Ten: Shatter

Shaken out of a deep sleep, Max groaned. Her eyelids were leaden and she was certain it had to be nighttime still. She tuned onto her side, curling into a ball.

"Come on, lazy ass," Chloe said, giving Max another shake. "If you don't get up now we're not going to get our shower for the day."

Max squeezed her eyes shut. "What time is it?"

"Like ten a.m., dude."

"Really? Ugh." She felt like her head had only just hit the pillow, even though it had been at least six hours now. But it still looked dusky in the tent and it must have been another drizzly day.

"Come on, sleeping beauty." Chloe popped the lid on a travel mug and the scent of coffee wafted to Max's nostrils. "I bring offerings of caffeine."

Slowly, Max drew herself up into a sitting position and rubbed at her puffy eyes. Her head seemed to be filled with cotton balls, but the coffee smell was comforting. She gratefully took the proffered travel mug, wrapping her fingers around it until the heat seeped into her skin. "Thanks."

"Part of the faithful companion job. Transportation, refreshments, sexual favours–all part of the service."

Max snorted into her coffee. "I hope I'm your only client."

"Well I was thinking of expanding my client list but if you're not into that I could probably be talked into signing an exclusive contract." And then, before Max could answer that, Chloe held her by the shoulders and leaned down to peer into her face. "Damn, Max, you do look like shit today."

"Thanks, girlfriend."

She leaned in and pressed her lips to the top of Max's head. "Didn't say I wouldn't jump you anyway."

Raindrops clung to the sleeves of Chloe's jacket like beads of glass. She pulled the beanie off her head and flung it onto the top of a clothes heap. Sipping her coffee, Max watched Chloe's fingers raking through her blue hair and found herself wanting to do the same. Chloe caught her eye. "Put some clothes on. I even promise not to peek. Much."

With a sigh and a great gulp of coffee, Max began scouting around the tent for clean clothes.

"Hey, are you indecent yet?" Chloe said. Glancing over her shoulder, she found Chloe sitting cross-legged on the other side of the tent, sifting through her small pile of belongings, her back to Max.

"Getting there."

She'd switched out her under things and was trying to wiggle into a pair of jeans–tricky when you were on the floor of a tent that wasn't high enough for standing–when Chloe spoke again. "Max, did... did your parents mention Thanksgiving?"

Max stopped mid-wiggle and groaned. "I keep forgetting about Thanksgiving. My parents said they would invite you and your family."

"That means David will be there. Last year I was this close to stabbing him with the carving knife."

"We'll make sure you're sitting apart," Max said, tugging her jeans the rest of the way on. "I'll be sitting next to you. It'll be fine."

"Let's ditch."

Fingers poised on her zipper, Max froze. "What?"

"It's not going to be fine, Max. I mean what can they even talk about? It's just going to be bullshit about the storm or about how we're all broke and homeless, or about how they met after my dad fucking died. There's nothing they can talk about that won't be a complete shitstorm."

"It won't be like that. Dad'll talk about work or about the Thunderbirds. And mom will talk about the family recipe for yam casserole and how crazy the Seattle traffic is getting. And my grandmother will come up from Portland too."

"Does she know you're going to be there with your gay girlfriend?"

Oh. Right. Officially gay now. "I'm pretty sure mom will mention that to her ahead of time."

"Is she going to give us the stink eye over our plates of turkey and yam?"

Shaking her head–and then realizing Chloe (probably) wasn't looking her way, Max zipped up her jeans, and said, "No, she's not like that. It'll be cool. I promise." A huffy sort of sound followed that probably translated as 'not convinced'. "Seriously, Chloe, she used to drive a motor cycle and she walked the Pacific Crest Trail solo. She'll be cool. I bet she'll love your hair and ask you about your tattoo."

"But David... I swear, Max, if he gives me shit about–about anything I'm going to freak."

Still only half-dressed, Max paused, the cool air in the tent raising gooseflesh on the bare skin of her arms. She was clutching a black shirt with the popular slogan of 'Now Panic and Freak Out' scrawled in white letters across the front. It summed up her general feelings over the past week pretty accurately. "It'll be okay. I'll be with you the whole time. For reals."

Max started as Chloe's arms wrapped themselves around her middle, her face buried in Max's neck. Her coat was unzipped and Chloe's heat seeped in her back. She was always so warm, Max's own personal space heater. They belonged together; Max felt it in every fibre of her being. Everything might go wrong in the world, but the two of them–together–would always be right.

Chloe kept a tight hold on Max as if she were the only thing keeping her afloat. Leaning her head against Chloe's, Max reached up and stroked her hair. The tension began to seep out of Chloe like a retreating tide. Max could feel it, feel her body relaxing against her spine. For a minute they were both still, the patter of raindrops and the faint rustle of Max's fingers in Chloe's hair, the only sounds. In the stillness, Max thought she felt the beat of Chloe's heart.

After another few moments, Chloe took a deep, slow breath and then another, the swell of her chest pressing against Max's back. She must have been calmer, because her head shifted, chin poking into Max's shoulder as she glanced down. "Cute bra."

Max flushed. It was pink with lace details around the cups. She shoved Chloe back and tugged her T-shirt over he head. "You've seen all of my underwear by now."

