Ann Aguirre - The Shape Of My Heart

“Are you from Michigan originally?”

“Chicago. It was quite a culture shock. I didn’t even drive when I graduated.” The L took me everywhere I wanted to go since I had no reason to venture into the ’burbs.

“And that was when?”

“Are you seriously asking how old I am?” Reluctant amusement sparked a smile, one that Michael returned with interest.

“I’m curious. Sue me.”

“Twenty-one. If things go well, I’ll graduate this year.”

“Yet you don’t sound excited.”

“Eh, I’m a business major. It’s not the employer catnip that it used to be, so I’m not looking forward to working at Starbucks. And, wow, you’re good at this.”

“What?” He opened his eyes, innocent, but I wasn’t buying it.

“Charming information out of people.”

“You think I’m charming?”

Max joined us in time to hear the question. “Are you hitting on my brother again?”

Smart not to call him “little.” You’re learning.

“I’m just laying the groundwork, so he’ll remember me fondly when he’s legal and I’m the antisocial cat lady living in your basement.”

Michael answered before Max could. “I think you’re shooting too low. You could totally swing ground-floor accommodations if you lean in.”

Since I only knew about that book because of a sitcom and Google, I had to give him a fist bump for that one. “I’ll try not to let you down.”

“You want to ride with me to the cemetery? Dad’s going with Uncle Lou.” The offer included both of us, so I glanced at Max.

Ah, the mysterious uncle I didn’t meet last night.

“Yeah. If you’re sure it’s okay.” The hesitation in Max’s tone broke my heart because I knew exactly how long he rolled around last night, memories chewing him up from the inside.

“I’d rather not go alone.” Michael spun around and headed for the exit.

Up front, the casket was being removed out the side door, but we didn’t stick around to watch it happen. Michael opened the rear doors and unfolded the ramp, then wheeled up to the driver’s seat. Max and I hopped in, then pulled it up after us and closed up. I sat in back, leaving the front to the brothers. They talked quietly during the ride, and I tried not to eavesdrop.

Max, you should tell him.

The drive took almost forty minutes, and I texted with Nadia most of that time.

So Angus tells me you ran off with Max.

Yeah, we figured we’d get our first trial marriage out of the way early.

You realize I’m completely helpless without emoticons. You might be in Vegas right now!

I’ll explain later. Everything’s okay.

She texted me three more times but I ignored those. Max finally glanced over his shoulder. “Who’s beeping you so hard, Kaufman?”

“Some things are just too private to share,” I teased.

“Are you sexting?” He lunged for my phone.

To keep the joke going longer, I shoved it down the front of my dress and smirked at him, brows up. “How bad do you want to know?”

For two heartbeats, he considered going in. But then he mumbled something unintelligible and turned around.

Michael checked the rearview as I fished my cell out of my cleavage, then offered, “I could find out for you, bro.”

Before things could get weird, I said, “I’m not sexting, it’s Nadia. She just wanted to know what’s going on with us.”

“Ah. Tell her I said hey.”

“Who’s Nadia?” Michael asked.

I told him about her, along with Angus, a rambling monologue punctuated by occasional remarks from Max. By the time I finished, the convoy reached the cemetery, well outside the city limits. The trees were probably gorgeous in fall, but it was pretty in late summer, too, green and well-kept. But it was hard to follow Max up the path, harder to see Michael struggle and know it would only piss him off if I offered to help. From this distance, I could see the tent, the coffin on burial scaffolding, a hole in the ground, the folding chairs set up on outdoor carpeting. They’d moved all the flowers from the funeral home, arrayed them around the coffin, so the breeze hit me in the face with the scent of sweet decay.

We were among the last to arrive, and this time Michael hung back with us. The funerary rites were mercifully brief; since the weather was muggy, hot and overcast, I’d have hated standing there for an hour. The wind died down, hinting at the prospect of a storm after nightfall. Maybe it would clear the air. One way or another we could use it.

They lowered the coffin and Carol tossed a flower into the grave. As people started to leave, I shifted, wondering if I should suggest...something. But really, Max needed to take the reins and sort out his family business without my intervention. So I kept quiet.

“What’re you doing now?” he asked his brother.

“There’s a potluck at the house,” Michael said. “If you want to come.”

His first reaction came in the form of leaping pleasure shining in his dark eyes, quickly dulled to uncertainty. “I don’t know if—”

“It’s not at Pop’s, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ve been living with Uncle Lou for the past four years.” Though his tone was offhand, I sensed there was a boatload of a story behind that decision.

“Four years...” Max wore a stunned expression, so much that I put my hand on his arm, steadying him. “All this time, I thought I couldn’t talk to you, see you. Not even to apologize.”

“What?” Michael stared at him, equally flummoxed.

Tell him , I ordered with my eyes. In their shoes, I would’ve had this talk last night, but no, they only blabbed about the bike, apparently. This offer felt akin to falling on a grenade—I disliked their dad that much—but they needed some privacy.

“I’ll get a ride with your uncle,” I said. “Catch you later, Max.”

Before he could argue, I hurried across the grass toward Mr. Cooper’s retreating back. The man beside him must be Uncle Lou; he was both shorter and wider. I caught up with them, out of breath, and nearly tripped over a headstone. Uncle Lou had a kind, jowly face with deep-set eyes with pouches under them. His nose was bulbous, but I could practically taste the kindness in him. He was also older than I’d expected, probably Max and Michael’s great-uncle. Which made the deceased granddad his brother.

“Can I beg a lift? Max and Michael need some time.”

“Of course, sweetheart.” Normally it pissed me off when men immediately defaulted to endearments; with Uncle Lou I didn’t mind. I’d probably even eat a butterscotch if he fished one out of his pocket.

“You go to school with Maxie, do you?”

If anybody heard that nickname when he was a kid, ten to one they called him Maxipad.

I was basically ignoring Mr. Cooper at this point, and he seemed to be returning the favor, walking a bit ahead. So I yielded to the urge to brag about Max. “Yeah. He’s doing really well in engineering, works part-time at a garage on weekends. It’s amazing what he’s achieved completely on his own.”

Mr. Cooper’s shoulders squared. Yeah, I hope you’re listening, asshole. Suck on that.

“I’m so proud of him. Carol tells us what he emails to her, but he has the idea nobody in the family wants to hear from him because of what happened to Mickey. And the nonsense Charlie spouted right after the accident, of course.” Uncle Lou sighed. “But I’m sure you know how stubborn Maxie can be. He gets an idea lodged in his head and nothing short of an earthquake can shake it out.”

“He still blames himself,” I ventured quietly.

“None of us do. I slammed into a parked car once because I dropped a sandwich. Now, that’s stupid. I can only imagine how I’d feel if somebody got hurt.”