Three: Poster Child
Joyce was peeling potatoes in the cafeteria kitchen when Max arrived, pushing a cart stacked high with boxes of maccaroni. "Hi Joyce. I've got a delivery for you."
The lines beneath Joyce's eyes gave away her weariness, but the smile on her face as she turned to Max made her eyes shine. "Good to see you, Max. Just put that in the corner. One of the boys can unload it later."
"Are you on your own today?"
Joyce shook her head. "My helpers are off getting some rest before the dinner stampede."
Max joined her at the prep counter where the peeled potatoes were stacked in a huge pot. On the floor, a bin was half full of peels, and next to it were several huge bags of potatoes. The counter was already slimy with starch. "I can peel for a while if you want to take a break."
"No time for a break, but I could use some company."
"I can do both." Soon she was set up next to Joyce with a paring knife and her own pile of potatoes. Taking slow swipes at the peel, she did her best to avoid her fingertips with the blade. Max had to admit, it had been a while since she'd done any peeling.
Joyce's blade flicked and flashed, making short work of the peels. "Seems like I hardly see you without Chloe in tow these days."
"She's helping with cleanup on Cedar Street today."
For a moment, Joyce's knife was still, poised over another potato. Her expression was far away. "I can hardly believe how much she's changed over the past few weeks."
"Changed?" Max repeated, thinking about herself, the changes she'd been through. She wasn't the shy hipster she'd been in September. As Chloe would say, she was less chickenshit. But she'd also let so many people get hurt–or worse–and she felt the weight of that every day. Sometimes, when it hit her all at once, she could hardly breathe. A name, a photograph, an overheard sniffle–any little thing could set it off and then it was all she could do to keep from dissolving into tears. But Chloe? Chloe was Chloe, beautiful and broken and perfect all at the same time. If she'd changed at all it was only in the intensity of her care and concern for Max.
Joyce shook her head and went on with the peeling. "I was sure that as soon as she got out of Arcadia Bay she'd never look back. But she came back for you, Max."
"It wasn't her first choice," Max admitted. In fact Chloe had described Arcadia Bay as 'the one place in the whole fucking world' she didn't want to be. "But I felt like I had to do something. I couldn't just stay in Seattle and pretend that nothing had happened."
"She may not like being here, but I haven't seen Chloe this happy in years. She lights up like a Christmas tree whenever she sees you."
And that comment made all the blood rush into Max's cheeks. "Wowser." Distracted as she was, she very nearly sliced open her finger when the paring knife skidded across the potato's slick surface.
"There's a peeler around here somewhere if you'd rather."
"Thanks, Joyce," Max said and proceeded to search the counter until she found the implement in question and her face had started to lose its flush.
"I'm so glad you came back into Chloe's life. You've been a good influence." And then, with a laugh, "Though I'll admit I wasn't expecting a whirlwind romance."
A wry smile curled Max's lips. "I wasn't expecting it either." Thin strands of peel piled up on the counter as Max hacked away at the potato. "I'm sorry she dropped it on you like that." It had come up about five minutes after they'd arrived in Arcadia Bay, something like, 'We're sharing a tent. Oh and by the way, we're hella gay," followed by a very public display of affection that had left Max very red in the face. "I'm just glad you weren't angry. You know about..." About us being gay. She was still getting used to the idea really. Chloe liked to tease her about it, 'You're dating a girl. You are gay,'. It was like she somehow instinctively picked up on Max's disorientation (Was sexual disorientation a thing? Should it be, maybe?).
"I just want Chloe to be happy. And to find some direction in her life." When Joyce set down her paring knife and the half-peeled potato clutched in her hand, Max paused to glance at her. She looked serious and tired, as if the fallout of the storm had settled on her shoulders like a sodden wool shawl. "I know you had to make some difficult choices when the storm hit, Max."
Max froze. "What did Chloe tell you?"
Joyce let out a long breath. "Just that you had to choose between getting some other people out of harm's way or Chloe."
