Maxwell's Smile (4 page)

Over the next few days, Sam worked in the McHenry garage, tearing out Sheetrock, replacing insulation and putting up a new plywood ceiling. He didn’t see Rachel until right before the school bus pulled up. She always arrived five minutes before Maxwell stepped off the bus. And she merely waved to Sam, then disappeared inside the house with her son.

Sam had blown it with the kiss the other day, even though at the time he’d felt she’d been open to it. But she’d shut him down quickly.

“Out of my league,” he muttered, reminding himself to keep an eye on the job and not the woman’s legs.

“Sam!”

“What? Ouch!” Startled by Maxwell’s shout, Sam had inadvertently grabbed a serrated board and felt a sliver enter his finger with a sharp stab.

Maxwell stepped back at his booming shout, and Sam realized he’d freaked him. The boy retreated into the house, calling for his mother.

“Great. Now she’ll never forgive me for scaring her kid.”

Wincing at the inch-long sliver of wood sticking out of his thumb, Sam vacillated between going after the kid and trying to explain himself, or just leaving it be. He was already on unstable ground with Rachel.

“What’s going on?” She swept into the garage, while her son lingered near the door, warily peering at them. “You frightened Maxwell.”

“I didn’t mean to.” Sam stuck his hand behind his back—and forgot the boy was behind him.

“He’s bleeding!” Maxwell yelled.

“Let me see,” Rachel insisted.

Sam shook his head.

“Maxwell was worried about you. That’s why he came to get me.”

“I’m a big boy. Get slivers all the time. It’ll be fine.”

“Not if it’s bleeding. Come inside and let me get some alcohol. I won’t have you bleeding to death in my garage.”

“It’s hardly a fatal wound.”

With a defiant lift of her chin, she said, “Show me.”

With a defeated sigh, Sam brought up his hand. Maxwell peeped and scampered back into the house.

“My son isn’t keen on the sight of blood,” Rachel said, taking Sam’s wrist and tugging him toward the house.

“Really? And he wants to be a brain surgeon?”

“I’ve been informed there’s minimal blood when doing brain surgery. Let’s get you cleaned up. You’re lucky. It’s suppertime. I may have to feed you to counter any wooziness from your injury.”

Sam was about to protest that he was not at all woozy, when it hit him that she’d just invited him to stay for supper.

Way to work the injury, Jones.

* * *

Dinner went well, and Rachel couldn’t get over the glances she caught Maxwell giving Sam. She’d swear they were looks of admiration. Plenty of times she’d invited a man over for a meal, but Maxwell had never offered him more than a “hello, I’ve got homework.”

So what made Sam different? He was completely opposite Rachel’s usual type of guy. He wasn’t a businessman. He probably didn’t even own a pair of leather loafers or a snazzy tie. His hair was never styled, though she had to give Sam credit because it did looked combed tonight. His laughter was free and unguarded. And she’d counted four freckles on his nose while taking sneaky peeks at him over the crunchy garlic bread.

So unlike her usual polite and refined dates. And so unexpectedly delightful. She wondered why it had taken her so long to find someone like him.

It’s because you have all those silly requirements, remember? And you’re not even sure what exactly is needed to pass Go and collect the two hundred dollars and your heart
.

Right. But maybe it was time she redefined that list. Apparently Sam had already broken down part of the wall she’d erected around her heart. Would it be so difficult to let him attempt the rest?

As she ran the sink full of water to soak the dishes, Sam joined her and grabbed a towel. “I’ll dry,” he said. “As thanks for the excellent meal.”

“Oh…” She was about to protest that she could leave the dishes until after he left, but the feel of his strong, solid form standing next to her, their arms brushing, was not something she wanted to dismiss so quickly. “All right then. Is your thumb okay?”

He waggled the bandaged digit. “Your lasagna saved the day. I might have been a goner if you hadn’t fortified me with food.”

Performing his usual after-supper duties, Maxwell cleared the table, and as she placed the last of the dishes beside her on the counter, gave her a wink. Where had the kid learned that? Ah, yes. Sam’s winks were apparently infectious.

