Page 62 of In Your Wake

“You’re both acting like cowards,” Dad answers bluntly.

Maxine scoffs and rolls her eyes.

“We’re the cowards? That’s rich, coming from you,” I retort.

“Probably,” he admits. “But it doesn’t make me wrong.”

“We’re trying to work together. We’ve done what you’ve asked.”

Bill raises an eyebrow. “Sure. From where I’m sitting, you’re both wasting time pretending you don’t feel something that’s painfully obvious to everyone around you.”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

“You and Maxine,” Dad says, nodding at her. “Circling each other like idiots.”

A brittle laugh forces its way out of my mouth. “You’re delusional. There’s nothing going on.”

“Bullshit. You think I don’t see it?” he replies, cocking his head. “The way you look at her. How she acts like you don’t exist?”

“It’s not like that,” Maxine says, her face flushed.

Bored, Bill sighs. “Denial won’t make this thing between you disappear.”

“It’s not denial. There’s nothing between us,” Maxine corrects, fire in her eyes.

“Then why are you still here?” Bill asks.

She frowns. “You invited me over. But say the word and I’ll leave.”

“No, I mean why, after what I did to your family? What I did to you. Why did you stick around? You could have left, like Mitch did.” He doesn’t look at me, and I try to ignore how his words cut, but he barrels on. “Instead, you stayed. And worst of all, you started working at the inn.”

I don’t miss the quick way she glances at me, then darts her eyes down. “Someone had to help Robyn.”

“Sure, but it didn’t have to be you.” He shakes his head, taking a long, rattly inhale. “Maxine, you cared enough to show up every day. Even now, you’re always here, helping me, the man who played a part in ruining your life—”

“You didn’t ruin my life,” she counters, rolling her shoulders back.

“I didn’t make it better, that’s for sure.”

He offers a tight smile, and she agrees with a small shrug.

“You care enough to keep arguing with me about my treatments,” he continues. “And to keep splitting hairs with Mitch about the inn. So why don’t you care enough to admit how you feel?”

“Because there’s nothing to admit,” Maxine insists, but a slight break in her voice betrays her conviction. “Shit happened. We’re both trying to move on. It’s that simple.”

Bill studies her for a long minute, then watches me, as if waiting for me to say something. When we remain quiet, he drops his head, shaking it.

“You’re both so angry,” he says.

“Yeah,” she replies. “No kidding.”

“But not at me.”

My stomach drops, and Maxine hugs herself tighter at the same time.

“Don’t psychoanalyze us,” she says.

“I don’t have to,” Bill answers. “It’s written all over your faces.”