Five: Broken Bay

With his sprawling brown beard and preference for plaid, Ryan Caulfield had always reminded Chloe of a lumberjack. The black and red checkered flannel jacket he wore as he emerged from the shiny new silver Prius did nothing to dispel the image. Stepping out from the passenger side, Vanessa Caulfield donned a grey peacoat, and dark slacks; there was nothing rustic about Vanessa.

Chloe and Max wove through the army of cars parked in the Bigfoots lot to meet them. A quirk of the storm's path had resulted in many people losing their homes but not their cars, since most had been at work when the funnel had hit. Max waved. "Hi, mom. Hi, dad."

With her best swagger and her finest grin, Chloe spread her arms wide. "Welcome back to Squatter's Lane, capital of Broken Bay. We don't get many repeat visitors."

"We have a good incentive," Ryan said as he wrapped Max up in a bear hug.

"Dad," Max groaned but it was obviously only a token protest. Something in Chloe's chest felt very tight and she had to look towards the field of mismatched tents, blinking rapidly. Hugs like that were a thing of the past for her.

The air was getting cooler by the day, and as the breeze picked up, Chloe adjusted the blue and grey plaid scarf tucked into her jacket. It had belonged to Max and she'd found that when she pulled the scarf up to her nose, she could still detect a whiff of Max's scent on the fabric.

Finally releasing Max, Ryan jerked a thumb towards the car. "The trunk's loaded up with donations from the office. Lots of winter wear and toiletries just like you asked."

"Thanks, Dad, that's great."

Vanessa meanwhile, had a handful of papers clutched in one hand. "I brought some things for you to look at."

Max stiffened. "What things?"

"Application requirements. For college." Max opened her mouth to protest but her mom beat her to it. "Maxine, hear me out. Applications are time-sensitive. You won't be able to get all your materials together if you don't at least look at the applications early. I took a look at some of the colleges you said you'd been interested in and printed everything out. I know you're busy but you can at least take a few minutes to go over these with me."

Chloe kept her eyes on Max in case she needed to intervene. She liked Ryan and Vanessa Caulfield–they'd always treated her like part of the family when she was a kid and they'd been really cool over the past weeks–but if Max needed an escape route, Chloe would make a scene without a second thought. When Max caught her eye, Chloe raised her eyebrows. Her silent question was met with a shake of Max's head. Message received: No rescue needed.

Max sighed. "All right I'll take a look." And then, turning to Chloe, "I'll catch up with you later."

"Sure." She waved as Max walked off. "I'll just be here. Hauling boxes." What a way to spend a Saturday. The clouds that had been looming on and off all week had cleared so that when Chloe had crawled out of their shelter for a morning smoke, she'd found a blue sky stretching out over the football field, sunlight glinting off the dewdrops on every tent. Fucked up, but hella pretty.

Sighing, she turned to Ryan. "I'll show you where the donations go." He agreed and they started unpacking the boxes from the trunk. They made several trips, carrying boxes from the parking lot to the classroom in the main Blackwell building where clothing donations were sorted and doled out. A gym would have been helpful but since Blackwell only had a football team and a swim team and left basketball to Bay High, there wasn't one. And–naturally–Bay High had lost its roof, otherwise they'd all have been camped out in cots in that gym instead of in tents.

They set down the last of the boxes and the ladies who were manning the table thanked them, though Chloe noticed the way they watched her... As if she might steal the donations. She knew them by sight at least. They were the 4-H moms, the ones always organizing bake sales for the school or raffles for the kids' sports funds. And she knew she was the sort of person they told their kids to stay away from.

Ryan, smiling like a jolly lumberjack, offered to help unpack and sort everything. Chloe would've liked to have gone out in search of more coffee–she felt like the walking dead after a night spent dreaming of hospitals and car crashes–but she didn't think ditching Max's dad would look good on the official girlfriend report card.

"So," Ryan began as he started pulling out ski caps, scarves, and jackets and placing them in neat piles, "have you decided what you're going to do when things have settled down around here?"