“Sam, after you and Mom are finished, can you help me with a few more details on the DVD drive?”

“Sure, buddy.”

“Yes!” Her son raced upstairs toward his bedroom.

“You have an interesting connection with Maxwell,” Rachel said as she soaped up the plates. “He likes you.”

“I like him. It’s amazing how quickly he recovered from surgery, but as he explained, it was laparoscopic. I actually did go home and look that one up. Guy could learn a lot hanging around that kid.”

“He has to return next week for a follow-up visit, but yes, kids are very resilient.”

“Most of them.”

She sensed a sadness fall over Sam, but didn’t want to question him. Perhaps he’d known a child who hadn’t been so resilient. Best to keep first dates light.

This is not a date, Rachel. Don’t forget, he’s here on business
.

Well, sort of a date.
Why can’t you allow yourself to have some fun?

Because every time she started liking a guy, she’d think
Great, now I’ve found a dad for Maxwell
. But her heart knew it shouldn’t be about finding her son a father, it should be about finding a man she could love. Yet the argument that Maxwell could use a dad was never far behind, and that always muddled everything and made it too complicated, so she generally abandoned the whole quest. She wasn’t desperate for commitment, but she would never pass up a real relationship with the right man.

“I’m sorry about the other day,” Sam said, breaking into her thoughts.

“What happened the other day?”

“You know, when I kissed you.”

“Oh.” He was apologizing for a kiss. Swell, Rachel. Real relationship? What a crock.

“I sense you need to take things slow. Maybe you’re a little confused.”

“Confused? About a kiss? What kind of a woman do you think I am?”

“I think you’re a gorgeous, smart woman who is in a league much higher than my own, that’s what I think.”

“Really? You know how ridiculous that sounds?”

“Not from my perspective. And you have a kid.”

As if she was ever going to forget the one detail that would forever damn her dating prospects. Time to draw up the walls again. Her foray into trust wasn’t getting her where she wanted to be.

“Don’t worry about it. There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

They worked side by side over the sink in stunning silence. Until Sam placed the last dried plate on the counter and abruptly stated, “All right. I just gotta know. Where does Maxwell’s father fit in? Since you’re not
Mrs
. McHenry?”

Well, that was direct, but she had to give him credit for daring to ask. Most men waffled around the subject for far too long.

“I’ve never been married. Had Sam when I was twenty. Maxwell’s father—well, it’s not right to call him that. He’s more the sperm donor. We dated almost a year, but we’d already split up by the time I learned I was pregnant. And when I told him, he said it wasn’t his spiritual path to be a father.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, and I was, and still am, cool with that. He was a fine man and I respect him. We just had different outlooks on life and family. Maxwell and I have done well on our own. Better, I suspect, than if I’d married the guy just because, you know?” She was rambling. But best to have it all out there now that she’d started. “Anyway, the last I heard about him he was living in an ashram in India.”

“Wow. Must be tough sometimes, doing it all on your own and being so independent.”

“You say independent like it’s a dirty word.”

“No. I, uh… Hell. I just can’t seem to say the right thing around you.”

She let him off the hook with a chuckle. “Maxwell does get everything I can give him, but I’ve never forgotten about myself. I’ve learned to be selfish. If I don’t make time to take care of me, then who will care for Maxwell?”

“You’re a strong woman, Rachel. I like that. It’s kinda sexy.”

She ducked her head and picked up another plate to hide the blush she felt heating her cheeks. At the same time she hoped Sam did not get the vibe that she was husband hunting. She most definitely was not.

Maybe?

Sam hung up the towel and then smoothed a hand over her shoulder. His wide grip seemed to encompass so much of her that she felt…safe. “Thanks, Rachel. This has been a great day.”

It seemed as though he might lean in to kiss her, but instead he delivered another devastating wink and went in search of Maxwell.

Rachel sighed at the missed opportunity. But of course he wouldn’t kiss her again. He’d thought she was upset over the first time?

And too independent? Perhaps. But only because she had to be. Such a trait didn’t ever go well with handsome single men, though.

Hmm… Was she the one, more than her son, who was keeping men away? When she gave it some thought… Who was Sam with right now?

