Curtain Call (The Jewel Project #7)

11. Old Wounds

After what was maybe the most grueling day in her life, Maxi Grant made it home. Her cool house greeted her like a sanctuary and all she wanted to do was lay down and try to forget for at least a few seconds. Forget everything. Who she was, what she'd done, what had happened.

 Except she was not alone and she resented it more than ever.

Her mother and Max had followed her, which was understandable since they had nowhere else to go. It still bothered her. She needed to be alone and focus within herself. Come to terms with the fact that she'd returned from yet another furnneral. One in which she'd buried her child.

Instinctively, her eyes fell on Freider's urn. It still took up space on the mantle. She hadn't ever touched it. Sam had placed it there and there it remained. She'd only used a feather duster on it, making sure to keep her distance. And now, it mocked her.

There was no comparison. She had gotten used to Freider's absence quite easily after years of neglect. And yet, she had a permanent reminder of him.

She had nothing left of Kyle.

A part of her knew that, even if they'd had a body and incinerated it, she wouldn't be keeping the urn. It still hurt, being left out, pushed aside like that. She hadn't even been allowed to take the photograph.

Kay.

Starting a screaming match, losing her composure, shouting all those terrible things.

Ever since she and Freider had rushed to France after their kids were nearly killed by Snitch Grave and Kay had first threatened Maxi, their relationship had been a bit strained. But for Kyle's sake, they both made it work. Maxi had even convinced herself she genuinely loved Kay, that there was no better person for her son. She made Kyle happy.

It started going downhill once the twins were born and Kay didn't invite her to help. When she limited the time they spent with their grandmother. When Kyle politely told Maxi that they were good and she could keep her parenting advice to herself.

She clenched her fists at the memory. Now that Kyle was gone, his family felt further away from her than it had ever been. And it wasn't fair. She loved Alex and Jenny. They were her favorite grandchildren. Especially Alex who was like a miniature, blond version of his father.

She jumped when Max let himself drop on the couch with a loud sigh. Sophie joined him, quiet and reserved, leaving Maxi standing in front of the mantle, a stranger in her own house. 

It was rare to see her mother so silent. She always had something to say, criticism to place. Now she just looked exhausted. Much like Max.

Maxi glanced at them, but she had nothing to say. Any word would sound bitter and cruel, because that was how she felt. Broken. Left behind. Forgotten. She wished she were alone to mourn for her child.

Oh, Kyle. What really happened to you?

Because of course they wouldn't tell her, wouldn't say anything about his death, about how they were all once again scratched and bruised and limping.

They never told her anything. And as much as she tried to come to peace with it over the years, she resented it. Now, they were keeping vital information from her, refusing to share how her child had died. The grief inside her morphed into raging anger.

"I can't believe it," Max said, his voice hollow.

"Me neither," Sophie whispered, squeezing his shoulder.

Maxi's attention focused on them again, the rage only growing. Ever since she'd showed up, Sophie hadn't offered Maxi any form of comfort. Seeing her offering it to her brother tore through her.