Chapter 52

In his mind, Maxx leaned forward and gave Gerry a slow, sad smile. Sunlight lit the blue of his eyes into diamond clarity, and teased flashes of light out of the makeup on his skin. “There is no Maxx, Fawn. Maxx has been dead for years.”

Beside Gerry, the fly lifted off his glass. The room filled with a buzz so loud it brought to mind cicadas and honeybees, hummingbirds and overhead fans. Those thoughts added the sounds of glasses and pitchers being set on picnic tables, and his grandfather and his grandmother laughing at baby Angie’s attempts to do anything, because even at three, or four, or five, or one hundred and ninety-five, Angie would always be ‘the baby’. Then there were the voices of him and his brother actually getting along over some project or the next, and God, what had happenedto them all? Where had all the time gone?

He flicked his eyes to the empty chair. The voice in his head had gone silent and without its accompaniment, the imagined guest had vanished.