“It
is
me,” she whispered.

* * *

Why hadn’t he kissed her again? Something about the mention of Maxwell’s father, and the message that she was doing just fine on her own, had kept him from intruding on her seemingly idyllic life. And the fact that he just couldn’t seem to say the right thing around Rachel.

Or hell, maybe he was getting cold feet.

Did he want to step into a cute little family with a precocious kid and career-dedicated mother? Did he believe he’d fit into the picture—tossing a baseball to the kid while the mom tended the backyard flowers in her pretty scarf, with blushing cheeks? Could he see himself as an instant father? Sam had been responsible for Jeff for the last six years. Taking care of someone was a hard job, let alone taking care of two someones. Responsibility was a big word for a reason. Sam liked to kick back with his buddies and have a few beers. And not answering to anyone rocked. For the most part.

But what
did
he want, first and foremost? Of course he wanted passion and all-night makeout sessions—sex was necessary to a man’s very survival. But he didn’t need that right away. The slow getting-to-know-each-other suited him just fine.

But he was thinking way ahead of the game.

“No official dates yet,” he muttered as he slid into the rust bucket and started the engine. Backing out of the driveway, he turned to wave to Maxwell, who always stood behind the screen door to watch him drive away.

“I do like that kid, though.”

* * *

Rachel looked over the posters Maxwell had created with Sam to announce the upcoming DVD drive. Her son had stacked them neatly by the door in preparation for their run around town before his checkup. She was proud of him for taking on this project. She’d never thought something so simple as a movie could provide comfort to a sick child.

She was thankful Maxwell’s visit to the hospital had gone well and had been a routine procedure. And her heart broke for those mothers who had to sit by their children’s bedsides and watch them suffer. It wasn’t right. But she liked to think all things happened for a reason, and that Maxwell’s surgery had been a lesson in strength for her.

A warm hand slid into hers and she squeezed. “I’m proud of you, Maxwell. This event is going to be a success, I know it.”

“Why are you crying, Mom?”

She sniffed at the rogue tear that had escaped. “I’m just thinking about all the kids and their parents—will have a better experience during their hospital stay because of you.”

She bent down and pulled him into a long overdue hug. She wasn’t a huggy kind of person, and sometimes she forgot that a few moments of contact was the best way to parent. Sam was right. A kid shouldn’t be stuck doing homework all day, even if it was the child who insisted on doing said homework. Maxwell needed to go outside, run around and learn a sport, or just track insects across the lawn with a spyglass.

“Let’s stop by the science store on the way to your checkup tomorrow,” she suggested. “You need a hobby.”

Maxwell arched brow in suspicion.

“It’s almost summer, sweetie. You need to go outside, get some sun, toss around a football.”

“You’ve been talking to Sam too much.”

She sighed. Yes, but their last conversation had been tense. She wasn’t hitting it off with the man as well as Maxwell seemed to believe she was.

“I know you enjoy your schoolwork, and working on the computer, and I would never tell you to stop. But the smartest kids have a wide variety of interests and passions.”

“The human brain is my passion, Mom. As well as math.”

“So bring that passion for mathematics outdoors. Calculate the velocity of a football tossed from one end of the yard to the other.” “Hmm…” He thumbed his lower lip. “That is a possibility. But only if Sam tosses the football.”

She smiled at Maxwell, but inside she felt her stomach squeeze with gentle warning. He had developed an infatuation for the man.

“Let’s take things slowly with Sam,” she said.

“I understand, Mom. He’s someone we both like, for the first time ever. We won’t mess this one up, I know it. “She tousled his hair and rose to leave his room before he could see another mutinous teardrop fall from her eye. Mess things up?

It seemed Maxwell had won over Sam. Now it was her turn. Did she dare to step up to the challenge of opening her heart to the man?

A phone call from Sam led to Rachel meeting the handsome carpenter at a local coffee shop about an hour before school let out. He had the final invoice, and she suggested they meet in town, since they both were in the vicinity. A public place felt safer, not as intimate as her house.