Sirens immediately blared in Chloe's head. This sounded like it was going to be the sort of talk dads had with the boys–or girls, because Max was hella gay–who were dating their daughters. She rubbed the back of her neck for a few seconds. Most of her plans revolved around things she'd like to do with or to Max... and she really needed to not think about that while Max's dad was standing a few feet away."Umm... not really. I mean, I guess I'll go back and finish senior year."

Ryan nodded. "That sounds like a good place to start. I think Vanessa's been a little worried that Max is going to go the starving artist route." He chuckled, but Chloe suspected that he was a little worried about it too.

She pulled a hideous chartreuse jacket out of a box (she could see why someone had donated that piece of shit) and set it in a pile with the respectable jackets. "Naw. Maxaroni is too much of a keener to give up school. Even after all this drama." Some striped gloves and two woolen scarves made their way into the appropriate piles. "And I know she needs to get serious about her photography. She's amazeballs with a camera." Max had a future. And Chloe wanted to be a part of that future. "I'm not going to fuck that up for her."

David would have freaked. But Ryan only set down the navy woolen scarf he'd just pulled out of one of the boxes and turned to her. "Chloe Price, I have known you since you were yea high." He held his hand up at waist level. "That's not what I was thinking. At all. Joyce has been telling us about the work you've been doing with the volunteer groups. Helping to clean things up and get people back into their homes."

Chloe shrugged and tugged at the fingers of a pair of zebra striped gloves. "I couldn't just sit on my ass in the tent all day while Super Max was working on her photo project." But it was more than that.

Really, it was all because of Max. 'Everyone pretends to care until they don't.' She'd said that to the person in the world most determined to prove her wrong. Max cared about her, about the town, about other people. And much to Chloe's amazement, it was enough to make even her start to give a fuck again. Staring death in the face a couple of times hadn't hurt either. It was as if all the colour that had drained out of her life after her dad had died, and then vanished completely along with Rachel, had started to creep back in at the edges. Things mattered again. Her choices mattered. Her life mattered.

Chloe turned and leaned against the table, back to the piles of winter ware, arms crossed. "This is going to sound corny as shit but... I want to be a better person for Max." She winced. That did sound corny, and just as mushy as the oatmeal they served in the cafeteria each morning. But she needed to have Max's folks backing them up on this. "Max is like... the most amazing person I know. She's smart and talented and she deserves someone amazing." Chloe shook her head. "And instead she goes and chooses me. And I don't want her life to be any more fucked up than it already is. So I'm gonna get my shit together." Chloe knew she could never really explain how grateful she was to Max, how unworthy she felt in the face of what she'd done, the choice Max had made just to save her sorry ass. After everything they'd been through, she wasn't about to let Max down. "I've got her back. For reals."

Embarrassed by the gush of mush–more than enough to ruin her reputation as the Bay badass–she turned back to the donations box and pulled out a pair of navy mittens emblazoned with the logo of the Seattle Thunderbirds.

"Is she doing okay?" Ryan asked. And he asked it like a real question, like maybe she would know the answer.

"Yeah. It's been good for her to be here, taking her photos." Except for the whole weird visions thing and weird time travel shit, and the fact that she's fucking terrified of causing another storm. Aside from that's she's cool.

He nodded thoughtfully and moved on to another box. "We're expecting you for Thanksgiving, you know. I have orders to drive down here and haul you both to Seattle if you don't show up."

"Thanksgiving? Shit. I think we both forgot it was coming up." Glancing around the room full of boxes and donated clothes, she couldn't imagine what the holidays would be like. For her and Max, for everyone in town... It was hella depressing.

"Your family's welcome to come up for the weekend too."

"Oh. Thanks." That meant David was invited. It was great that he'd helped with busting Jefferson and all, but that didn't mean he wasn't a prick 99% of the time–okay maybe 95%, but still... Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners the past several years had been pretty shitty all around.