Oh Joyce... You don't know the half of it. Max was gripping the peeler like a weapon, her knuckles white. Chloe or Arcadia Bay. What kind of shitty choice was that? And would letting Chloe bleed to death on the bathroom floor really have made the world a better place? She blinked rapidly, trying to keep it together, trying to keep the fury and the grief in check, like a couple hound tugging at their leashes, threatening to pull her down.
"I can't image how hard that must have been, Max. But I want you to know I will always be grateful to you for saving my daughter." Max could hear the catch in her voice. Joyce was probably the only person in all of Arcadia Bay who had any reason to be grateful for what Max had done.
Too choked up to reply, Max focussed on peeling for a minute or so until the lump in her throat had gone away. "I would never let anything happen to Chloe, not if I had any choice."
"I'm glad you're looking out for her. She's lucky to have you."
Max smiled, feeling warm and fuzzy as she thought of her best friend–her girlfriend. "I think we're lucky to have each other."
#
"Shit," Chloe grumbled as she leaned into the cab of her truck and pawed at the space beneath the front seat. All she wanted was a damn screwdriver and she knew there was one in her truck. Somewhere.
She'd already checked the box of odds and ends on the floor and rummaged through the glove compartment. No screwdriver. Apparently screwdriver in a junkheap was the modern version of needle in a haystack. Except hella gross. So far she'd come up with a chocolate bar wrapper, some stale chips, fifty-four cents, and some math homework she'd forgotten to turn in two years ago. All very useful.
Parked as she was, right on the edge of the football field/camping ground, she could hear the clamour of displaced families–a mix of chatter, screaming kids, and barking dogs. It was a wonder she got any sleep at night. You could hear people coming and going at all hours: letting pets out to do their business, heading to the porta-potties to do their own business, arguing, crying, giggling, or grunting and groaning in a way that suggested the tent had been transformed into a love shack. It almost made her miss home. Almost. But spending each night cuddled up with Max, even if it was cramped and chilly, was a million times better than being stuck in the same house as David.
Chloe's hand darted further under the driver's seat and closed around something solid. Finally! The moment her hand came back out, though, she realized she was gripping the butt of a gun.
"Shit!" She shoved it back under the seat. The last thing she needed was for David to find out she still had his missing gun. Max wasn't crazy about it either so she made a point of not reminding her.
This time, something cold and metallic brushed against her hand. She replaced the gun and grabbed the metal rod which, when it emerged turned out to be the metal shaft the tool she'd been searching for. It was just what she needed to pop the lid of that rusty box they'd found.
Chloe slammed the driver side door shut, but as she turned, she noticed she was being stared at. A middle-aged blond woman standing outside a drab and slightly muddy tent was watching her. Chloe scowled. It was the same lady who'd been giving her and Max the evil eye yesterday in the cafeteria. "Yes," she said loudly. "I'm the poster child for homeless gay youth in Oregon. Do you want an autograph or something?"
The woman turned quickly away and disappeared inside the tent. Chloe glared at the tent flap for another minute just in case the disapproving lady was planning to show her face again. When she didn't, Chloe relaxed and let out a long breath. Time to go crack that box.
She and Max had brought the rusty box back to their tent and set it on a garbage bag to keep it from muddying their makeshift home. Sitting cross-legged on the floor of tent, Chloe gripped the screwdriver like she was preparing to do battle. Okay so maybe her lock-picking skills weren't up to par. Forcing open a metal box, though? No problem.
Gripping the box with one hand, she jammed the screwdriver into the opening where the metal had warped. She jerked the metal shaft up. The box groaned. Flecks of dirt and rust powdered the garbage bag beneath it. Chloe grumbled a few choice words and tried again. The shaft skidded along the lid of the box, jerking her hand sideways and slicing open her pinkie finger. "Shit!"
She sucked on her finger for a minute, glowering at the box. "I am not going to lose to a piece of shit antique." This time she held the box tightly and jerked the screwdriver up hard. The box groaned and gave, the lid finally coming loose. "Score!"