They sat in a back corner by a window. Bright sunshine highlighted the freckles on Sam’s nose, and Rachel stole more than a few lingering gazes at him over the rim of her steaming brew. Maybe a little intimacy wasn’t so bad. In fact, she was glad they’d found the private corner.

All right, do this,
her heart said.
Take the chance you’ve been wanting to take.

“So could this be construed as a date?” she suggested in a hopeful tone.

Sam smirked and tapped the envelope on the table. “Do all your dates hand over bills for their services?”

“No,” she said with a laugh. “Thus far I’ve been avoiding the gigolo option. Would make for a rather expensive dating life.”

His smile warmed her soul, and he touched her hand and slid his fingers to her wrist, the skin on skin contact feeling so right. “I’ve been trying to move slow with you. I’m not even sure I’m doing this right, or that you’re keen on the two of us doing the ‘us’ thing.”

“I know I’ve been sending you mixed signals. It’s an inner struggle I have to learn to deal with. The whole dating-when-you-have-a-child thing.”

“I get that.”

“I think I’m ready to take it further. Maybe a movie and some popcorn? That is, if you’re interested.”

“Rachel, are you kidding me? Of course I’m interested. You’re the prettiest woman I know, and I’ve known a lot of women. Well, you know what I mean. You’re smart and sexy and I like talking to you. You also have this great kid I enjoy spending time with.”

“I think that’s what throws me a little about you. The fact that you seem to enjoy chumming around with Maxwell.”

“Why should that be so weird?”

“I don’t know. It shouldn’t be. It’s just that I’ve had some bad experiences with dating men and introducing them to my son.”

“I’m sure it’s not easy. But we’ve got things out in the open. I know who you are and what being in your life entails. You know me—“

“Not as well as I’d like.”

“Oh yeah? What do you want to know?”

“What about your family? Are you close with them? Do they live in town? Why aren’t you dating right now? I mean, you’re handsome. Guy like you shouldn’t be single. And why were you in the hospital that day?” “Whoa. That’s a lot of questions. Pick one, and we’ll take it from there.”

Rachel checked her watch. Ten more minutes before the school bell rang. She and Maxwell had a lot to do, putting up posters, stopping by the science shop, and then his checkup. “Shoot. I have to run. But the questions remain. Maybe we can see a movie and continue the conversation?”

“I’d like that.” Sam stood as she rose and gathered her purse and the envelope with the invoice in it. “Rachel, I, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck with a palm and scanned the restaurant behind her, then moved closer and kissed her quickly. “Ah, hell, that was awkward.”

“It was.” She touched his mouth, and with a side glance to ensure they were standing in a relatively private corner, she then leaned in and kissed him. Slowly, softly, yet long enough to let him know she was stepping into this relationship with arms now open and ready to receive. “See you later, Sam.”

Walking away, she didn’t fight the smile that curled her lips. Heart wide-open?
Check.
Let the romance begin.

* * *

The posters were in place, and now a reward for their hard work. The science store was run by one of Rachel’s former middle school science teachers, who recognized Maxwell as they entered, and led him to the bug catching supplies. He eagerly selected a neon-green cage and a matching net. They thanked the manager, promising to return, and Maxwell climbed into the backseat of the car and opened the book he kept tucked in the seat divider for drives around the city.

“What say we stop by Sam’s house and invite him to have dinner with us after your checkup?”

“Sounds like a good call. Drive on, Mom.”

She laughed whenever he emulated a rich snob sitting in the backseat, directing his chauffeur. Ten minutes later, after handing him her phone so he could navigate using Google Maps for her, she found Sam’s house, and parked on the street before the tin sign that advertised Handy Sam’s Fix-It.

“You stay in the car, sweetie.” She winked at her son in the mirror and he winked back. “I won’t be long.”

He reimmersed himself in the book he was reading.

“Always something by Oliver Sacks,” Rachel muttered as she approached the open garage door, where she thought she’d seen movement. Sacks was a professor of neurology who wrote case studies and published them, to much acclaim.
That kid has a forty-year-old brain inside a nine-year-old’s body,
she thought.

Then smiled to herself, because she loved her son’s old soul. But she was still determined to get him outside for some sun. They’d purchased a book on insects and Maxwell had announced as they’d left the store that he intended to fill the bug catcher with cicadas.

