Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
A knock sounded on Sloane’s door.
She was sitting at her kitchen island, in the middle of a Zoom meeting, answering questions that had arisen from the women in LA teaching My Fair Lady classes.
Another knock, more authoritative this time. Which gave her a bad feeling about the identity of the knocker.
She ignored it. Any normal person would go away when their knock was met with inaction.
But Max kept knocking.
And knocking.
One of the women was explaining something to the other at the moment, so Sloane muted her mic and turned off her video feed. Still listening to their conversation, she hurried to the door. Opening it, she found Max filling up most of the portal. Thick scruff on his cheeks, soft lips, hard body dressed in jeans and a gray T-shirt. He wore a baseball cap on backward and held a sack in each hand. “I brought Greek food for dinner.”
“I did not order dinner.”
“But as a human being, you are likely to need dinner.”
“No.”
“No you’re not a human being?”
“No to dinner. I’m in the middle of a Zoom meeting.”
“On a Sunday evening?” He made a tsking sound. “Not an impressive way to spend your weekend.”
She attempted to shut the door. He stuck his foot in the jamb and the door rebounded open.
“This”—he lifted the bags—“is called a generous gift.”
“Step back and I’ll show you a generous slamming of the door.”
“One would think that, as an expert on manners, you’d be better at the art of accepting generous gifts.” Max strode inside and set the bags in her fridge. He then made himself at home on a living room armchair. “Don’t mind me.” He motioned toward the laptop on the kitchen island. “Return to your meeting.”
“I will once you go.”
“This is my garage apartment on my property. I’m sure you’ve read the fine print of the lease agreement, so you’ll be aware that, among other rights, I have the right to hang out here anytime.” He angled his chin toward the laptop.
Sloane jerked earbuds from her purse and put them in, then resumed her position in front of her computer. After she turned on her video feed, she made sure the camera did not capture Max loitering in the background.
This was tricky because she was far more aware of the man she wasn’t looking at than the faces on the screen she was looking at. She wrapped things up as quickly as possible. After logging off, she filled a glass with water to make a point. Look, Max! I have access to as much water as I want. She gracefully drank it.
He looked more entertained than perturbed as he pushed out of the armchair and straightened. “A few days ago, Ivy told me that she’s searching for her birth father. She asked for my help. I agreed.”
The news froze Sloane momentarily. Why would Ivy have gone to him for help without talking to her first? Sloane hadn’t been rushing the search because she wanted to give Ivy time to adjust at every stage of the process. Maybe Ivy had gotten impatient?
As if he’d read her mind, he said, “She mentioned that she feels bad about dumping the whole birth father search on you. She thinks my connections would be helpful and she’s right. They will be. I’ll make sure of it.”
“No thank you to your offer of assistance. We’ll solve this without you.”
“This is Ivy’s search. Ivy gets to decide.”
She bit the inside of her lip. Shoot. He had a point. “Wait here. I’ll call her.”
“Be my guest.”
Sloane stepped into Ivy’s room to turn on the girl’s retro radio to mask the sound of the conversation she was about to have. Bruno Mars’s “Just the Way You Are” filled the air. In response, the rats poked their heads over the side of their hammock.
“You look very handsome this evening,” Sloane told them, continuing with her flattering tactics. Then she shut herself inside her room and dialed Ivy.
“Hello?” the girl answered. Sloane could hear kids’ voices in the background.
“Having fun?”
“Yes! We’re playing video games with Faith’s two little brothers. They’re so cute.” She awkwardly added, “Really cute.”
Ivy was likely realizing that while she’d been having a blast with her friend, Sloane had been dealing with the ambush attack by Max that Ivy had arranged.
“Max is here,” Sloane said.
“Oh?”
“He mentioned that you invited him to help with the search for your biological dad.”
“Um. Yes!”
“Is there a reason why you didn’t talk to me about including him first?” she asked calmly.
“Well . . .”
“You can tell me.”
