He noticed a canvas photograph of two kids on a beach, a boy and a girl-a teenage Grace-neither of them older than sixteen, arms around each other, the braces on the boy's teeth clear to see, his legs, like his body, long and gangly.
"My brother. He looks entirely different now. He took a long time to grow into himself."
"He's younger than you?" Max asked.
"Yeah, a year, but he's the one who looks after me." She looked over the other photographs in the room. "I need to get some recent photos of him, but he's about as fond of having his picture taken as you are."
Max's gaze moved to another photograph, this one in a wooden frame. It was black-and-white and appeared sun damaged, leaving the image faded in parts. A tall black man with an exceptionally cool Afro, dressed in tight-fitted shirt and jeans, stood with his arm around a striking dark-haired white woman whose smile was as big as the one Max saw on Grace's face when she laughed.
"Mom and Dad," she said softly, looking fondly at the picture. "Mom was from Preston County. She met dad in DC. They were together for twenty years before he passed away. Mom managed ten years without him." She glanced up at Max. "Heart disease." She looked back at the picture. "Kai and I always believed she died of a broken heart."
"She's beautiful," Max murmured.
"Yeah, she was."
Max followed Grace into the kitchen, where she handed him a cold glass of lemonade.
"Mom's recipe. Homemade," she said with a wink.
"I should hope so," Max replied, taking a long sip. The silence stretched out between them, fizzing and sparking like it always did when they were alone. Max wondered fleetingly if that was why Grace had retreated from him. It was certainly an odd feeling. He leaned a hip against the kitchen counter, watching her as she pretended to wipe condensation off her glass. "So," he began, placing his glass down. "I was thinking maybe we could talk."
Her eyes snapped to his, worry creasing their edges. "Talk?"
Max swallowed and cleared his throat. "I wanted to make sure that everything was still okay. You know, with us." He gestured with a finger between them.
Grace blinked. "Us?"
"Yeah." He exhaled and dropped his shoulders. "I mean, you seem . . . different and- We're good, right?"
Grace shook her head gently from side to side. "Why on earth would you think we weren't?" She didn't give him a chance to answer. "You've been nothing but amazing, Max. You've been a good friend." She licked her lips. "A great friend."
A smile tugged at the corners of Max's mouth. Grace put her glass next to his and moved closer, her gaze on her fingers as they danced along the side of the counter. "I know I've been a little distant since the cabin. And I'm sorry. I was just so damned mortified by what happened the night we went out that I didn't know whether you wanted anything more to happen or how to even broach the subject."
Max nudged her foot with his own. "Hey, I told you. You can talk to me about anything." He watched her shoulders relax. "And, seriously, woman, I still want the 'anything more' to happen."
"Yeah?"
Max rolled his eyes. "Pfft, shut up."
Grace's heavy expression lifted. "Even though I vomited and made a spectacle of myself?"
"Even then. And trust me, if you wear underwear like that every time you vomit, I'd absolutely be okay with that. Gives me something nice to look at while I'm holding your hair back, right?"
They both laughed.
"Okay," Grace said on a long breath. She regarded him for a moment. "Okay."
Max felt the anxiety he'd been harboring about their conversation drift away on the breeze whispering through the house. "So the place looks awesome." He pointed to a part of the kitchen wall that he'd rebuilt and plastered. "Especially that bit. That part's my favorite."
Grace sipped her drink before almost choking on it in excitement. "Oh, hey! I need to show you something." Putting her empty glass in the sink, she grabbed Max's wrist and pulled him toward the stairs. "I forgot to tell you!"
Max chuckled as he followed her up to the first level of the house. She released him and quickly closed a door that was slightly ajar, looking embarrassed. Max looked at her in question. "Dead bodies?"
"Not quite. My darkroom. I've been working on the photographs for my show."
"Yeah?" Max asked excitedly. "The ones of me? Can I see?"
Grace shook her head firmly. "Not yet. The collection's not finished. I have something better to show you." She led him down the corridor to the room Max knew to be her bedroom.