Trust Me (30 page)

“I’ll go,” Carly said. “If you just tell me where—”

“No, no. It would take much too long to explain, and you don’t know where to find the light switch. And the icebox handle
is very tricky. You have to close it the right way, or else it doesn’t seal properly, and all the cold air leaks out. I’ll
go. It’ll take me only a few minutes.”

“Please.” Carly was feeling slightly desperate at the thought of being trapped there while Pauline waddled down to the cellar
and back. “Let me do it. I’m sure that I can find the light switch. I’ll—”

She stopped. Pauline wasn’t listening to her. Instead, the housekeeper had cocked her head slightly, an expression of barely
disguised relief on her face. There were footsteps coming down the hall, getting louder now as they approached the kitchen,
and the firm stride was unmistakable. Carly’s stomach clenched, and she cast one brief, panicked look at the back door, but
it was too late to flee. The hall door opened, and Max appeared.

He was wearing his running clothes, and he did not look happy. He nodded to Pauline, then turned to Carly, his mouth set in
a forbidding line. She was too startled by his sudden appearance to do anything but glare back at him. Her temper rose quickly.
How dare he come charging in, she thought, scowling at her as if
she
had done something to offend
him
! If anyone in the room had a right to be mad, she did. He should be launching a fleet of apologies. And what was he doing
here in the first place? It was too early.

Pauline swiftly answered that question. “I called as soon as she arrived, Mr. Max. And left you a message.”

“Thank you,” Max said. “I got it.”

Carly looked from one to the other. She didn’t know what was happening, but she knew that she didn’t like it. “Excuse me,”
she began, indignantly. “What—”

“I’ve been stalling her,” Pauline added. “I think that if people would keep to a schedule instead of coming and going on a
whim, it would be less trouble for everyone, don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” Max said grimly. His arms were folded against his chest, and he hadn’t taken his eyes off Carly for a moment, as if
he thought that she might vanish if he looked away. “It would be much less trouble.”

“Would you like some coffee, Mr. Max? There are blueberry muffins, too. I baked them last night because I thought you might
be coming over.”

“Not right now,” Max said. “First, I need to have a talk with Miss Martin.” He took Carly by the arm. “Let’s go.”

Carly balked. “What is this, a KGB arrest? I’m not going anywhere with you. Let go of me!”

“No,” Max said. “We’re going outside. Either you walk with me, or I’ll carry you. Your choice.”

Pauline gasped, and Carly began to blush hotly. “Leave me alone,” she said, through her teeth. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“I don’t care,” Max said. “I’ve been looking for you since Friday night, and I am getting pretty damn tired of being avoided.
What were you planning to do, sneak around forever and think that I wouldn’t figure out what you were doing?”

“I have not been
sneaking
around,” Carly exclaimed. “I have a very busy life. If you haven’t seen me, it’s because I have important things to do. Do
you think I’d go to the trouble of changing my schedule just to avoid
you
?”

“Yes.”

“Ha! You have a lot of nerve. I don’t know what you’re doing here, talking to me, when you have such important issues of your
own to work out. Marriage and children—”

“That does it,” Max said. He bent down, and, before Carly knew what was happening, he had hooked one arm under her arms and
one under her knees, and lifted her into the air, knocking over her chair in the process. Carly squawked in surprise and alarm,
seized a handful of Max’s shirt, and kicked the air as he half slung her over his shoulder. “What are you doing? Stop it!”

“Mr. Max!” cried Pauline, raising her hands in astonished horror.

“The back door, please,” Max said, walking forward. He stopped, and the housekeeper scurried to open it. “Thank you.”

Accompanied by a few curious dogs, he carried Carly out into the yard and down the steps toward the stone bench by Henry’s
small pond. In her undignified position, Carly was almost too embarrassed and overwhelmed to breathe, much less to speak.
But when he set her on her feet, and she regained her balance, she felt the hot blood pounding in her face, and she exploded.

“Max Giordano, how dare you use these macho tactics on me! You have no right to haul me around like a sack of dog food, or
to make a scene in front of Pauline, or do anything except apologize to me for… for…”

“For what?” Max asked coldly.

“For
what
?” Carly repeated, outraged. “Oh, excuse me. I didn’t realize that it was acceptable behavior to spend the night with one
woman, then propose marriage to another the next day! My mistake. And believe me, I mean that.”

“Oh?” Max said. “Sleeping with me was a mistake?”

“A huge one,” Carly said. “And it won’t happen again. I’ve wasted too much time in relationships with men like you.”

“Men like me.” Max’s voice was dangerously calm. “And so, once you figured out that I was a rotten bastard, you rushed off
to tell your family about it, so that they could sympathize.”

“What makes you think I rushed off to see my family?”

“Didn’t you?”

“Well… so what if I did? I went to Jeannie’s.”

“Of course you did. You Martins would defend each other to the death. You’re an exclusive little club, and it’s a good thing
that I didn’t take you up on your offer of membership. If I had, where would I be right now? Tossed back out onto the street,
wondering what had happened, right?”

Carly looked warily at him. “I don’t know,” she said.

“I do.” His face was hard. “And now maybe you’ll understand why I don’t want you patronizing me by telling me that your family
‘adopts’ people like me. It’s a nice idea, but it isn’t true. I’d rather be surrounded by strangers than by false friends.”

Carly’s anger was quickly being replaced by irritation. “If you’ll stop feeling sorry for yourself for a minute,” she said
tartly, “you might be interested to know that Jeannie spent most of Friday night defending you.”

“What? Why the hell would she do that?”

“I have no idea,” Carly said. “For some bizarre reason, the Martins like you. They’re trying very hard to convince me that
you really don’t
seem
like a rotten bastard, and that I should give you a chance to explain what happened.”

