Young Writers Society

Chapter Two

He hadn’t spotted her yet, but she certainly saw him. He was leaning against the luggage pickup, a pleasant grin tilted to one side of his face as he waited for her. It was that same smirk he’d had ever since they were kids, only now it was nestled between 3 days worth of stubble. His brown hair was short and slightly unkempt as it had been the day she left him. One of his hands was stuffed into his favorite black leather jacket, the same jacket he wore whenever he went out. It seemed nothing much changed over time when it came to Max Hall.

Sara stood staring down at him from the banister surrounding part of the second floor. Her arms were folded atop the black plastic and she was quietly considering when to finally head down the escalator. Max was watching the moving staircase for her, but so far had failed to check the hallway that it led from.

She had called Grissom on the plane, conversation kept minimal.

‘Hey, I’m taking the night off. ’

There was a pause. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Another pause. ‘Bye.’

Everything obviously was not okay, but nobody was going to know that until she had some answers. Right now, of course, she and the answers were merely separated by an escalator and a small amount of walking distance. Maybe she didn’t want to know. The subject of her mother was tender, and she was never particularly enthusiastic about the issue. It had been years since she’d last seen her. The last word she’d heard from Laura was ungrateful as she hung up the prison phone. The last time she saw her mother as she turned to leave the prison when she was 18. A final attempt at closure had turned to accusations.

She had expected that to be the last time her mother would ever impact her life. That’s why she walked away. She was trying to put it behind her, and for a while, it seemed to have worked. For years it had worked. So maybe that’s why she was so nervous to go down there now. Going down there would mean she had failed, in not only forgetting her mother, but forgetting Max as well.

On the plane, she had meant to compose herself for their encounter. She wanted to appear focused and confident, not needing to know anything other than the purpose of their meeting. But here she was, standing just out of his line of sight, too nervous to approach. So much for confident. Questions were filling her head the longer she stared at him—did he still live in that apartment? Did he still have that crappy car? Did he throw away the wallet she gave him for his birthday? She nearly laughed at herself. So much for focused.

As if the forces of nature were against her, Max suddenly coughed, turning his head to the side. When he lifted his head, he spotted her there, leaning casually against the railing, looking down at him. They made eye contact, and Sara slowly straightened up. There were no excuses to stay there now. She was getting those answers, ready or not. Her hand lay delicately on the handrail as she slowly made her way to the escalator. Max ambled over to meet her at the bottom as the stairs rolled forward.

“Hey,” Sara said, flashing him an awkward smile.

“Hey.” The grin was returned. “I have a surprise for you in the parking lot.”

“What, the Golden Goose got a new paint job?” she quipped as he led her out the front doors, squinting against the bright sun. Her arms were crossed, her purse hung over her shoulder. She realized she looked defensive, and she supposed she was.

Max turned his smile towards her again. “Naw, better.”

The Golden Goose was Max’s very old, very rusty station wagon. Golden because it was originally painted a shiny copper. Goose because on the side it had the inscription: “G0053.” Sara had never liked it, and was almost embarrassed when they’d go places in it. There were many times she needed to take him to work because the Goose had decided to break down. He pulled a set of keys from his coat pocket as they crossed the parking lot and pointed it at a relatively new Ford Taurus, which unlocked.

“Ah,” Sara exclaimed, nodding. “New car.”

He grinned and moved to the passenger side to open the door for her, but she waved him away. Once inside, they were silent. Max started the car, glancing only briefly over at her, as if searching for approval. She was looking out the window as she leaned against the comfortable leather seats. Her hands were folded in her lap, her tongue in her cheek as she struggled to keep from starting a conversation. She was saved the trouble.

“So,” Max began as they finally pulled out of the busy airport parking lot. “How have things been?”

She spoke as level-headedly as possible, still avoiding eye contact. Slow and deliberate, she answered him. “I’ve been fine. You?”

“Good…I’ve been doing good. Glad I finally got rid of that station wagon.”

Sara lifted her head and rested it between her index finger and thumb. “Yeah, so am I. What is this, a ’97?”

“Yep. Got it for a good price. Not too many miles on it either.”

Silence fell over the two once more as Max drove past the glistening surface of the San Francisco Bay. Sara stared out at it with small pangs of longing. Vegas was nice, and she enjoyed living there, but sometimes she couldn’t help but miss San Francisco, couldn’t help but miss going to the beach for a picnic or a swim.

“Been a long time since you’ve seen that bay, huh?” Max said softly, turning the vehicle away from the water down another road.

Sara shrugged. She remembered Zorba’s Pasta and Pizzeria. They’d gone there together many times, and she knew their destination was close by. If she could just keep concentrating on the task at hand, there would be no need to ask personal questions. Pretend he was a stranger.

“So do you still live in that apartment or did that change with the car?” she asked as they pulled into the parking lot.

Smooth. Very smooth. She bit her tongue angrily and waited for him to answer.

As he turned the car off, he replied, “No, I still live there.”

The diner was painted a baby blue, inside and out, fake vines and plants climbing around picket fence mounted on the wall. Max walked up to the maitre d’. She grinned at Max—obviously familiar with the man, and seated the two of them at a table far in a corner of the restaurant.

“Can I get you two anything right away?” asked a less-than-enthusiastic waitress.

“Yeah, we’ll have the medium, all-meat—“

“No, he’ll have a small all-meat pizza, but I’m going to have a slice of veggie.”

