Page 47 of Castaway Whirlwind
“None of that is true,” Russell says through clenched teeth, controlling his temper, tenderly caressing the length of my neck with his thumb. It’s a normally calming gesture, but I’m too upset by my brother’s lecture and lack of faith in me for it to do much good. “And frankly, I don’t appreciate the fact you think Steven was some kind of white knight when—”
Max interrupts, saying softly to me, “I want to hear it directly from you.”
Hoping Max will take my word for it and not Steven’s, I tell him, “He’s telling the truth. Steven got drunk, threw a bottle at the wall, then kicked me out. It had nothing to do with Russell. And I had to call the police before Steven killed someone. It was the right thing to do.”
“Alright.” Max gives me a slow nod. “I’m choosing to trust you,” he says as if trusting me doesn’t come naturally.
The pit in my stomach deepens and yawns wide.
Gauge whimpers from Cora’s lap, severing the heavy conversation, and Max pats my hand before dropping it. With dark circles beneath her eyes, Cora sniffs the air, then releases a long sigh and tries to pass the baby to Max. “Can you change him?”
Max doesn’t move to take him. “I did it last time. It’s your turn.”
“Here, let me do it.” I lunge out of my seat, a small, wobblysmile on my face when Cora hands Gauge over. I cuddle my nephew close, studying the different parts of our mom and dad in his little face with his dark peach fuzz hair.
Max leaves the apartment when I ask where the baby’s things are, then returns with a black backpack and two large rolling suitcases. Russell catches my eye. He’s locked in on me and Gauge, a yearning in his expression I never expected to see—one I’ll likely never be able to satisfy.
I take the backpack Max hands over and head into the bathroom, juggling Gauge in one arm while I search through it, finally coming up with the last remaining diaper at the bottom and an almost empty packet of wipes. I have Gauge cleaned up in no time, blowing strawberries on his chin to keep him happy while I change him.
Blinking back tears, I bring him close to my nose so I can smell the baby shampoo in his hair. “You’re the cutest little bub I ever did see. If I ever have kids, I hope they’ll look just like you.” Gauge grips my hand when I tickle his neck. “Already got your auntie wrapped around your little finger, don’t you? Yes, you do.”
My heart is in my throat when I exit the bathroom, Gauge rooting at my chest. “I think he’s hungry.” Neither Cora nor Max, who is seated at the table now, pinching the bridge of his nose with a lengthy yawn, rises to take him from me. “Um…” Looking from one exhausted parent to the other, I offer, “If you want, I can feed him.”
“Thank you,” Cora says, dropping her eyes to her lap. “His formula is in the backpack.”
Max tsks again, upset when he says, “I wish you had tried harder to breastfeed him instead of giving up so quickly. If you had just—”
“You know I couldn’t produce enough,” Cora says quietly, interrupting what sounds like a recurring, heartbreaking conversation.
Though I have no business butting in and that my opinion probably doesn’t hold much weight, I touch Cora’s knee and say with all sincerity, “There’s nothing wrong with formula feeding.”
Max’s face twists at my interference, but Cora gives me a twitch of a grateful smile, then lays back on my bed, bizarrely making herself at home, even though we’ve only just met.
Somehow having missed the formula, I go back into the bathroom to double-check and find the canister and a clean baby bottle. “Hold on, bub,” I say to Gauge, bouncing him in one arm when I duck my head and swerve around Russell into the kitchen.
When I try to open the bottle with one hand, Russell touches my lower back, leaning over me. “Let me.” He kisses the top of my head and fills the bottle with water, then pops off the top of the canister. “Don’t think there’s enough for a full bottle. Got any more?”
“You’re out of diapers, too,” I add.
With a groan, Max drops his head in his hands, his elbows propped on the table. He rolls his head toward me with the kind of puppy-dog eyes he used to give me as kids. “I hate to ask this, but think you could spot us a few bucks so I can run to the store? I spent the last of our money on gas, and that”—he points at the canister—“is so gotdang expensive.”
Happy that I can do one thing right this morning, I move toward my tote bag hanging on the back of the other kitchen chair. “How much do you need?”
A handsome smile tugs up the corner of Max’s mouth. “Fiftybucks should cover it.”
Russell stops me when I dig out the envelope of cash he gave me yesterday. “Whoa, now. Put that away. You shouldn’t—”
“Yes, I should. They’re family.” I fumble with pulling a one hundred dollar bill out, in case Max needs anything extra, and pass it to him across the table before Russell can physically stop me.
“We’re family, too,” Russell says low, his gaze challenging when he pulls more cash from his wallet in his back pocket, then slides it into the envelope, dropping it into my tote bag. I don’t utter a single word of protest or offer to clean anything.
Oblivious to our monumental breakthrough, Max jumps up and gives me a quick kiss on my cheek, then disappears through the front door.
* * *
Russell
I’ve been in some pretty awkward situations in my fifty-two years on this planet, but this is gearing up to be one of the worst when Max leaves Cora—a stranger—behind, half asleep on Layla’s bed.
