wrong with him? Max? I mean…what does he go to therapy for?” My words are jumbled, and on instinct I brace myself for Ray to knock my teeth out. Last time I talked about Max I got slapped—hard!