“I was afraid you’d shoot down the idea.”
“That was a likely outcome,” Sloane acknowledged. “But being afraid of that outcome doesn’t make it okay to go behind my back instead.”
“You’re right, you’re right! It was just . . . Remember how Max said I should let him know if I needed anything? I thought about that and it kinda seemed like I should ask him to join us. I’m pretty sure he can help. Plus, then you won’t have to be the only one working with me on this.”
Ivy was spinning things to cast herself in the most altruistic light.
“Also,” Ivy went on, “I think Max is lonely.”
I don’t believe Darth gets lonely , Sloane thought. “You yourself have been following his very busy social life online.”
“Yes, but people with busy social lives can still be lonely. I think he needs us.” Sloane heard a door close on Ivy’s end. The background noise lessened abruptly. “Think about how excited he was to host us for breakfast when we were staying at his house.”
Sloane said nothing.
“It might be good for him,” Ivy went on, “to be a part of the search.”
“Except, as you know, Ivy, Max and I aren’t really on speaking terms.”
“Aunt Sloane?” she ventured.
“Yes?”
“Friendships are like . . . one of the best things in my life. I remember you and Max when you were friends. You were really good ones to each other.”
On that, Sloane could not disagree.
“I know he messed up and did things that hurt you. But maybe . . . Maybe it’s time to forgive him?” Ivy suggested tentatively.
Sloane remained quiet.
“The other day,” the girl went on, “you were talking about the idea of giving to other people what you need. What do you need from Max?”
“For him to move to a different continent.”
Ivy laughed. “But since that’s not possible?”
“I need politeness and respect from him.” Which was convicting. Because that meant she should give politeness and respect to Max. The very idea of that sent defensiveness rushing upward inside her. “Look, Ivy. Forgiveness is hugely important. In the case of Max and me, maybe it’s best to learn from what I say and not what I do?”
“Aunt Sloane, you’re one of the most forgiving people I know. I look up to you. You’re good to everyone. You have an amazing heart.”
Ivy was telling her in the kindest way possible that Sloane’s antagonism toward Max was beneath her. Her attention fell on the photo of Princess Kate. And then the quote. With grace and elegance, anything is possible.
Princess Kate’s gaze, shining out of the picture, seemed to ask Sloane, Are you going to take the high road like I do?
Sloane’s heart was set on making the most of these precious months with Ivy. Absolutely set on that. Maybe more than at any other time in her relationship with her niece, it was imperative that she be an excellent role model. “You really want Max to join in the search for Seth Taylor?”
“I really do.”
“Are you sure?”
“Very sure.”
Sloane had a lot of abilities. But she did not have the ability to disappoint Ivy.
“Is that okay with you?” Ivy went on. “For him to join us?”
“Yes,” Sloane made herself say.
“Aunt Sloane! Yay! Thank you a million times.”
“Enjoy your sleep-over. I’ll pick you up in the morning.”
“’Kay! Love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Sloane ended the call and took a few calming breaths while she continued to consider Princess Kate. You’re asking a lot of me here , Sloane silently told her. Max is maddening beyond belief .
Kate’s confident smile did not waver.
Sloane walked into the living room. Max was still standing, hat on backward, where she’d left him.
“I spoke with Ivy,” Sloane said, “and she confirmed that she would like you to have a role in her search for her birth father.”
“Ah. So you couldn’t talk her out of including me?”
“No, I couldn’t. I’m going to respect her wishes and her parents’ wishes every step of the way with this search. Which means you may be involved if you’d like to be involved.”
“I’d definitely like to be involved. When should we meet with Ivy to discuss this?”
Sloane consulted her phone calendar. “Your back patio, Wednesday evening at seven?”
“Good.”
“Listen, Max. If you do anything to disappoint Ivy . . .”
“You’ll what?” Creases of humor formed around his pale green eyes.
“I’ll train Kevin and Ricky to attack you and then you’ll die by a thousand rat bites.”