"Yeah, but I haven't see you wearing it." Fishing her scarf and gloves out of the pile of clothes in the corner, Max did her best to ignore her. "We need to get to you more sexy underwear. You have way too many tighty-whiteys."

"I don't think I can pull off the tropical sunset panties look," Max said, remembering the bright orange pair Chloe had been wearing the night they'd snuck into the Blackwell pool. Finally dressed, she grabbed Chloe's arm. "Didn't you say we had to hurry?"

"Oh yeah. Warren texted me." She got out her phone and indeed there was a message from Warren. And a reply, and... Max groaned.

Warren: Going to be out after eleven. Tried calling Max. She there?

Chloe: out like a light

Chloe: guess I wore her out last night

Warren: What were you doing?

Chloe: that's classified

Shoving the phone back into her jacket pocket, Chloe grinned. "It's what they all think we're doing, Maxaroni." She grabbed a cap from her clothing heap and pulled it onto her head, turning the brim backwards. "Eventually it'll be true–you can't resist my charms forever."

Max's lips twitched in spite of herself. How Chloe could be such a goof and still be completely hot and badass at the same time was a mystery to her. "Whatever you say, Romeo."

Chloe unzipped the tent and together they headed out into the rain. Max tugged her hood on against the rain, shivering in the cool air. But her coffee was still warm and she sipped it contentedly as they wove their way through the green and brown and orange tents dotting the football field like mushrooms. There were noticeable gaps now that some people had gotten FEMA trailers and were finally able to pack up the tents. Chloe's mood had buoyed and she seemed relaxed and even happy in spite of the wet weather, taking Max's hand in hers as they walked. That lasted until they reached her truck.

The driver's side window had been smashed. "Shit!" Chloe snarled, her expression fierce and terrifying as she scanned the parking lot for the culprits.

All at once, Max remembered her dreams of the storm–the sound of glass shattering in the early hours. "I think it happened overnight. I heard something, but I thought I'd just dreamed it."

She set down the coffee and took a closer look at the truck. Jagged shards remained at the edge of window frame, and greenish slivers of glass littered the front seat and the floor of the cab. They were not going to make it to Warren's today.

Chloe kicked the truck's front tire. "Fuck them. Fuck all of them."

"Who?" Max reached out, clasping Chloe's arm. "Chloe, we don't even know what happened."

Chloe rounded on Max and the fury so obvious in her features made Max step back a pace. "Isn't it obvious? Some redneck asshole decided he was going teach the gay girls a lesson. I'm surprised he did spray paint 'Arcadia Gay' on the windshield."

The gay girls. Was that how people thought of them? Instead of people now they were gays? Like it was a special sub-category of people, a lower tier of personhood? "You don't know that."

"What, you think they spotted my slick ride and thought there was something to steal?" Chloe's face went slack. Then her brow crinkled and she spun around and pulled open the junker's door. Bits of glass trickled onto the pavement. Max warned her to be careful, but Chloe seemed oblivious as she jammed her hand under the front seat. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"What's wrong?" Max asked, alarmed by Chloe's frantic search.

Chloe bent down to peer under the seat and reached under, but again came up empty. When she turned back towards Max, the pallor of her face alarmed Max more than ever. She scanned the area, following with a weary gaze a couple crossing the far end of the parking lot, and then leaned in close. "The gun," she said in a low tone. "It was under the front seat. It's gone."

Although coffee was the only thing in her gut, Max felt like she might throw up. That stupid, stupid gun. It hadn't once helped them. Always it had been trouble. And now Dog only knew who had it. "You have to tell the police."

Chloe's eyes just about rolled into the back of her head. "Yes, Max, I'm going to tell Arcadia Bay's doughnut patrol that someone stole my stolen gun. Who do you think's going to get arrested in that scenario?"

"At least tell David."

This time, Max found herself on the receiving end of Chloe's furious glare. "You want me to tell fucking mall cop?"

Max grabbed Chloe's arms, pleading. "Chloe, please... Someone out there has a fucking gun. Who else knew you had it?"

She shook her head. "No one. Just you. And Frank I guess–but he's still in the hospital."

"Who else?"

Chloe shook off Max's grip and crossed her arms. "No one, okay? It's not like I sent out a PSA."

"We have to tell David. He can at least keep an eye out for it. Surveillance is his thing, right?" Arms crossed, spine rigid, Chloe's whole body was leaning away, making it clear–even without the scowl–what she thought of that idea. "Please, Chloe. I can't just rewind and fix everything. If someone gets hurt because of that gun, because we didn't say anything..." Max hugged herself, trying to hold it together–trying to hold herself together. If she let go, she was afraid she might shatter into brittle slivers like the window. "I've let so many people get hurt already."

Chloe took one step closer and then pulled Max into her, propping her chin atop Max's head. "I hate this town." She sounded so defeated and Max felt a pang of guilt–for making Chloe come here, for using her own pain to win an argument, for the people who'd been hurt, who'd died, because of the decisions she'd made.

"I just wanted to make things better," Max whispered.

"I know." She squeezed Max tighter, the rain pattering around them, making everything damp and slick, without actually washing anything away. Max felt the air leave Chloe's lungs as she heaved a heavy sigh. "Mom is going to kill me."

It seemed like all their mistakes were catching up to them one after another. Arcadia Bay was full of ghosts and monsters Chloe had said. Sometimes Max wondered which of the two they were.