Max folded his arms against his chest. A thoughtful frown touched his forehead, but he said nothing.

“I knew it,” Carly said. “I told them that it wouldn’t do any good. I was there, after all. I saw what you—”

“Actually,” Max said coolly, “you didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?”

“Didn’t see a damned thing. Were you standing there, listening, when I made this marriage proposal to Nina? No? Then how do
you know what happened?”

“You said—”

“I didn’t say anything,” Max exclaimed. “Nina was the one talking about marriage and children. I told her that I wasn’t interested.
You found us in the lobby about five minutes after we agreed that the relationship was over.”

“But… but she said—”

“She was being catty. Obviously there was something about you that made her feel like bringing out her claws.”

Carly sat down on the stone bench. She did not have a clear recollection of exactly what had happened at the hotel. The stress
of the moment had overwhelmed her, and in retrospect the whole encounter had a hazy, slow-motion feel, like the memory of
a car accident. But it was possible that Max was telling her the truth. Very possible. In fact, the more she thought about
it, the more sense it made.

“That woman is awful,” she said, finally. “Why would you date someone like that?”

“I could ask you the same thing about Wexler.”

“Richard wasn’t always so bad. He’s… complicated.”

“Everybody’s complicated. Nina’s no exception. She can be very charming when she wants to be.” He met Carly’s skeptical look
with an even one. “Things were different when I lived in New York. She fit into my life very well then.”

“That’s hard to imagine,” Carly said. “Were you so different, then?”

“Apparently so.”

Carly took a deep breath. “Well. Hmm. This is very awkward, isn’t it. I’m… glad that you aren’t getting married.”

“That makes two of us,” Max said. He was looking down at her with an impenetrable expression, and Carly could still feel the
tension standing like an invisible wall between them. She decided to take a risk.

“Listen,” she said. “This might be a bad idea, but… it’s Sunday. If you’re not doing anything for dinner, why not come to
Davis with me? Then you can watch my whole family give me smug we-knew-it-all-along looks when they see you. I won’t enjoy
it, but you might.”

“Carly, for God’s sake,” Max began, and then stopped himself. He exhaled hard and looked away. “You’re right. It is a bad
idea.”

“Not really,” Carly said, in her most persuasive voice. She stood up and stepped forward to stand right in front of him. He
didn’t look at her, so she tapped him lightly on the chest. “We’ll do it your way,” she said. “No offers of anything but a
good meal and the company of a lot of strangers. In fact, we won’t even be nice to you. You can bring Lola, and we’ll talk
to her while you wash the dishes.”

Max made a strange sound that fell somewhere between a choke and a laugh. “Unbelievable,” he muttered. “You aren’t going to
drop this, are you.”

“No,” Carly said. He suddenly seemed more exhausted than annoyed, which she took as a positive sign. She thought—she wasn’t
sure, but she thought—that he was going to give in. His eyes met hers then, and in them, she saw a spark of reluctant humor
that confirmed it. “Max,” she said gently, “this is how strangers turn into honest friends. There’s nothing false about it.
And if you want to belong somewhere, you have to start by showing up.”

O
n the way to Davis later that Sunday Max said something to Carly about his one-sided conversations with Henry, and she surprised
him by suggesting that he read aloud during the visits.

Initially, Max dismissed the idea. “I can’t do that,” he said.

Carly feigned surprise. “You can’t read?”

“You know what I mean.” He rarely read for pleasure, and the last time he remembered reading out loud was in the third grade.
“I can’t do it the way he would want to hear it. And if he can hear it, he deserves better. I’ll hire someone.”

But Carly insisted that it would be better for Henry to hear Max’s voice, and he finally gave in.

The following morning in the Tremayne library, Carly led him to a stack of books she had pulled from the shelves. It was Max’s
first encounter with most of them, although he recognized all the titles. He vaguely remembered some from high school, although
at that time in his life, he hadn’t considered a classical education—not to mention class attendance—a priority. Reading had
always seemed frivolous to him, something that replaced action and used up energy to no real effect, like a car spinning its
wheels in the snow.

Henry had been of a different mind. He apparently read for the sheer pleasure of the experience. Max approached the books
curiously, wondering what clues they held about his grandfather. In the absence of Henry’s own voice, Max found that his books
could speak for him. Henry loved stories of struggle and redemption, dramatic adventure and great odds overcome. He was no
snob; his taste ran from
King Lear
to
Treasure Island,
and covered a lot of ground in between.

Max decided that if he was going to do it, he would do it right, and chose a new translation of Homer’s
Odyssey.
Several days later, they were well into the epic poem, and while the lyrical language made progress a little slow, Max became
completely absorbed in the trials of the beleaguered warrior Odysseus, fighting his way back to his home and family.

The hospital visit had become the most relaxing part of Max’s day, and he had been finding himself increasingly reluctant
to close the book as noon approached. Yesterday’s session had left Odysseus and his men imperiled by the Cyclops, a savage
one-eyed monster who had trapped the sailors in his cave with the intention of eating them all. Max had been looking forward
to continuing the story, but he was having trouble concentrating. Every few pages he had to stop and remind himself to pay
attention. His eyes and voice were dutifully working their way through the text, but his mind kept drifting away.

He had finally begun to relax into the rhythm of the prose when he heard Henry groan.

He glanced up. Henry’s eyelids fluttered and opened sightlessly, as Max had seen them do many times over the past few weeks.
His head turned in a convulsive movement, and his hands rose to push at the air, as if he were warding off an invisible foe.

Max set down the book. “Grandfather?”

The old man’s swollen lips moved. “No…” he whispered.