Max thanked the server as she walked away, then turned to Sara with a raised eyebrow. “Veggie pizza? I thought you loved Zorba’s all-meat stuff. We got it almost every time we came here.”

“I’m a vegetarian now, Max. Besides, I always thought it was too salty.”

His mouth was slightly agape. “You’re a vegetarian now? What about the department barbecues? BBQ ribs, fried chicken—my brother’s flank steak?”

“Look, Max…it’s not that big a deal. Just because you could never be one doesn’t mean I can’t.” She took a sip of her water, turning her eyes away from Max and instead to the large TV on the far side of the restaurant. A commercial for Ziploc bags.

“So…umm…I’ve been wondering,” Max began casually, forgetting the previous conversation as he also glanced at the television screen. “You been seeing anyone lately?”

They looked at each other, Sara’s expression a mix between incredulity and defensiveness. “I don’t believe that’s any of your business.”

“Hey, it’s not like I’m interested in that way.” He shrugged, taking a swig of his water. “I just wondered how you were doing is all.”

“I’m doing just fine.” Liar, liar, pants on fire.

“Does he have a name?”

”Who?” For some reason she’d suddenly taken to pulling her napkin apart into tiny, tiny pieces.

“The guy you’re seeing…”

“Oh. Well, I’m…not exactly—”

The waitress interrupted them, asking them if they’d like anything to drink. Sara was grateful for the opportunity to shut up.

“Aren’t they supposed to ask for drinks before the actual order?” she wondered. “What happened to Sally? Gina? Gail?” The names of waitresses Sara remembered who had worked at the pizzeria when she still lived in San Francisco.

“Oh, them.” Max set down his water and stretched. “Well…I guess they moved on to better things.”

Sara threw him sarcastic smile, mentally rolling her eyes at his immaturity. She knew he was mocking her, “better things” being how she had described Las Vegas. It seemed he had taken to the opportunity of throwing it right back in her face. Her annoyance was becoming unbearable. Being around him had her forgetting her original nerves. She just wanted to get out of there now.

“Max, okay, look. I’m not here to talk and eat pizza. I’m here to find out what’s going on with my mother, that you oh so desperately needed to tell me in person. We’ve got about 40 minutes left for you to explain everything. I’ll eat my <i>veggie</i> pizza, and then you’re going to take me back to the airport so I can get back to work, okay? And if you’re not going to take me, I’ll grab a cab.”

He rolled his eyes this time, heaving a sigh. He folded his arms across the tabletop and leaned forward.

“Fine. But, uh…you might want to put your water down.”

Sara pushed it aside, setting her face in the palm of her hand as she waited for him to continue.

“You remember the detective, back when it happened, who thought you were guilty, even after your mother’s trial?”

She lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “Yeah.”

“Well, he still thinks you did, even today.”

“Great,” she snapped lightly, looking back at him.

“Now, this Detective Rayfield has been speaking with your mother, at the prison…and apparently, your mother has been saying that…you were the one who killed your father. That back then, she didn’t want to say it because you were just a kid. But relationships change with time I suppose.”

Sara blinked, pursing her lips in disbelief. “Great, you know, that’s just great. Thankfully, nobody is going to believe a manic-depressive woman who has outwardly hated her daughter for years, so, I think we’re done here.” She lifted her purse from the seat beside her, but Max grabbed her wrist before she could get away.

“No, Sara, you have to listen, I’m not done.”

She snatched her hand back and glared at him. “Then finish.”

He took a deep breath, suddenly fascinated with the palms of his hands. “The thing is, they are listening to her. They’re investigating you as a suspect and everything. Something about…questionable character? Apparently, there’s a DUI involved? And they’re reexamining the evidence for the murder. There was no DNA back then, remember?”

“I wasn’t booked on that DUI,” Sara muttered through her fingers.

“What about getting into fights with suspects?”

Sara shook her head in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me…how did they get a hold of that?”

He shrugged. “Somebody in your department must have given it to them.”

She bit her lip angrily. “Can they even do that without letting me know?”

“Apparently.”

The waitress dropped by briefly with their drinks before traipsing off again. Sara looked into the swirling drink, all desire for it gone. She didn’t even feel like eating the pizza she ordered, now. She sighed through her nose, her eyes fleeting to her lap.

“So…what does this mean then?” she wondered, setting her hands on her lap and fiddling.

“I guess don’t worry if you find police at your doorstop asking if you killed Allen.”

“You don’t think I did, do you?”

“Naw, course not.”

She grabbed a pen suddenly from her purse, and reached out to Max’s hand. “Here’s my cellphone number. If you get any more information on the case, that’s very important, you can call me here. I have it on all the time.” She scribbled the number across his flesh, then capped the pen, tossed it in her purse, and stood up. “Thank you, very much for…informing me, Max. Sorry I was a snob about it.”

“Hey, I dated you in an on-again, off-again relationship for years. I’m used to it.”

She grinned, but suddenly realized she needed to pay him for the pizza and drink. She dug into her purse and handed him a $10 bill. “Keep the change.”

“You gonna be okay taking a cab?” he asked, pulling out his wallet and setting the money inside.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I’ll…I’ll see you around, Max.” She turned to leave the restaurant with a small smile on her face. So he hadn’t thrown that wallet away after all.