“You’re a rat trainer now?”
“I’m willing to become one for this purpose.”
“I’m not convinced a thousand rat bites would kill me.”
“One can only hope.” She walked to the door and held it open. “You may leave now.”
He pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “You’re not going to invite me to stay for Greek food?”
“I’ll be eating solo this evening. Feel free, though, to take your Greek food with you.”
“Nah. The food’s a generous gift, remember?” He passed by her. “I’m a prince among men.”
Fiona
Max, I’d like to chat about something with you for a few minutes. May I come by your house Tuesday evening after work?
Max
Certainly.
In an effort to keep her hands from showing her age, Fiona applied cream to them no less than six times a day. She’d just depressed the doorbell of Max’s gorgeous old Victorian and used the moments following to squirt a dab of hand cream into her palm and rub it in. This particular hand cream was manufactured by her own business, Lavish. The scent she was currently obsessed with lifted to her nose. Almonds and vanilla. Divine .
Max appeared, dressed in athletic gear. His cheeks were flushed, and he wiped sweat from his face with a hand towel. “Hi.” Clearly, he had a home gym tucked away in this big house somewhere. Fiona was a workout-with-a-personal-trainer person herself.
“Good evening,” she said.
He motioned her forward. “Please come in.”
She did so.
“May I offer you something to drink?” he asked.
“No, thank you.” A very large glass of wine with her name on it was waiting for her when she reached home, but she’d wait for that until then.
She followed him down the hall. As always, she was dressed to the nines. Today in a plum-colored dress, hair in a chignon, high heels clicking against hardwood. In the living room, she arranged herself on an upholstered chair.
He took one of the smaller, simpler leather chairs opposite her.
“Thank you for seeing me,” she began. “I asked to come by because I wanted to talk with you about your mother.”
“My mother?”
“Yes.” Fiona had never before raised the subject of Nicole with Max and would have been happy to go the rest of her life without doing so. However, no one had ever accused Fiona of lacking determination. If this was what it took to see and speak with Isobel again, then this was what she was willing to do. Gathering her gumption, she forged ahead. “I would like the opportunity to speak with her, in person. Not to argue. The opposite, in fact. A civil conversation is the goal.”
“For what purpose?”
“I’m trying to reestablish communication between my sister Isobel and myself. Isobel has stipulated that I’ll need to meet with Nicole, forgive her, and send Isobel a photo of the two of us, before she’ll consider communicating with me.”
“I see.” His features remained neutral.
It was galling to admit all of this to Max. It felt too private to share with a person of the generation below hers who she wasn’t particularly close to. But there was no way around it.
Nicole was a single mother of just this one son. When she and Nicole had been friends, it had been abundantly clear to Fiona that Max was the central light of Nicole’s life. Nicole would be far more likely to agree to see Fiona if Max was the one asking his mother for the meeting.
Fiona kept her chin high. “Would you be willing to ask Nicole if she’ll talk with me?”
“I’ll ask her.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“I can’t guarantee she’ll say yes.”
“I understand.”
Fiona moved to rise?—
“I have a question for you before you go,” Max said.
Fiona stilled. “Certainly.”
“Jude told me that he spoke with you about the missing tiara.”
“He did, yes. It’s a stunning piece of historical jewelry. An artifact. I was very surprised to hear that it’s been missing.”
“Who do you think has it?”
Fiona was too diplomatic to accuse his mother immediately after asking Max for a favor. “I have no idea.” He was observing her intently. Max didn’t miss much, and it occurred to Fiona that he suspected her of taking it. “If I knew, I’d happily share the information with you.”
“Who had access to the case where the tiara was kept?”
“The keys to that case were stored in our safe. So really just Felix, me, and your mother whenever Felix handed the keys to her so she could clean the case.”
“Are you talking about the safe in the master bedroom closet?”
It shouldn’t surprise her that he knew that. Alongside her sons, he’d probably explored every inch of Maple Lane. “Right.”