Her dear little boy would pick the noisiest bug out there.

A stack of cardboard boxes sat on one side of the double garage next to ladders, paint buckets and tools Rachel assumed were accessories to the construction trade. The rusty old Ford pickup was parked on the other side. Toward the rear of the garage, in the cool shadows, she saw Sam, his broad, plaid-covered back to her. He stood over a box, holding something. She didn’t want to sneak up on him so called out his name.

He dropped what he’d been holding and spun around. Swiping a finger across his cheek, he sheepishly said, “Oh, hey, Rachel. You’ve never stopped by my place before. How did you know where I live?”

“Maxwell looked you up on the internet. Sorry, is now a bad time?”

“Huh? No. Just, uh…” He shoved a hand in his jeans pockets and cast a nervous glance at the box behind him. Rubbing the other palm down the back of his neck, he asked, “What’s the occasion?”

Feeling an odd coldness radiating off the man, Rachel didn’t step closer. “Sam and I were headed to the hospital for his follow-up visit and we wondered if you’d like to go along? It’s only a fifteen-minute appointment, and I thought you could see if they’ve found a use for the DVDs you dropped off. Afterward, we could have a late dinner at the new restaurant across the street?”

“Uh…” Again, he glanced at the box behind him. He scanned the garage walls, doing everything he could not to look at her. Scrubbing a hand over his hair, he said, “Probably not right now. I just… No. Sorry.”

“Oh.” Feeling as if he had just poked a hole in her hopes, Rachel stepped back onto the driveway. She cast a glance to the car, where, fortunately, Maxwell’s attention was on his book.

“Just can’t right now,” he said curtly. “Maybe some other time.”

“Right. Don’t worry about it. Your house was on the way, and I thought I’d stop in. See you.” She turned and abruptly walked back to the car.

Sam did not call after her, which made her wonder if he was angry with her for something. Probably she should have called him instead of just stopping by. Hell, she was out of practice when it came to being friends with the opposite sex.

Friends? They’d both agreed yesterday in the coffee shop to a weekend movie date. She’d thought he’d been happy to move a little faster, and she had been open to the possibility of a romance.

Arriving at the driver’s side door, she glanced back at the garage. Her heart performed a funny lurching flip. She’d read Sam’s intentions incorrectly. How foolish of her. Yet how apt for her record with men.

Maxwell’s face appeared below the car’s sunroof. He pressed his nose to the sunroof glass, and her thoughts switched from the angry guy in the garage to the silly kid in the car. Very un-Maxwell-like. Her son had definitely found a different, more relaxed side of his personality since he’d met Sam.

It was a good thing she hadn’t taken him into the garage with her and allowed him to witness Sam’s bad mood.

Sliding inside the car and buckling up, she shifted into gear.

“Is Sam going to have dinner with us?”

“He’s busy,” she said.

Maxwell’s smile dropped. As she drove away, her son twisted his head to track Sam’s house. She shouldn’t let him get his hopes up. Sam was the first man they’d had in their lives for longer than a few days. It was natural for Maxwell to get attached to him.

“You know Sam is just a friend, right, Maxwell?”

“Of course.” He’d opened the book, yet his eyes remained focused on the mirror. “Do
you
know that, Mom?”

Rachel rolled to a stop at a red light. She met her son’s gaze in the rearview mirror and nodded, because it was too hard to say she did.

* * *

Sam jumped into the rust bucket, buckled up and peeled out of the driveway, but Rachel’s cheeky red Volkswagen was already out of sight. He glanced in the rearview mirror and swiped some dust from his cheek. So he was a little slow on the draw. He’d been out of sorts when she’d unexpectedly appeared in the garage, backlit by sunlight so that she glowed like some kind of freakin’ angel.

And he’d been stupidly rude to her because his thoughts had been elsewhere, in a darker place than Rachel’s smile should ever know.

Now he pulled into the hospital parking lot and ran inside, straight to the children’s ward, where he knew he would find Maxwell. He skidded to a stop in the open doorway to the waiting room. Both Rachel and Maxwell looked up from the book Maxwell had been reading to her. The boy’s face lit up.

