The Things We Bury - Part 2: No Big Apocalypse [Completed]

Chapter 2: Unlikely Keys (Parts 1 to 3 of 7)

Emily flung her purse down on the banquette and slid in after it. "So what's so important?"

Maxwell didn't answer. He just stared back with those sad, dog eyes of his. It was that horrible, unmasked look of disappointment and loss she had grown to know well. Snapping at him probably hadn't helped things, but she was sick of the guilt which accompanied that look. It was like a mealworm burrowing into her heart every time they met.

"Well?"

"Hell, Em, I just wanted to talk." He brushed his thumb along the thin white line below his eye.

She held her hand to prevent it from reaching for the little star point hidden under a layer of foundation. The skin on her cheek suddenly felt tight, a reminder of her matching scar. She had a dot for his line. If they were lying next to each other in bed, it might look like a semicolon.

"So talk."

His mouth opened and closed a couple of times in an attempt to find the words to start, but the waitress came by before he could get anything out. She was impatient to take their order and stood by their table tapping the toe of an orthopedic shoe. For their meeting, Maxwell had picked a sad, old diner with sad, old waitresses.

Emily ordered coffee and a doughnut from under a dusty glass bell on the counter.

When they were alone again, he asked "Where's Aaron?"

"At Judo practice." She hadn't told Maxwell that Aaron had started taking classes. Not that he needed to know. Not that he deserved to know.

The anger she felt wasn't fair to him, but that knowledge didn't make it any less intense. It would be so much simpler if they were merely exes or a divorced couple with shared custody. But like all things in her life, it was so much more fucking complicated.

In their time together, Aaron and Maxwell had bonded, and now Maxwell acted like Aaron was his son. Worse, Aaron treated him like a father. Perhaps the time Aaron had spent with his real father had laid the groundwork for Maxwell's kindness to draw him close.

Emily was grateful for that kindness. She really was. Grateful and resentful. He had taken care of her boy while she was gone. But while he was growing to love Aaron, Maxwell learned to hate her. That time apart had confused and ruined everything.

It wasn't even her fault. If only that bitch had stayed out of her life.

Emily's hand clutched against the red vinyl of the diner's bench. She could almost feel herself back in that car, her hands wrapped in bloody bandages and fearing for her life.

In the dim glow of the Malibu's dome light, she made out the features of the woman leaning in the open car door. Her hair was dyed strawberry blonde and looked fresh from the salon. The lines in her face were deep but not ugly. They were exact creases carved by a master sculptor. The fingers clutching the sleek semiautomatic had nails painted the color of candy apples. The pistol radiated warmth and Emily imagined a wisp of smoke drifting from its recently fired barrel. There wasn't a drop of blood on her emerald Chanel skirt suit.

She hadn't changed a bit.

Emily couldn't believe she of all people was standing there. Could she be hallucinating? Could she have died back in the Aira lobby and this was her warm welcome at the gates of hell?

Feeling very small and fragile her voice squeaked out, "Mom?"

"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that? Now are you hurt or not?"