“I’ve seen inside that safe, thanks to Jude and Jeremiah. Were there times when it was left open?”
“Well. Yes.” She felt like a suspect being questioned in an Agatha Christie novel. “If we’d opened the safe, for example so that I could wear a piece of jewelry for a dinner party, we might leave it open the duration of the dinner party. Then shut it before turning in for the night.”
He appeared to think that over.
“Any other questions for me?” she asked.
“No.”
“I won’t keep you.” They rose. Had the two of them had a more affectionate relationship, she’d have given him an air kiss or a hug before departing.
But they weren’t air kiss or hug people, she and Max Cirillo.
Wednesday evening, Max leaned back in his patio chair, fingers interlaced on his abdomen, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles as he listened to Sloane. They were meeting to discuss finding Ivy’s birth father and Sloane was kicking things off by reading aloud from her laptop a Wiki article entitled “How to find a current address for someone.”
Once, meetings that included Sloane and himself had been an almost daily occurrence. So much so, he’d taken them for granted. He was definitely not taking this meeting, the first he’d had with her in four years, for granted. She could have been reading a grammar manual aloud and he’d have been riveted.
“One of the sites recommended in the article was called FamilyTreeNow.com,” she said when she was done. “That jumped out as promising because the article mentioned that this site could search based on where a person had once lived.”
“Which is good,” Ivy said, “because we know Seth once lived in Boston.”
Sloane’s fingers flew over the keys. “Heading to that site now and filling in search fields. Okay, so it’s provided a list of numerous Seths. Would you like to bring your chairs around?”
Both Max and Ivy moved their chairs next to hers so they could see the screen.
“We don’t know how old our Seth is,” Sloane said. “But I can make an educated guess.”
“What’s your guess?” Ivy asked.
“Harper’s MO was to date guys around her age. So I’d guess that Seth’s age is anywhere from a year younger than Harper to—at the outside—five years older. Harper would have been thirty-four now, so let’s look first for Seths who are currently thirty-three to thirty-nine.”
Max pointed to one of the listings. “There.”
Sloane clicked it. They pored over the entries, eventually finding four Seths who seemed to be the right age and had lived in Boston at the time when Harper and Seth would have been together. Two of the Seths lived there still. One was now in Arizona. One in Tennessee. Using a gold pen, Sloane wrote each of their addresses in a small turquoise notebook.
When done, she closed the laptop and set aside the notebook and pen.
He and Ivy brought their chairs back around so that they occupied three sides at the end of the table. Ivy had on her usual T-shirt and shorts combo. Sloane was wearing a pink headband and a white sundress. She’d acquired a slight tan since moving to Maine. She looked better rested and healthier now than she had that first day, which reassured him.
“I’ve been doing some research on the etiquette of contacting prospective birth parents,” Sloane announced. “There are some things we need to talk through.”
“’Kay.” Ivy nodded.
“We’d all like to think that a birth parent will be warm and welcoming and pleased to get a chance to know you, but that might not be the case. Several other outcomes are possible.”
“Like?”
“Like we might not be able to find your biological dad.”
“I intend for us to find him,” Max said. “I won’t leave any stones unturned.”
“It’s also possible, Ivy, that Seth has passed away.”
“Unlikely, though, right?” Max said. “If he’s only in his thirties?”
“It’s unlikely.” Sloane met his eyes, and he felt the contact as if it had a physical component. “But it’s still something we need to consider so that we’re prepared.”
“Got it,” Ivy said. “What else?”
Sloane looked to her niece. “It could be that your biological dad and his situation won’t be at all what you would want them to be. For example, he might be an alcoholic or have a terrible temper or be incarcerated.”
“If he has a terrible temper,” Max said to Ivy, “I’ll beat him up.”
Sloane continued in her business-like tone. “It’s also possible that he won’t want contact with you or that he’ll deny fathering you.”