But as she folded a knitted scarf that was longer than she was tall, she found herself thinking again about Susan and Michelle, of how differently things had gone for them, Susan's mom trying to set her up with boys, and Michelle's who couldn't even acknowledge that her daughter was dating a girl. Ryan and Vanessa were making an effort to make Chloe feel welcome, and as weird and awkward as that was sometimes, she was so fucking glad they were. "I'll talk to Joyce about it later. Thanks," she mumbled, staring at the coiling scarf.

But she couldn't think about holidays when Nathan's body was still missing. Max hadn't been following the news. She didn't know how badly the Acadia Bay's own Donut Patrol was fucking up the case. "Have the Seattle papers been covering the whole Jefferson thing?"

Ryan grimaced. "Oh yeah. Jefferson is a big enough name in the art world that it got minor coverage in the national press. But Seattle's been covering it extensively. It's where he first made a name for himself." He paused, stroking his lumberjack beard, and it dawned on Chloe for the first time really that Max had gotten her hair colour from her dad... just like Chloe had. "Max used to idolize Mark Jefferson. When I think that he could've done to Max what he did to her friend..."

Chloe stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets, balling her fists. Of course Ryan Caulfield didn't know–couldn't know–that Jefferson had done the same thing to Max. Drugged her, bound her, and photographed her, all in the name of some sicko ideal of art. Beauty and innocense or some bullshit like that. He'd just liked being in charge if people, of having power over them. It wasn't their innocence he'd been capturing on film; it was their helplessness.

But that was over now. She would make sure of that. One way or another.

Ryan sighed and shook his head. "It just makes me sick."

"Makes me want to kill him," Chloe grumbled.

"That too. But I don't think Vanessa would appreciate it if I landed myself in state prison." He shook his head. "Of course Jefferson is claiming that the Prescott boy was responsible for the whole thing and his family is helping to cover it up."

Chloe nearly spat. It was just too much bullshit. "Nathan didn't skip town. Jefferson got him. The cops just need to get off their asses and figure out what he did with him."

#

Ryan Caulfield's comment about Jefferson and the Prescotts was still fresh in Chloe's mind later that morning when she spotted Officer Berry patrolling the Blackwell grounds like a glorified mall cop. Max was showing her parents some of her recent photos and Chloe had opted out since she suspected they really wanted some family time together while they decided whether or not they were going to freak out about Max living in a tent with her girlfriend in the middle of a destroyed town. Hopefully Max would continue to make the whole plan seem sensible. Ish.

When Chloe hailed him, Officer Berry didn't look happy to see her. Shock. "What can I do for you, Chloe?" he asked, his expression guarded. She could see a long line of puckered skin, just beneath his receding, hairline where a row of stitches had recently been removed.

"Have you guys found Nathan Prescott's body yet?"

Heaving a sigh, his air went from guarded to exasperated. "We can't comment on ongoing cases."

Arms crossed, head tilted to one side, she stared him down. "I'm not asking for the goddam police report. Yes or no–that's it."

He drew himself up–he had a couple of inches on her–and gave her that look, the mix of disapproval and condescension that she was used to from anyone wearing a badge. "What makes you so sure he's dead anyway?"

And since, 'Jefferson told Max in an alternate reality that never happened,' probably wouldn't fly, she shrugged instead. "You heard the message he left on Max's phone. He didn't fake that–he's not that good at pretending to be a human being."

"We're following all possible leads."

Chloe snorted. "That's police code for 'we don't have a fucking clue', right?" He probably had the Prescotts breathing down his neck but apparently that wasn't enough to get him and the rest of the doughnut guzzlers to actually to do anything about it.

Annoyance flashed across his features but then turned to pity–which was worse. "Look, I know you and Rachel Amber were friends, but you have to let us do our jobs."

"Like you were doing your jobs when she was murdered? You didn't even find her body! I was posting missing person flyers for six months and the whole time she was rotting in that fucking junkyard." Her voice was fraught with emotion. She hated how weak she sounded–shrill and hysterical like a little girl. She turned her back and rubbed at her eyes. "Shit," she muttered.

