“Right,” he said, moving toward the door, his keys jingling in his hand.

I licked my lips.

Something was wrong, very wrong. One couldn’t say Max knew me through and through or I knew him the same way, not even close. But he was affectionate, touchy, he got close almost all the time. Most especially when something was on his mind or he thought something was on mine.

This distance was strange and I didn’t like it.

To hide that, I walked down the steps to the Jeep, crunched through the snow in my high-heeled boots and got in the truck. I turned to look through the driver’s side window expecting to see Max approaching the SUV or at least walking toward it, but I saw nothing.

I looked up to the house and there was no Max at the door locking up. I twisted in my seat, looking all around.

No Max.

I looked back to the house to see him exiting. He locked the door and then he jogged down the steps to the car. I buckled in as he slid in. I heard a jingle and I turned to see him holding up a set of keys.

“Keys,” he muttered, shaking them between us.

“Sorry?” I asked.

“To the house, take ‘em,” he ordered, jingling them again.

Automatically my hand came up and my fingers closed around the keys. Without further ado he let them go, started the ignition and did a three-pointer.

I held the keys in my hand thinking this should be a bigger moment, Max giving me the keys to his house.

I waited a second for him to say something. He didn’t.

“Max –”

He cut me off. “Nina, just… don’t.”

Don’t? Don’t what?

“Max –” I started again.

“Nina, seriously.”

Seriously what?

I didn’t ask. I swallowed, dumped the keys in my bag and looked out the passenger window.

Max drove in silence. He didn’t take my hand, he didn’t turn on the radio, he just drove.

Something was very wrong and logically I knew it had to do with whatever was in those letters. Illogically, my garbage-fuelled brain told me it had to do with me.

Logically, I thought, Curtis Dodd had something to do with Elizabeth Dodd being paralyzed and Anna Maxwell being dead. Now Curtis was dead and he’d not only screwed Max in his will, he’d also left him a letter which necessitated a trip to the Police Station. This would make anyone moody.

Illogically, I knew Max didn’t have a problem sharing pretty much anything except stories about his beloved, dead wife. Therefore, his not sharing with me now, my garbage-fuelled brain told me, had to do with me.

And my garbage-fuelled mind reminded me that I’d foolishly offered to help Macho Mountain Man Max pay for his new land. He’d said he didn’t mind that I made more money than him but my father and my fiancé had both tried to pay him to leave me alone then, not two hours later, I was offering him money. Men were proud, especially, I figured, macho mountain men.

I was such an idiot.

We hit town and about two blocks in, Max turned right. He drove into a residential area and parked in the drive of a house that looked like it was built in the seventies and the Brady Bunch lived there. Max got out and I did too. He didn’t wait for me to get to his side before he headed to the front door.

My stomach clutched painfully.

The door opened and Barb stood there.

“Max,” she greeted then her eyes came to me still making my way up the path and she said, “Nina.”

“Barb, how’s she doin’?” Max asked as Barb moved out of the door and Max moved in.

Barb held the storm door open for me as I made my final approach and she answered, “Hangin’ in there.” She closed the door behind me and turned to us, her gaze on me. “It’s good you’re here. She’s talkin’ a bit and the bit she says is mostly about you.”

I nodded, unsure if this was good or bad, decided to go with good and whispered, “Where is she?”

“Upstairs,” Barb answered, closing the front door on the storm door.

“I… planned something. I hope you don’t mind,” I told her, avoiding Max’s eyes.

Barb studied me then her eyes filled with tears she didn’t let fall and she whispered back, “Glad someone has a plan. I have no stinkin’ clue what to do.”

I reached out and grasped her forearm, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“How about I make some coffee while you bring her downstairs?” I suggested, Barb nodded and I went on, “Can Bitsy Dodd get into your house?”

I felt something come from Max and watched Barb’s body jolt.

“Bitsy?” Barb asked.

I nodded again. “Yes.”

“Sure, Brody’s here, he or Max can get her in the house,” she said. “They’ve done it before lotsa times.”

“That’s good,” I told her and turned to Max who was studying me, his eyes intense but his expression was blank. “Can you take care of Bitsy?”

“Yeah,” he replied and his eyes went to the door before going to Barb. “Someone’s here.”

Barb turned back to the door and I took off my coat. Moving into the house, I dropped it on the couch and I went in what I hoped was the direction of the kitchen. Luckily, my hopes came to fruition.

Max followed several moments later.

“It’s your Mom and Steve,” he told me as I searched the cupboards for coffee.

“Good.”

“Nina, you know what you’re doin’?”

I found the coffee, took down the canister and yanked out the pot from the coffeemaker.

“Not really,” I replied.

Max got close as I filled the pot. “Don’t know ‘bout this shit but I’m guessin’ now’s a sensitive time.”

I pressed my lips together and turned off the faucet.

Yesterday, according to Max, I had this. Yesterday, he trusted everything I did with Mindy. Yesterday, he let me take care of everything.

Today, or, I should say now, after whatever happened, he wasn’t so sure.

“I figure what I have planned might not help but it won’t hurt,” I told the coffeemaker as I poured the water in.

“Nina, look at –” Max started, not calling me “babe”, “honey”, “darlin’”, “baby” or “Duchess” but “Nina”.

He didn’t finish because my Mom was there.