She snatched up her phone and texted Max: Get your ass over here or I'm keeping all the treasure
A few second later she got her reply: Better not or you'll walk the plank. :P
Chloe cringed. That message got her usual response: No emoji
When Max did crawl into the tent a few minutes later she had the look of an excited puppy. Chloe couldn't help herself; she grabbed Max's hand and tugged her closer so she could press her lips to the freckles on each cheek. Max giggled. "You have freckles," Chloe murmured, her lips trailing over Max's skin and moving down to find her mouth.
"You only just noticed this?" Max said, her lips brushing against Chloe's.
Chloe kissed her, holding her face in her hands, feeling Max's fingers resting on the small of her back. It was still hard to believe that this batshit crazy thing had happened to them: after five years apart they'd faced dangers together, told the world to fuck off, and, the cherry on top, fallen in love. Epic.
She drew back and gave Max a cheeky grin. "You're just so damn cute." And I still can't believe that you're mine. What were the odds that her best friend would come back and then turn out to be hella in-the-closet-gay? It would have been so easy for it to go another way, for her to end up pining over Max... the way she had over Rachel.
Annnnd, she didn't want to go there. Again. So instead she tapped the now loosened lid of the box. "Ready to check it out?"
Max took a moment to set down the camera that was still slung over her hip. "You already peeked. So, is it silver coins or gold bars?"
Chloe wrinkled her nose. "Mostly dirt." She pulled back the lid and they peered into the soil that had seeped into the box. But through the earth, they could see bits and pieces protruding objects. "Ugh. I've still got dirt under my fingernails from digging this thing out," she said before reaching into the damp soil. Her fingers closed on something metallic. Brushing the dirt and bits of tree root away she discovered it was a small keepsake box with a miniature lock. Tugging at the lid revealed that it was locked. "Oh great another locked box." She shook it close to her ear. It rattled. "There's something in here."
"Maybe you can put your lock-picking skills to work again," Max suggested with a crooked smile.
Chloe huffed. "We can't all have super powers." She continued to shift through the dirt until her fingers reached a sheaf of papers at the bottom of the box. They were of different sizes and colours. Some looked like they'd been torn from spiral notepads while others were coloured note paper with purple or blue ink that had run down the pages, making them all but illegible. Wedged in between, though, were a handful of photos, all of the same two girls. One had bleach blond hair with a wide pink streak in it, ink on her shoulder and collar bone all the way down to her wrist (a black and blue tangle of thorny vines), dark lipstick, and mossy green eyes. The other girl with her piles of mascara and hairsprayed blond mane... was the same girl in the photo they'd found last night.
"Max..." She set the photos and the papers down. "You'd better look at these. Don't freak on me okay?"
A dry laugh escaped from Max's lips. "I think we're already past the 'flip my shit' stage but I'll try to keep the drama level low. " Chloe reached out and gave her shoulder a squeeze as Max inspected the photos. She could feel the tension shooting through Max's body as she, too, recognised the girl in the photo.
Max took several deep breaths. "Wowser. So... these photos must be Susan and Michelle, right? I mean they were buried under the tree with their names on it. And that means that creepy photo was of one of them."
It was starting to get dark out, so Chloe turned on their lamps as Max kept flipping through the photos–looking for clues or whatever. She wished she knew what it all meant, but how did one creepy black and white photo, one box of buried keepsakes, and some crazy-ass visions connect?
The expression on Max's face–now like a kicked puppy instead of an excited one–made Chloe's chest clench. She turned her attention back to the box. Something off-white was poking out of the dirt in one corner. Digging in once again, her fingers closed on the object–something plastic and flat–and plucked it out. It was a bit squashed but it looked to be a hospital bracelet.
Chloe peered at it, holding it close to her face, trying to make out the faded print. "Huh. Why would someone keep this?"
Max glanced up. "You found something?"
"Yeah. Old hospital bracelet. Can't make out the name though. Here." She held it out to Max. Her girlfriend's fingers touched it and the world began to ripple.