“If he doesn’t want contact with you or denies fathering you,” Max said, “I’ll beat him up.”
The girl smiled at him. “Thank you, Max.”
“I think it’s important,” Sloane said, “that you go into this understanding, Ivy, that people can be flawed and complicated.”
“Take Sloane, for example,” he whispered to Ivy. “She’s both of those things.”
“While you,” Sloane shot back, “are too shallow to be complicated. Which means you’re only flawed.”
Max laughed.
Ivy clapped. “You two are so fun .”
He was glad he could bring some levity to this. Geez, no wonder Ivy had invited him to take part. They’d needed him more than he’d realized because Sloane was making this whole thing as serious as a heart attack.
“As I was saying.” Sloane regained her composure and addressed Ivy. “Seth might be flawed and complicated.”
“But it’s also possible,” Ivy countered, “that he’ll be a nice person who won’t mind having a conversation with me.”
“Exactly,” Max said.
“If you move forward,” Sloane told her, “you’ll just need to go in with your eyes open, ready for any eventuality, guarding yourself against disappointment or rejection.”
Ivy tilted her head thoughtfully. “I can handle some disappointment or rejection, Aunt Sloane. You don’t have to keep me safe from every sad thing.”
“Don’t I?”
“No.”
“I can’t stop myself from wanting to.”
Ivy reached across and patted her hand sympathetically. “I know.”
Max pressed the heel of his hand against his heart to stop the tenderness toward Sloane that was overtaking it. That, he could not—definitely not—allow.
“I’ve done some reading on how best to phrase a letter to a prospective birth parent,” Sloane told them. “I was thinking we could work out a draft of a letter now from me to these four Seths. Once we have it how we want it, I’ll hand-write it out and mail it to them. What do you think?”
“I think that would be awesome,” Ivy answered.
Sloane reopened her computer. She was an extremely fast typist and spoke each word aloud as she went. “Dear Seth. My name is Sloane Madison and I’m writing on behalf of my niece, Ivy Ray. Ivy was born in Monarch Hospital in Boston on December ninth, fifteen and a half years ago. Her birth mother was Harper Madison, my sister, who passed away four years ago. At five months of age, Ivy was adopted by Jared and Brooke Ray, and has been raised as the youngest of four children in their wonderful family.” Sloane’s fingers stilled. “How am I doing so far?”
“Like, amazingly good. Can you write essays for me when school starts?”
“And emails for me,” Max asked, “when I’m too bored to do so?”
“I will not,” Sloane told him crisply. Then, to Ivy, “I won’t write your essays, but I’ll gladly proofread them if you need me to.” She continued with the body of the letter. “Ivy is very well provided for and is a healthy, happy teenage girl?—”
“Ugh.” Ivy pulled a face. “Can you take that part out? I don’t want you to list my good qualities as if I’m a puppy in need of a home.”
Sloane’s lips curved up and the sight of that warmed Max like bourbon.
What was happening to him?
“Fine, though it goes against my grain not to list your good qualities.” Sloane cleared her throat. “Ivy would very much like the opportunity to meet and speak with her biological father. According to the research we’ve done, you are one of the men who might fill that role in Ivy’s life. If you do fill that role, we’d be very grateful if you would let us know and also consider a brief meeting with the two of us.”
“Three of us,” Max said.
“You’re intending to meet Seth?” Sloane asked.
“If Ivy says I can, then yes.”
“You can,” Ivy quickly said.
Sloane sniffed. “Consider a brief meeting with the two of us and a . . . family friend,” she read, typing. “We would be happy to travel to your town and visit with you at a time that’s convenient. Feel free to reach out to me in the following ways.” Sloane glanced up. “This is where I’ll provide my phone number, email address, and the mailing address here. Sincerely, Sloane Madison.”
“It’s perfect!” Ivy crowed.
“Really?” Sloane asked her. “Because I’m happy to edit any part of this.”
“No, I like it just as it is. What do you think, Max?”
“I agree that it’s perfect.”