"Chloe–"

"Never mind," she cut in without turning around. She started off back towards the tent field. "Like any of you give a fuck."

#

When Max returned to their tent, hands full of college applications–because yes, she needed one more thing to worry about right now since the fate of the whole town wasn't enough–she detected the rather distinctive scent of pot. So when she pulled back the tent flap she was expecting a very chill Chloe. Instead, when she crawled in, she found Chloe staring at the roof of the tent with very puffy eyes and a large pile of wadded up tissues next to her. A barely touched joint smouldered in an ashtray nearby.

"Chloe?"

"Hey Max. Have fun with the parental units? Have they got you signed up for Harvard, Stanford, and Yale yet?"

Was that it then? Had she been worried her parents were going to cart her off to college and leave Chloe in Arcadia Bay? Because that was not going to happen. Not ever. "No. And you know I'm not going anywhere without you, right?"

"Bonded for life," she said, but she was still staring up at the arc of the tent above her.

Max crawled closer and sat down next to Chloe. As she reached out to brush a few stands of blue hair off her forehead, Chloe's eyes darted to her face and then away again. "What's wrong then?"

"Nothing."

"Chloe–"

"You won't like the answer, all right?"

Wracking her brain, Max tried to think of something she'd done that might have upset Chloe. Sometimes she still felt like she had to walk on eggshells around her or risk setting her off. They had been though so much in the past weeks, but that didn't stop Chloe from being pissed off at life, the universe, and everything. "My dad didn't say anything to you, did he?"

Chloe shook her head. "No, he was cool."

"Did I do something?"

"No!" She heaved a sigh. "Shitballs." She looked up at Max. "I keep thinking about Rachel. See? I knew you wouldn't like it."

"I didn't say anything."

"You made a face."

Max's fingers were still brushing through Chloe's hair and she wondered if Rachel's had ever done the same. Chloe was right: she probably had made a face. "I'm sorry. It's just... hard."

"That's why I didn't want to say anything, but you had to go and be nosy." She rolled her eyes. "You're still Max Caulfield."

"Sometimes I feel like... I need to compete with her."

Chloe edged over so that she could put her head in Max's lap and stare up into her eyes. "You picked me over the whole town. You win gold in the best friend Olympics. For life."

"Wowser." Max smiled; she couldn't help it. Chloe was always acting so tough, but she knew, more than anyone Max had ever met, how to say just the right thing sometimes. "Well as the official gold medalist I really want to know what's wrong."

Chloe's brow scrunched up into an impressive frown. "I'm pissed at her."

"At Rachel? What for?"

"For getting herself killed. For banging Frank. For–for whatever she did with Jefferson. Everything!"

"But I thought you–"

She shifted then, turning away from Max. "You can love someone and be mad at them, Max. They don't cancel each other out."

And Max didn't have an answer to that. Most of her teen years had been spent trying to figure out how to talk to people without morphing into the prototypical awkward geek. She'd had friends, but they'd only been that–friends. At Blackwell, Kate had become her closest friend and she did care tremendously for her. But while she wished Kate had been able to open up to her more and hadn't felt the need to step onto that roof, she certainly wasn't mad at her for it.

"Do you think..." Chloe's voice cracked. "Do you think she was going to ditch me?"

"Chloe..."

"She wrote Frank that letter about driving away, and–"

"Chloe, stop." Max reached down and pressed her hand to Chloe's cheek, gently turning her face back towards her. "You were besties. She loved you." And then, lips quirking into a mischievous smile, "Just not like I do."

And that did get a huff of laughter from Chloe. "No one loves me like you do, Max." She reached up and grabbed Max's wrist, giving it a tug. "Get down here."

"My parents are doing the rounds right now, but they want to take use out to dinner before they head home."

"Real food. Awesome. But that leaves lots of time for me to have my way with you first." She tugged on Max's arm again and, smiling, Max lay down next to Chloe and kissed her.