Rachel tilted her head in question, her mouth tight. Sam’s heart flopped and landed hard in his chest. She had every right to give him that look. But how to explain he’d been in another time and place when she’d called to him in the garage? A year ago, to be exact. And in this very hospital.

“Uh, sorry.” He walked inside, but remained close to the door, his fingertips tracing the varnished wood. “You caught me at a bad time. I shouldn’t have been so abrupt with you.”

Rachel looked at Maxwell, then up to the receptionist, who made a show of scanning an upside-down chart. “Maybe we should wait and talk outside, after Maxwell’s appointment?”

“No, I want Maxwell to hear this. I was rude to your mother when you two stopped by my house earlier, and I want to ask your forgiveness.”

Maxwell crossed his arms defiantly.

“You see…” Sam paced, not sure how to explain this, Keeping it all bottled up seemed safest, and yet, suddenly, the words spilled out. “I found a box of my brother’s stuff in the garage and was looking through it. My mind was a thousand miles away and my heart was…”

He swallowed. Memories cut him like knives. He would not reveal that he’d been crying, and couldn’t bring himself to look at Rachel now.

Why had he thought it wise to reveal himself, as if it were as simple as stripping the siding from a house to expose the bare framework?

“Oh, Sam, you’ve never mentioned your brother. Is he…?”

“He died last year.”

“I’m sorry.”

The touch of Rachel’s hand on his shoulder did something to his tight muscles, soothing and releasing his tension. But it also put him back to the same place he’d been, standing alone in the garage with one of Jeff’s photo albums, stuffed with pictures of his younger brother in a Vikings jersey, holding a football and making goofy faces.

“I, uh…” He glanced toward Maxwell, who was now staring at him openmouthed. “I still get choked up about my brother. Jeff was only six years older than you, buddy. He had a tough time of it his last few weeks. And when I was thinking about him, I wasn’t prepared for your mom to show up and be so pretty and friendly and bright, like she always is.”

He looked at Rachel, who offered him a smile that was as soft and welcoming as the purple flowers skirting her house.

Maxwell nodded. “I forgive you for upsetting my mom.”

“Thanks.”

That simple gesture made it even harder to stand there and reveal his pain. But Sam had tossed it out there, had revealed his framework, which was desperately in need of some supportive repair.

“You should have told us about Jeff before,” Rachel said.

Sam shrugged. “I’m never sure how to bring something like that up. One of those questions you had yesterday that I didn’t answer. It’s personal, you know? And we guys, well…” Right. That was about all he could manage for now in the revealing-one’s-emotions department. “So, I, um, think I should go.”

“No, stay,” Rachel said. Her fingers moved to gently clasp his forearm. “Please?”

Much as he didn’t want to break that tender contact, Sam knew himself too well.

“I think right now I need to be alone. Hell, I gotta head out to the truck. Maybe kick the tires a few times, you know? ‘Bye, Maxwell. I promise we’ll have dinner some other day.”

Sam quickly left the hospital, feeling more torn than he had when he’d been in the garage. If only the kid hadn’t been so forgiving. It was as if Maxwell’s smile had reached in and touched his heart, and that felt great. Yet at the same time, Sam didn’t know what to do with the empathy.

And man, had he needed Rachel’s touch. He could still feel her quiet strength, warm on his skin.

* * *

Rachel handed Maxwell the remote to the waiting room television. The doctor was running thirty minutes late due to an emergency, so they might be there awhile. He’d finished the chapter in his book, and now he looked toward the stack of DVDs on the table.

“Go ahead,” she said. “I’m sure there’s a good movie in there somewhere.”

“Mom.”

Rachel sighed. “What, Maxwell?”

“Are you really going to let Sam walk off like that?”

She turned to look at her son. The forty-year-old man occupying his soul wagged a finger at her and shook his head in the most astonishing, and knowing, reprimand. “He’s upset, Maxwell.”

“I know, but do you think he was taking care of his brother all alone? Without any parents? He’s never mentioned his parents, so they could be dead, too. You should go talk to him.”