“In that case,” Sloane said, “I’ll go ahead and write out the letters.”
“You could just print out copies,” Ivy said, “and mail those.”
Sloane’s features communicated disbelief. “You’re asking the etiquette expert to spit out letters on a printer? Ivy! I need to work on developing your appreciation for good stationery and handwritten notes.”
Sheepishly, Ivy held up her palms. “Okay, okay. I was just trying to make things more convenient.”
“Convenience has become hugely important to people?—”
“Like me,” Max said. “I love convenience.”
“But I believe,” Sloane soldiered on, “in taking time . I believe in things that are worthwhile even if they’re not convenient. I’m not saying that one approach is better than the other. I’m simply inviting you to consider your own approach and not just go along with the sheep as if you’re part of a herd.”
“Mm-hmm,” Ivy said. It was obvious to Max the teenager’s attention had wandered. “Are we done with the Seth part tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Should we set a time for our next meeting?”
“When and if we hear back from the Seths, we can schedule another meeting then.”
“Except Max is really busy, so I want us to get on his schedule ahead of time. And now that you’re going on dates with Nate, I want us to get on your schedule, too.”
Sloane was going on dates with Nate? That news twisted, black and cold, right in the center of him.
“Ivy,” Sloane said, “you are my priority while I’m here. I will always be available for things that are important to you.”
“Cool. But Max works a bunch and goes out several nights a week. Right, Max?”
“Right. I’m very popular.” The words felt hollow. He was dazed, like he’d been smacked in the face by a board.
“So can we plan to meet same time next week?” Ivy pressed.
“How about the same time in two weeks?” Sloane proposed. “I’ll mail the letters tomorrow but then it might take five days or so for them to arrive at their destinations.”
Sloane had gone out with Nate?
He didn’t want it to be true, but he’d seen them interacting at his party with his own eyes.
“Two weeks will work,” Ivy said.
Max’s immediate thought was that two weeks was far too long. A lot could happen between Sloane and Nate in the space of two weeks.
They could fall for each other in that amount of time.
It occurred to Sloane shortly after entering her father’s apartment that her new life was represented by the apartment she and Ivy were living in this summer. Bright, clean, comfortable, modern. But her father’s place absolutely represented her childhood. Dirty, disorganized, squalid, dingy. It made her remember in a visceral way the desperate details of her earliest years.
“I’ve bought groceries,” she announced, setting the sacks on his kitchen counter. “After we unpack them, I’m thinking you and I can do some cleaning.”
He hovered in the mouth of the kitchen, shoulders slumped. “The house is fine, Sloane. I’m too tired to clean.”
“The house will be more fine after we do some cleaning. And I’m sure that you have enough energy to do one hour’s worth of work.” She slotted groceries into the refrigerator and pantry shelves.
Sloane was naturally neat and orderly. Living by herself in California, she did not find it taxing to keep her home tidy. In fact, there was something cathartic about taking a bit of disorder and bringing order to it.
Even so, no part of her wanted to clean her dad’s apartment, which had a gross, moldy component to it. In order to put boundaries on what could become the black hole of trying to help her father, she’d determined that she would stop by for one hour a week while she was living in Maine. “Today,” she said, “let’s vacuum, clean the kitchen, and get laundry going.”
Her father released a heavy sigh.
Early that evening, Sloane was sipping tea in the living room and inputting business expenses into a spreadsheet when Ivy emerged from her room. “Is it all right if I bike over to Corrie’s house?”
“Sure.” Sloane tapped the envelopes sitting beside her. “I finished the Seth letters, but I recommend you wait as long as you’d like to send them. I want you to be sure of this next step.”
“I’m sure.” With the blasé approach toward destiny only a teenager could have, she scooped them up. “I’ll drop them in the post office box on the way.”
With that, she was gone. And Sloane, an adult who did not have a blasé approach toward destiny, was left to grapple with the weight of the potential ramifications of those letters.